Happiest Seaside Town in America

Occasionally my brain feels like it's floating in a jar of dill and vinegar brine, stored in a glass jar, sitting on a shelf in a dark closet, and waiting to be transplanted into the head of the New Genome. Some days begin that way. Not all days, of course. If all days began that way, it would constitute a Code 10 situation. But today is one of those days and trending is not positive.

I realize that steps must be taken and not just any steps but the proper steps through the proper channels. Can't just allow the trend to continue or one day soon I'll find myself on the edge of a cliff, similar to Carlos Castaneda, and I don't have the benefit of a shaman spiritual guide on my side. You remember Carlos and his spirit guide, Don Juan. You should remember. His book is what got us where we are today. Better look it up is my suggestion.

The only spirit guide I have to rely on is Vulpes, the Red Fox, aka Reynard, and he's a practical joker. He'd tell me to jump into the abyss in order to find my wings and, if I did jump, the only wings I'd find would be in a Colonel Sanders box at the bottom of the chasm. 

And so I've decided to take proper steps through the proper channels, as Jeeves put it, and I'm taking Ms. Wonder to Southport. Just in case it isn't obvious, let me explain by saying that Coastal Living Magazine once named Southport as one of the top 10 finalists in their search for America's Happiest Seaside Town. 

Let's take a moment here for station identification and say, in the interest of transparency and full disclosure that the Coastal Living editors were listening to Jimmy Buffet and sipping margaritas while making their decision.

Wonder loves Southport and I reckoned what could be better than a Sunday afternoon in the happiest seaside town in America. And now, this happy little village will be the temporary home of Ms. Wonders's latest photography exhibit, "Ships of the Cape Fear River." That's right. Having completed a successful showing in downtown Wilmington, the exhibit has gone on tour. But if you can't make it to Southport, you can see the entire collection here: Ships of the Cape Fear River

From now until the end of June, Southport will showcase those incredible abstract images of the magnificent ships that leave the Atlantic and enter the Intracoastal Waterway about a stone's throw from the High Street.

Wonder isn't alone in loving happy seaside villages. I'm sure Coastal Living Magazine wouldn't spend time looking for them if they weren't popular with a host of discerning vacationers. Many well-known personalities spend time here when they require freshening. Don't worry, I will not allow myself to fluff up the content by dropping names--not the Genome style; I will only pass along this one little note of general interest by saying that, according to locals, Cher's yacht crew wears the uniform of the Italian navy. Curious, don't you think?

I fully expect that after spending a few hours in the sun, walking the boardwalks through the salt marsh, breathing the air that Cher breathes, I'll be catapulted into a new dimension and the brain will be working with the usual efficacy if that's the word I'm looking for. The ability to perform as desired or expected? I'll ask Wonder, she'll know. She knows everything.

It's my understanding that Napoleon often took a little time for himself to walk on a quiet beach and consider his next move. If it worked for him, I'm sure it will work for me.

Watch for the next post with the word "Southport" in the title. I know how you love to follow my little adventures and I promise to tell you all about our sojourn, leaving nothing out, and including a few photographs to illustrate. Until then, stay safe, and by any and all means stay happy.

Of Mosquitos and Meditation

This morning I awoke in Houston. I know! What are the odds, right? But rather than worry about it, I quickly abandoned myself to the whims of the Universe. After all, some of the best minds in the world tell us that it's the troubles we imagine that are worse than the troubles we actually encounter. 

I believe it was Marcus Aurelius who gave us that little gem, and for once I'm sure it wasn't Shakespeare, who by the way gets far too much credit for quotable lines.

At any rate, I grabbed my hat and tilted it just a shade over the left eye, which makes all the difference. Upholstered and sunglassed, I set out for a meditative walk. 

The first order of business was to find a spot that offered some seclusion, which is necessary when you practice qigong or any other form of ancient Chinese slow movement exercise. Practicing in the open usually results in the local constabulary dropping by to ask "What's all this?" I've even known young children to cry and run to their mothers when they see me practicing Brush the Wild Mare's Mane.

The live oak grove behind the community pool looked ideal for qigong and so I took up my position and began my exercise with Wuji Swimming Dragon. As I swept my arm back, I observed a gulf coast mosquito squatting on my hand and pulling the beak back into attack position. I didn't hesitate. It was with me, the work of an instant to squash the insect. Not soon enough, however. She got me on the thumb. And it didn't end there, by the time I realized I'd been bitten, her unseen accomplice, got me on the back of the neck.

Before I continue, it might be enlightening to provide you with some background information that I did not have available to me when I planned this morning's outing. In recent weeks, the Houston news media have been full of headlines such as the following sample: 

Mosquitoes Attack Houston

Mosquito Invasion Continues

Houston Plagued with Mosquitos

From the official mosquito-tracking website I learned that "Houston mosquitoes are considered to be some of the worst in the world."

You think you have mosquitos? What you have are some of those inferior knock-off brands of insects.

The style of qigong that I teach is called "Fierce Qigong and the tag-line is "Life comes fast and hard. Be ready for anything."  But I was not ready for Houston mosquitos. Before I could muster a defense, my hat had been lifted from my head, sunglasses pulled from my face, and a swarm was trying to remove my Hot Chili Peppers t-shirt.

I'm not sure that I cried out in alarm as I ran down the path and back into the house but if I did, what of it? You too would C O in A if you were plagued with these mosquitos; a plague not unlike those that were visited upon Pharaoh Ramses. Trust me.

When I was safely inside the house, my son-in-law asked where I had been. I breathlessly gave him the gist and went on to say, "Let me warn you…" when he interrupted to ask:

"Didn't you get eaten by mosquitoes?"

Now that the danger is past and happy endings have been distributed all around, I realize that I learned a couple things from the ordeal. First and foremost, Houston should have signs similar to those ancient maps where they have pictures of sea monsters at the edge of the world. The signs should say, "Here Be Mosquitoes."

The second thing I learned is that there seems to be a lack of consensus about the spelling of the plural of mosquito. But hey, when you're being attacked by a swarm of blood-sucking fiends, correct grammar is the least of your worries.