Mostly true stories of joy, enlightenment, and just one damned thing after another.
Total Pageviews
Don't Bring Me Down
Take It Easy
Modern Life and Cats
"You seem low-spirited," she said and I think I've made it pretty clear that it was so. I was as low-spirited as I could stick even though Uma, Queen of Cats and Empress of Chatsford Hall lay at my feet doing an impersonation of an eel out of water in the hope, no doubt, of receiving a treat for the effort.
"It must have been much the same for Peter II when Catherine the soon to be Great, led the Russian army to the Winter Palace where he was in residence. No," I said, " modern life is just one damned thing after another, just as Shakespeare told us."
She gave me a quizzical look and I realized that she was about to interrupt my soliloquy with some drivel about Shakespeare but I wasn't done yet. I continued.
"But instead of searching for the silver lining of life's muddle-headedness, do you know what most people do? They get all hotted up and the pressure builds until they start leaking at the seams. You can find them grinding teeth and clenching fists and giving passersby a look that could open oysters at 20 paces. Only makes things worse, if you ask me."
I waited for her response, one that would make me feel that we commiserated if that's the word I'm looking for, but she didn't say anything, just gave me what passes with her as a compassionate look.
I remember thinking that brown eyes do a better job of portraying compassion than green eyes, but then it isn't her fault that she has the eyes of an elf, and besides, I knew what she meant.
"Something really should be done before it's too late," I said.
"Done?" she said. "You mean something to change the general attitude of people you meet? Do you think that's possible?"
"Thank you for asking," I said. "I really would like to see people sweeten up a bit and I think I have the perfect antidote to whatever it is that poisons their outlook."
"Go on," she said.
"P.G. Wodehouse," I said. "It's imperative, the way I see it, that modern man, and woman too if she cares to join us, read Wodehouse to learn the importance of aunts, or rather, the importance of avoiding them."
"But not cats," she said, always having her finger on the nub. "People must realize the importance of socializing with cats."
"Cats to be sure," I said. "Of what value would life be without cats? I mean, what's the point?"
We began to discuss the Wodehouse cannon and the relative importance of aunts and cats but somewhere along the way, and I'm not sure exactly where it occurred, I began talking about my own writing, and my hope that perhaps I could help supply some relief to pedestrians as they navigate life's potholes.
"I've paid my dues, the way many writers do, and I feel it's time I give back some of what I've learned," I said. "I shall stick to writing about what I know, which is normal life, or in the words of George Costanza, nothing at all, because that's what I know best.
"I hope you consider offering spiritual guidance to your readers," she said.
"Not as such," I said. "My stories will be in the context of my own spiritual outlook but I will not be explicitly spiritual. I don't care to be preached at and I don't intend to engage in the practice. I have some knowledge of the Bible due simply to the age in which I grew up. We memorized and quoted Bible versus in primary school and I can nail down an allusion as quickly as Jael, the wife of Heber, who was always driving spikes into the coconuts of overnight guests.
"The plots I prefer are much the same as those of Shakespeare's comedies. The foibles of love and the antics of those trying to win or escape from love's embrace. There will be a scarcity of mothers and fathers, only because of my own upbringing, but a pile of aunts, uncles, and cousins, of which I had so many that laid end to end would stretch from here to the next presidential election."
"And cats," she said as Abbie Hoffman, who had just wandered into the room, and apparently decided that the number of felines in attendance exceeded the fire marshal's recommendations. He left the way he came.
"Absolutely cats," I said. "Cats add value to any subject and the absence of cats wounds even the best literature."
We both mused on this concept for several minutes, cats being a deep subject and a wide one too.
"I shall attempt to apply what I have learned from the master," I continued, "and use metaphor to the fullest extent. From bees fooling about in the flowers to the stars being God's daisy chain. I hope I can do it. I've certainly marinated myself in his works--not God's but Wodehouse's. I do hope so. These are truly troubling times we live in and we must battle the powers of darkness before we are undone."
"Excellent plan," she said. "I can't wait to see where this new path leads."
"Me too," I said and I meant it like the dickens!
Wicked, Fierce Sashay!
Each morning, I walk the trails of Brunswick Forest. I was there this morning right after sunup.
It was a beautiful day, light, bright, full of sunshine and birdsong but it quickly turned to the dark and ugly side with birdsong replaced by a rash of ugly hissing from the Sewer Harpies. A perfect example of just how true the P. G. Wodehouse quote,
"It's always just when a fellow is feeling particularly braced with things in general that Fate sneaks up behind him with the bit of lead piping."
I'm mad as hell, and even if I can't do anything about it, I'm going to give the Fates a piece of my mind!
I began my daily ritual this morning by honoring two special trees that stand on the forest boundary. One of them has obvious windstorm damage. All the limbs on the southwest side have been broken away and the tree canopy is lop-sided. Even so, it grows and flourishes there in the forest.
I too am lopsided due to a vehicle accident that the Fates seemed to think I'd earned while performing my military duty. I feel that the tree and I share a special bond.
The second tree special to me is a specimen that is as close to death as a tree with green leaves can be. It has a slender trunk and is missing the top half. It has no real limbs and instead only a few small branches that grow directly out of the trunk. The center or heart of the tree is missing from base to apex, probably due to some insect infestation. And yet, this tree sprouts green leaves every spring.
Like that tree, I too am not fully present. My body is in that period of life when it regenerates one measure and decays two. Much of my heart, my spiritual and emotional heart, is missing, and yet I somehow continue to show new growth in season.
After greeting these two friends, I offered my gratitude to the Higher Power that rules life on Earth. I declared myself willing to accept life on life's terms. I usually feel better after doing so and today was no exception.
Then, I turned to begin my sashay along the trails, thinking of Mockingbird, who joins me most mornings and encourages me with a sunrise serenade, and looking forward to meeting up with Rock, my strength and my refuge against the slings and arrows that we hear so much about on the news broadcasts.
I was, in the words of Mr. Wodehouse, feeling particularly braced with things in general. Then...
Bam! Crack! Crash!
I took the first hay-maker right between the eyes and then a follow-up blow to the abdomen! The universe had set me up for the one-two combination. I was stunned. I was shaken. The ground rolled like waves on the ocean much like that earthquake I experienced in San Francisco.
I hesitate to describe the exact nature of the imbroglio because the emotions are still raw.
In that instant, the enlightened Genome you know evaporated and was replaced by the foundation-level, survival-level animal. In the immortal words of my sainted Aunt Cynthia, I gave the Mystic Manager a piece of my mind, and had that manager been present, I would have given him/her a punch in the mystical nose.
You may be shocked by my admission. No doubt you think of me as one of the most delightful people you’ve ever met. You remember me as one who remained quiet and reserved in the company of others; one who listened and spoke only when spoken to.
Genome, you say to yourself, what has happened to you?
No doubt, my violent reaction was due as much to the encouragement of Princess Amy as it was to the perceived affront. But since I want to never mislead my public, I must disclose the full list of those who have mentored me in the art of self-defense.
My early childhood role models are these--Donald Duck, the Tasmanian Devil, Yosemite Sam, and the Red Queen from Alice. If you're among the privileged to remember their reactions to the slings and arrows of life on life's terms, then you will understand my behavior.
And so, without apology nor rationalization, I leave you to make of it what you will. Fierce Qigong!
Your Morning Update
"I wouldn't worry about it," she said, "it's probably a normal feeling for most people."
"What's the day like?" I asked.
She said it was very clement or some guff like that.
"You mean the sky is blue, the sun smiling, hot and cold running water? The usual amenities?"
"Domestic offices," she suggested but for me it was another near misses and I let it go.
"Then I think I'll take myself out for an airing," I said.
"Don't forget we're meeting Tiger and Wild Bill for breakfast at 9:30."
I had forgotten all about this tryst as it came suddenly on the heels of my having to cancel a dinner engagement with these two love birds. I quickly climbed into the outer crust of the Durhamite weekender: Thai fisherman pants and Steve Miller Band tee--the 1999 Last Call tour--and the Aldo boaters, sans socks, which adds just a hint of diablerie, and I think you will agree that I need all the diablerie I can get.
Finally upholstered, I emerged and found two waiting for me on the porch attired in feminine fabric. Not the porch but the two waiting for me. Ms Wonder bunged herself into the sports model and Mom, still standing on the porch, waved us off like an Archbishop blessing the pilgrims.
I'm not much for chatting in traffic and remained strong and silent, the lips tight, the eye ever vigilant, until we were out off the Chatsford estate and sailing down the highway. Then I got down to a subject that has troubled me for some time.
"Poopsie," I said, "there is something about the pairing of these two that has troubled me for some time."
"Wild Bill and Tiger," she said, "they're a perfect couple. A match made in Heaven."
"Oh, I agree," I said. "Nice work if you want my opinion. I think they're both on to something good and should push it along with the utmost energy. Why wait until December, get married tomorrow is my suggestion. No, it's not that I object to either of them. Both are the soundest of eggs. None sounder. It's just that they both fell in love at first sight."
She said something about people who don't believe in love at first sight but it was, in my opinion, a side issue and should not divert us from the subject at hand.
I explained that I would expect nothing less of Bill. After all, strong men before him had been smitten with Jenny to an alarming degree. Wonder interrupted me to say that it probably had something to do with her profile. I agreed that it might possibly be the profile as seen from the right.
"From the left too," she said.
"Well, I suppose in a measure from the left too but you can't expect men in this hectic age to take time to dodge around a girl trying to see her from all sides."
I readily understood why Bill fell for Jenny for she is liberally supplied with oomph. He, on the other hand, a good egg, none better, but he's one of us, or that is to say, he has the face that you grow into.
"But he's no Brad Pitt," I said.
"Well," she said, "you're no Brad Pitt," as if that had anything to do with it.
Sometimes I wonder about this Poopsie, descendent of Count Alexei Orlov who helped Catherine the Great ascend to the throne. Give that one some thought and I think you will agree that there is reason for concern.
"Would I look a little like B Pitt if I had hair?"
"No."
"If I had a chin?"
"Nope."
"I suppose I must look like Beaker, the Muppet."
"Beaker had hair," she said.
"A bald Beaker," I said.
"A very cute bald Beaker," she said giving my head a nubbing.
This give and take left me feeling better about things and I would have carried on but we were nearing our destination and I was required to twiddle the wheel to avoid a passing tree and then we arrived at William's Gourmet Kitchen. We decanted ourselves and went inside to break the fast with the aforementioned friends.
I do hope this update answers all questions about the whereabouts of this post. It is here like that mountain we hear so much about. Once there was a mountain, then there was no mountain, then there was. Now there is.
Coffee Therapy
Get With the Program
Everyone gave up on me, including me, everyone but my best friend, Poopsie Wonder. Ms. Wonder reasoned that as long as there was breath in my body, something in the wind might stir me; as long as there was moisture in my cells, the sea might have some telling wisdom; as long as the temperature was close to 98.6, a spark might remain to be fanned into flame.
Poopsie knew that if anyone in Houston could speak the word in season, it was Cowboy Dan, a devotee of Wen, The Eternally Surprised. Dan condensed his life into a 20-minute verbal documentary and a miracle occurred as I sat listening. Well, two miracles all told. The first was that I listened. The second was that I forgot my hopelessness and began to be grateful that I had escaped the destruction that had plagued Dan.
"How is this possible," I asked Dan. "How did you do it?"
"It's simple," said Dan. "Anyone can do it."
"Do you think that I can do it?" I asked.
"I know you can," he assured me. "The fact is," Genome, "you just don't have to live that way anymore."
"Will you help me?" I asked.
"I'll offer you some guidance," he said, "but there are conditions."
"Anything," I said.
He mused. He pursed the lips and moved them this way and that. It's a technique that seems to help people think but it's never worked for me. Perhaps you use it, perhaps not, but that's what he did. Then he spoke.
"OK, here are the conditions," he said. "I will not be your teacher but I will attempt to guide you. You must be willing to try anything that I suggest. If I think you are not willing, I will stop working with you. Agreed?"
"You mean you want me as an apprentice?" I asked, overjoyed that there might be hope for me yet.
"Of course not," he said, "Don't be silly. Why would I want that? Just be over at my place tomorrow morning at 7:00 AM. We've got a lot of work to do and the sooner we begin, the better."
Next morning, I was up early--with the larks and snails apparently--and I got to his place on time with the book he'd loaned me. I didn't know it then but we were people of the book too but unlike all the other people of the book, we were allowed to improve ours from time to time. To update it as it were.
I was anxious to begin and drank the first cup of Jah's Mercy.
"Ready to begin?" he asked.
"I am," I said.
"Come over here with me," he said and I followed him to a small closet in the corner of the kitchen.
"Lesson number one," he said, handing me a broom and then taking out a second for himself.
"One hand here and the other here," he said. "People never get it right. Smooth even strokes," he said demonstrating the move. "Let the broom do the work. Just a small amount each time--like that. Don't try to get all the dirt in one go, you just wind up spreading it around."
I gave him a look. It felt questioning to me but it must have come across differently to him.
"Don't worry," he said, "no one gets it right the first time. It takes practice to get really good."
And that's how I became an apprentice of Wen, The Eternally Surprised. Since mastering the broom, I have added the fan and the umbrella to my accomplishments. I'm now working on the walking cane. Life just gets better and better in the Program. I hope you have one.
Cats Anonymous
"Whatever," she said.
You suffer, I believe, from a Napoleon complex, one that convinces you to think that willpower alone is enough to defeat demon tissue. You must rely on your allies and we are all here to help you.
A Tide in Cat Affairs
When I tell you that he loves this brush I am understating it. He can't get enough of the thing. Wants to keep it all to himself too. I've tried to convey the wisdom of the Middle Way but he has no control over this aspect of his life. He's powerless over the brush. I fret that, by brushing him so often, I'm enabling him to continue his addictive behavior, but what can I do? He's my cat!
While I stood in a meditative trance, my attention focused on the hairbrush, his sixth sense alerted him, causing him to give voice. I turned toward that trilling soprano and became aware that a drama was brewing somewhere in all that fur.
There is a tide in the affairs, is the way the thought begins--Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. I'm sure I don't have to tell you how much this Beignet admires the work of the Bard. The thought doesn't end with the tide in the affairs but continues, which taken at the flood, and we know of course that having the brush in my hand becomes to this cat, the height of the flood. Then comes the payoff, leads on to fortune.
At this point, he no doubt thought, Here is the tide in the affair and an opportunity for a brushing and no time to lose. He moved forward. I moved back. It's the natural reaction when being chivied in that strong, silent, earnest manner characteristic of this breed--a fine Raggamuffin kitty.
To leap onto my chest and press me into the chair was with him the work of an instant. He placed his paws on my shoulders and gave me a series of head butts. Then he gazed deeply into my eyes and said, Let's do this.
You understand that I had no choice. As soon as the strokes began, moving from the base of the neck, down the spine and not stopping until the tip of the tail, his expression changed to one both grave and dreamy.
If I could only convince this cat to read Jimmy Buffet instead of Shakespeare, he might become more interested in road trips and less interested in brushing. Sort of an intervention. I'd like to hear your opinion on the matter. Worth a try do you think?
Little Cat Feet
"What's the problem?" asked Ms. Wonder when she came into the dressing salon. It may have been my slow, careful movement through the sea of cats that prompted her question. "Something wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," I said, "I remain, as always, the pert and nimble spirit you see before you."
"Before I what?"
"Oh, just thought I would," she said. "Bad dreams?"
"Not particularly. I slew all my enemies in my dream, and the interesting part is that I did it with the jawbone of an ass."
"Just drifting off station then?"
"I fancy so, don't you? Can't think of anything that's gone especially wacky in the last 24 hours. I suppose Princess Amy is just bored and thinking of all the things that might possibly go wrong, which of course would be everything as far as she's concerned."
Now, if you regularly attend The Circular Journey, you are familiar with that little clump of grey cells sitting in the middle of my head who goes by the name, Amy. You are also aware that Amy follows a line through the Red Queen from Looking Glass World, and you understand that when Amy is discontent, the Genome is manic.
I wrestled a pair of socks from the dresser and began to upholster the outer man. This requires delicate acrobatics for those of us who lack the full cooperation of the lower back, and as I rolled back on the bed to bring the feet closer to the hands, Eddy the cat developed an acute interest in the socks. His intentions were good, but we all know where that leads, don't we?
"Are you going to wear knickers under those pants?" asked Ms. Wonder eyeing the clothes I'd laid out.
"Of course, I'm wearing knickers," I said holding Eddy back with one hand and attempting to don the socks with the other. "Do you think me wanton?"
"It's just that I don't see any on the bed."
"I'm wearing them now," I said, "underneath the robe."
"I'll give him a treat," she said and after some intense concentration, I realized that she was talking about the cat.
"Oh, sure," I said, "reward him for keeping me sock-less."
"What are you going to do about California?" she called from the laundry room where the treats are stored. Eddy heard them rattle in the bottle and catapulted himself from the bed and into the ether, in the general direction of the laundry room.
"I think the great Eureka State will have to take care of itself. I've got about all I can handle with the situation here at Chatsford Hall."
"What's the situation here," she said, "other than getting dressed I mean?"
"Oh, you know--ordinary life," I said. "It isn't always easy, is it? Who can say why, really? It could be that the path deviates sometimes from the dotted line connecting A with B. Or it could be that the Fate sisters, those Great Aunts of the Universe, are busy dropping banana skins in our path. I lean toward the second line of thought, don't you?"
"Well," she said, "if it means anything to you, I have all the confidence in the world that you will get the latest issue of the Happy Cats newsletter published today. You are the Genome, descendent of Ortho Gherardini, and when you make up your mind, look out Princess Amy."
"Besides," the Wonder said, "you have people who depend on you. Big and small people. Some of the littlest ones are the most important."
She smiled at the cats gathering around me now that she'd placed the bottle of treats in my hand. They were all there. Ben, Sagi, and Uma were at my feet. Abbie Hoffman was sitting high atop the cat tree and, Eddy the kitten, was walking about as a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour.
"I do have people depending on me, don't I? The big and the small. Some of them wearing fur," I said lifting the chin and swelling the chest. "Thanks, Poopsie."
"Not at all."