A few minutes later when I returned to the dressing room upstairs, I opened the Venetian's and there was the day, wearing a braid in her hair and doing a buck wing dance across the lawn. Just like that. Dark then dawn. I've never been able to figure out just how it's done but I'm sure it involves smoke and mirrors like stage magic.
Ms Wonder was engaged in her Swedish exercises and so I busied myself with the morning routine. I was troubled by recent events and I wanted to discuss them with her but I waited. Focus is absolutely essential when generating the endorphins and I didn't want to distract her. At last, she completed her excesses and I spoke.
"Poopsie," I said, "life is difficult."
"Is it?"
"Something always seems to be getting in the way if you know what I mean. Something stops working. Someone's dog barks. The neighbor puts his house up for sale. It's just one damn thing after another."
"Life is suffering," she said.
I mused on this. It seemed harsh for this wonder woman and yet it seemed that I'd heard it somewhere before. "I don't know if I'd go that far," I said.
"It's attributed to the Buddha," she said.
"Ah," I said and mused again. I noticed Sagi, the caramel tabby, reclining on the bed and his expression seemed to suggest that this would be as good a time as any to suspend disbelief. Besides, I'd recently liked the Buddha's Facebook page. "Well, I suppose to some degree life is suffering," I said.
"If it's Her, you're worried about," she said, "I think I have the solution. If She won't go to the mountain, then the mountain will come to Chatsford Hall. The mountain to Mohammed."
This got right by me. Mohammed? That's what she said. I opened my mouth to ask for clarification but found instead that she had not relinquished the floor.
"Don't say anything," she instructed. "You're going to support me in this. Suit up and show up."
Again, with the euphemisms. Suit up? I glanced in the mirror and thought the dove gray shirt with the eggshell and cantaloupe stripes was a good choice for denim jeans. I opened my mouth once more to ask for clarification and, once more, I discovered she was still speaking.
"Don't stand there looking like a scarecrow," she said, "say something for heaven's sake."
Well, this was what I'd been waiting for. Invited to speak, I prepared myself to give tongue, if that's the expression. Doesn't sound right but I'm sure I've heard it somewhere. At that very moment, displaying one of the many characteristics that get her so disliked by right-thinking individuals, Princess Amy, the amygdala with the overactive imagination, mentioned something totally inappropriate and not germane to the issue by a long shot. I immediately noticed a feeling arising in the body that hinted at the dark, moonless night of the soul. More drama from that almond-headed cluster of brain cells it seemed to me. I remember thinking that I'd heard enough from her. The buck stops here I thought to myself.
"The bitch, Brenda, speaks," I said and I meant it to sting. But I meant it to sting Amy, not Ms Wonder. I thought I'd used my inside voice but apparently not.
"Me?" said the Wonder. "Me?" said Amy.
"No, not you," I said to Wonder. "Calm down," I said to Amy.
"Calm down," said Wonder. "I'll calm you down." But she didn't. Instead, she left the room.
"How can I calm down?" said Amy. "It's not in my job description. I'm responsible for identifying the threat level and granting authority for corrective action and that's just what I'll do."
"Yes," I said, "but you tend to overreact. When you get hotted up, you go from lukewarm to incandescent in a moment. You threaten to pop rivets and come apart at the seams. Take a deep breath and chill is my advice. These aren't the droids you seek."
"Oh sure," she said. "You call me your bitch, Brenda, and I'm supposed to calm down?"
"Just a little joke," I said. "It's something that Keith Richards used to call Mick Jaeger. They've had all kinds of tiffs over the years. You know, bedding each other's women and all the usual stuff that rock bands do, and yet, they're still touring after 50 years. That's the way you and I are."
"We bed each other's women?"
"See, that's what I mean. You jump to the most negative interpretation. You know what I meant is that we stick together. We're the Rolling Stones, you and I. We'll stay together no matter what."
This tact worked better than I expected. She became quiet and the tension dissolved. But I knew it was only temporary. Like all front girls in rock bands, it was only a matter of time before she would try to make me her subordinate again. But I would be ready. I'm living fiercely these days--more than ever before and I'm ready for whatever life serves up.
Live mindfully. Stay connected. Never quit. Just like the Stones.
Ms Wonder was engaged in her Swedish exercises and so I busied myself with the morning routine. I was troubled by recent events and I wanted to discuss them with her but I waited. Focus is absolutely essential when generating the endorphins and I didn't want to distract her. At last, she completed her excesses and I spoke.
"Poopsie," I said, "life is difficult."
"Is it?"
"Something always seems to be getting in the way if you know what I mean. Something stops working. Someone's dog barks. The neighbor puts his house up for sale. It's just one damn thing after another."
"Life is suffering," she said.
I mused on this. It seemed harsh for this wonder woman and yet it seemed that I'd heard it somewhere before. "I don't know if I'd go that far," I said.
"It's attributed to the Buddha," she said.
"Ah," I said and mused again. I noticed Sagi, the caramel tabby, reclining on the bed and his expression seemed to suggest that this would be as good a time as any to suspend disbelief. Besides, I'd recently liked the Buddha's Facebook page. "Well, I suppose to some degree life is suffering," I said.
"If it's Her, you're worried about," she said, "I think I have the solution. If She won't go to the mountain, then the mountain will come to Chatsford Hall. The mountain to Mohammed."
This got right by me. Mohammed? That's what she said. I opened my mouth to ask for clarification but found instead that she had not relinquished the floor.
"Don't say anything," she instructed. "You're going to support me in this. Suit up and show up."
Again, with the euphemisms. Suit up? I glanced in the mirror and thought the dove gray shirt with the eggshell and cantaloupe stripes was a good choice for denim jeans. I opened my mouth once more to ask for clarification and, once more, I discovered she was still speaking.
"Don't stand there looking like a scarecrow," she said, "say something for heaven's sake."
Well, this was what I'd been waiting for. Invited to speak, I prepared myself to give tongue, if that's the expression. Doesn't sound right but I'm sure I've heard it somewhere. At that very moment, displaying one of the many characteristics that get her so disliked by right-thinking individuals, Princess Amy, the amygdala with the overactive imagination, mentioned something totally inappropriate and not germane to the issue by a long shot. I immediately noticed a feeling arising in the body that hinted at the dark, moonless night of the soul. More drama from that almond-headed cluster of brain cells it seemed to me. I remember thinking that I'd heard enough from her. The buck stops here I thought to myself.
"The bitch, Brenda, speaks," I said and I meant it to sting. But I meant it to sting Amy, not Ms Wonder. I thought I'd used my inside voice but apparently not.
"Me?" said the Wonder. "Me?" said Amy.
"No, not you," I said to Wonder. "Calm down," I said to Amy.
"Calm down," said Wonder. "I'll calm you down." But she didn't. Instead, she left the room.
"How can I calm down?" said Amy. "It's not in my job description. I'm responsible for identifying the threat level and granting authority for corrective action and that's just what I'll do."
"Yes," I said, "but you tend to overreact. When you get hotted up, you go from lukewarm to incandescent in a moment. You threaten to pop rivets and come apart at the seams. Take a deep breath and chill is my advice. These aren't the droids you seek."
"Oh sure," she said. "You call me your bitch, Brenda, and I'm supposed to calm down?"
"Just a little joke," I said. "It's something that Keith Richards used to call Mick Jaeger. They've had all kinds of tiffs over the years. You know, bedding each other's women and all the usual stuff that rock bands do, and yet, they're still touring after 50 years. That's the way you and I are."
"We bed each other's women?"
"See, that's what I mean. You jump to the most negative interpretation. You know what I meant is that we stick together. We're the Rolling Stones, you and I. We'll stay together no matter what."
This tact worked better than I expected. She became quiet and the tension dissolved. But I knew it was only temporary. Like all front girls in rock bands, it was only a matter of time before she would try to make me her subordinate again. But I would be ready. I'm living fiercely these days--more than ever before and I'm ready for whatever life serves up.
Live mindfully. Stay connected. Never quit. Just like the Stones.