When Morning Comes

Life comes hard and fast and I don't know about you, but it sometimes takes me completely by surprise. I still remember exactly where I was and what I was doing back in the day, when Steven Hawking, The Most Brilliant Physicist in the World, admitted that black holes don't exist. 

You could have knocked me down with a feather. I mean just what the hell are we to do now? It's another blatant example of one damned thing after another.

Sifu Abbie Hoffman

The cat Abbie Hoffman is just as concerned as I am about the chaos and absurdities of life. He's with me now on the desktop, sitting on my keyboard, and editing the work as I write. Even at this early hour, before dawn, we're fully dressed, he in his formal attire of white tie and tails, and I in my cargo pajamas. 

We make a good team and it makes me feel better to know that I'm not the only one who feels that the present circs are too tight for comfort. 

We were awakened this morning, Abbie and I, like everyone else in the Renaissance District of the SoDu, at 10 minutes past 5:00 by the ubiquitous tornado warning. 

Like everyone else we rose, gathered up Ms. Wonder and the rest of the furry tribe, and bunged them all into the bathtub for safety. However why the bathtub seemed safe is something that escapes me. 

I try to remember the bilge we were taught in school about bathtubs and the only thing I remember is that Archimedes made that discovery, whatever it was, while playing with baking soda in the bath. Was it baking soda? The details escape me.

We were told he shouted, "Eureka!" and danced around a good bit, flooding the floor and no doubt sending water out into the hallway. And we were supposed to believe that the excitement was caused because he'd discovered the principle of displacement. 

That's right, we're supposed to believe that he discovered displacement in the bathtub. And yet we know, pay attention because the punchline is coming. We know that bathtubs were invented in ancient Egypt several BC's before Archie and we're supposed to believe that no one noticed displacement in all that time? Get real.

But let's get back to the present, shall we? Here's Occum's razor to explain the morning weather. (Look it up. It's spelled Occum's razor.) 

What the National Weather Service picked up on radar was not a tornado but a wind vortex created by the Witch of Woodcroft. It was intended to suck the sick spiritual energies from the environment and transform them into something good for society. She does it all the time. Becoming a nuisance.

No wonder the NWS is confused. The Witch of W. means well--she does, I don't deny it. But, her work often brings unintended results. Don't worry. Abbie Hoffman and I are hard at work to restore the natural balance. 

As I sat back to admire my work, I noticed that Abbie was staring out the window. Dawn peeked timidly over the edge of the horizon in the far distance. No doubt She's unsure of what to expect from the weather, it being one of the dark and loud species of weather this morning. 

Apparently, Dawn puts little credence in the promise that "...weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." If She intends to continue in the role of Herald of the New Day, then She's going to need some bucking up. 

After all, the Sun can't make his appearance on stage with Dawn's introduction. It would be like discovering the principle of displacement with bathtubs.

Abbie made a little noise deep in his throat and I wondered if he shares my resentment toward the Sun for being absent when he's needed most. A fair-weather friend, the Sun, in my opinion. I'm happy to have that howler of a storm out of the way but I'm not sure that I'm ready to welcome the sun with open arms just yet. I forgive, really I do, but I don't do it quickly. 

Dawn and the other half of the morning sketch, the Sun, need to get their act together. It's another opinion shared by my tuxedoed feline friend and me.

The light suddenly became brighter in my office and Abbie jumped from the desktop to the chair near the window. He huddled down, making himself as small as possible in the way that cats do, and he peeked over the window sill. 

Sunlight was slowly working its way across the fields and woodlands from the east. The sun was smiling in that smug, self-satisfied way it has at the beginning of the day. It eased itself up the drive and began climbing the wall. Inch by inch, the light moved closer to my office window. At last, it peered inside, still smiling, and softly entered the room.

It was exactly the Bruce Lee moment that Abbie was waiting for.

Abbie Hoffman, having recently been certified as a master of taiji ch'uan, executed a lightning-quick single whip, if it was a single whip, and the Sun lay cowering on the floor while dawn fell backward onto the grass in front of the garage. It was as beautiful a single whip as I've seen.

Abbie looked down on Dawn with lazy eyelids as though it were normal to see Her spread-eagled on the lawn. He turned an inquiring gaze toward me and I returned a look to say that I understood completely. 

It couldn't be helped. It was a thing that needed doing and he, with his impeccable credentials, was the man to do it. Now we could forgive.

While I was congratulating him on a job well done, I became aware that his attention was arrested, if that's the word, by a shimming light that illumined the center of the room. Abbie Hoffman was staring into that light with wild surmise--much like the one worn by stout Cortez and his men when they first glanced at the Pacific.

"Well," I said to the specter, "we know you're here. You might as well show yourself."

And with those words, a large face materialized in the center of the room. The features shimmered and glittered in the morning light. When he recognized who I was, he smiled sending little sparkles flashing around the room like tiny fireworks."

"I apologize for the intrusion," said the Sun.

"No need," I said, "it's not your fault nor ours. I credit all this ranygazoo to the Witch of Woodcroft."

Abbie concurred, or he mumbled something that seemed to indicate agreement with my assessment. He rarely disagrees with me. We march in lockstep most days.

"She's off the wagon again!" said the Sun. "I thought 30 days in rehab..."

"I think it will require something stronger than a 12-step program," I said. "But Abbie Hoffman and I have an idea and now that you're here, we no longer need to let 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would'."

"Who's Abbie Hoffman?" he said.

"The cat in the adage," I said nodding toward Abbie.

"Oh," said the Sun, but not with any real conviction. "Well, I suppose I should get back into the heavens. Lots of people expecting it."

"I suppose so," I said, "although I don't know why. So many millennia without missing a day. I'd think that the odds are in favor of taking a day off."

And that pretty much sums up our morning. Even if some of the facts were mangled in the telling, the gist is there. The morning, as usual, swept away the weeping of the night and Joy now reigns supreme.

    

Get Real

Note to Self:

If you're like most people and aren't we all like most people when you get right down to it, then you haven't been experiencing much. 

Does it sound nonsensical? Well, think of it like this: Georgia O'Keeffe, when questioned about her detailed flower paintings, said that no one really sees a flower because to really see a flower takes time. 

Photography: Cathryn Jirlds Copyright 2008 - 2024

No doubt it does take time and not a little. But I'd like to add something, with apologies to Ms. O'Keeffe. To see a flower takes time and it requires paying attention to what you're looking at. 

Here's a little secret. If you're not paying attention to what's happening around you, then you aren't paying attention to your life. One day you'll find yourself wondering where all the time went. 

I see people who think they're taking the dog for a walk, but they're so involved in their phones that they are unaware of the dog's wants and needs. I see people with their young children in restaurants and other public places. The children are trying to get the parent's attention but the parents are lost in the virtual world of their digital device. The children's voices are in the background somewhere. 

Those children will grow up very quickly and one day the parents will remember little of their own children's childhoods.

If you want to really experience your life, you've got to spend some time paying attention. Stop living with that facade you show to everyone else and get to know who you really are. 

Simply stated, get real!

If you really want a life that you can appreciate, then you have to be present in that life and take some action to keep yourself on a path of total awareness.

Studies show that most people, the same people I was referring to in that first sentence, spend half their time caught up in the movies that play in their minds. It's as though they walk through a dark theater, unable to see the things and the people around them, and conscious only of the bright, attention-grabbing movie projected on the screen in their minds. 

How's that working out for you?

There is a zen saying that goes, "When chopping wood, just chop wood; when carrying water, just carry water." It's a good principle to live by. Pay attention to what you're actually doing and you will find that you not only do it better, you enjoy doing it more.

Lake Creature Probably

"Whenever I find myself slogging through a damp, drizzly winter of the soul," I said to Lupe in answer to her question at our morning rendevous in Cafe Luna.

"And especially," I continued, "whenever my hypo-manic episodes require a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off—then, I account it high time to get to the seashore as soon as I can."

"Okay," she said," I get that, and I can understand that the top of your head sometimes comes unscrewed and you have to pop off to keep from exploding, but what's that have to do with lake creatures, or monsters, or whatever you call them?"

"Not popping off," I said, "getting seaside is recommended by 9 out of 10 Harley Street physicians. Of course, there are times when even the drive to Ocean Isle is too much for the depressed soul and I must satisfy what I'm convinced is the Genome ancestral water-lust with a smaller body of the stuff. Like the lagoons in Brunswick Forest."

"Could we continue this conversation another time? I just want to enjoy my cappuccino."

Before I could respond, she took advantage of still occupying the floor to get another shot in.

"And before we change the subject," she said, "let me remind you that every time you get manic about lake creatures, you get shot down by people who debunk all your so-called evidence. It's so painful to watch you crash and burn, Uncle Geno."

Some of you are probably thinking, Genome, was it wise to ignore Lupe's concern? If you are one of them, it's fine by me. Disagree until your eyes bubble is my opinion. I chose to continue laying out the facts.

"The Brunswick River is an offshoot of the Cape Fear River and it runs along the west bank of Eagle Island. It joins with the Cape Fear again at the southern tip of the island and then empties into the Intracoastal Waterway. In short, it's open to the entire Atlantic."

"But the Brunswick Forest lagoons are not connected to the river," she said. "Those bodies of water are land-locked."

"Lupe," I said, "those lagoons are just a hop and a skip from the riverwalk park in Navassa. If alligators can get from the river to those lagoons, and believe me alligators often do, then a larger creature has no trouble doing the same."

"I realize," I said, "that our lagoons are not the kinds of place you expect to find a legendary creature but neither is Lake Okanagan in central Canada. And yet, that same lake has been the site of several monster sightings for more than a century."

"Over-active imaginations," said the pint-sized naysayer.

""

"The reported evidence was so strong by 1926 that the
Canadian government announced that a new ferry would be
built for lake crossings equipped with special “monster
repelling devices."

I was so confident that my talking point was irrefutable that I raised my right eyebrow to challenge her for a rebuttal. This is a favorite tactic, I'm told, of Catherine II, popularly known as The Greatest. Lupe didn't accept the challenge.

"Yep, that’s right," I said. "Monster repelling devices".

"In July 1947, another mass sighting took place from boats that

 sat right down on the surface of the water, instead of the cars 

driving along the nearby highway. A Canadian postage stamp

was issued in 1990 with an artist's depiction of Ogopogo, the 

name given to the creature."

"The Canadian government has a healthy sense of humor," is

all she said. 

"Well, I'm not relying on eye-witness evidence this time," I 

said. You remember how I've been pining away for my old

familiar  surroundings of mathematics and computer 

algorithms?"

You're going to create a computer model?" she said.

 

"Better," I said. "You're familiar, I'm sure, with the 

mathematical functions based on quantum fluctuations that 

are used to generate probability density matrices for all sorts of 

things."

"Yeah, so?"

"Meteorologists use them," I said, "to predict the weather and 

military strategists use them to predict the threat level caused 

by regime change in North Korea. I once built one for the EPA 

that was used to determine the downstream risk to public 

health from groundwater contamination."

"I'm going to order another cappuccino," she said. "Trying to understand where you're going with this, I've let my coffee get cold."

"Lupe," I said, "I have to say that I'm extremely disappointed in you. I thought I'd get a better reception from you of all people. And not just because you're my god-neice but because you're usually interested in quantum physics."

"Ok," she said. "I'll play along. What's quantum about it?"

I've built an algorithm based on quantum fluctuations to generate a probability distribution, or the probability density, to help determine which lagoons have the highest likelihood for cryptid residence."

"That sounds like a mishmash of metaphors," she said.

"Is metaphors the right word," I said.

"Does it matter?" she said. "What do you plan to do with the results of this distribution function?"

"Well, I admit, you have me there. I thought about publishing it on my website but then I remembered that you suggested the creature may be a mother with a few youngsters to care for and we don't want to make her life any harder. When I have some results to share, I thought you and I could discuss it."

"Yes, please share it with me before you go public. I fear that if you already feel like knocking hats off the heads of strangers, then the response you get from publishing the results of your algorithm may just wormhole you into another dimension."

"Not the results of the algorithm," I said, "the results of the distribution function."

"Yeah, right," she said.

Popping Off

You will remember from a previous post that yesterday morning I battled a large banner (a sort of flexible, vinyl sign)  that had escaped its moorings and attacked me in the street near Brunswick Forest Boulevard. Of course, the story doesn't end there. Stories never do.

You will also remember that my morning salutations generally include a little qigong and taiji but never is there any reason for kung fu. However, yesterday morning, after the confrontation with the banner, that ancient martial art from the Wudang mountains of central China, did pop up, not unlike the way the demon king pops up from a trap door in a Thai water opera. And on this occasion, it was in front of the Lowe's Food's dairy case, of all places. I know!

Before coming back home, you see, I stopped at the grocers for milk. I was the only person in front of the dairy counter until Mutt and Jeff showed up. Now, those two characters were of the type that I call coastal yokels. I'm not going to explain that and I doubt you'll be able to find an explanation on Wikipedia. You can fill in the blanks or simply take it at face value. 

Mutt and Jeff ignored me searching for lactose-free milk and walked right up to the glass doors of the display case until their noses were inches from the glass. After about a minute, Mutt held the door open with his shoulder and the two of them moved even closer to the milk cartons. They were involved in a conversation that went something like this--I can't do the dialect, of course:

"Mmbuhmum, babba, gum," said Jeff.

"Ah bema ambit boh," replied Mutt.

Princess Amy and I endured a minute or two of this drivel but she was becoming more anxious with each passing second. She began to hop about from one foot to the other and then began waving her hands about. 

When she began shouting, Off with their heads! I tried calming her but the more I tried, the more belligerent she became. She opened a bottle of something that smelled pretty foul and poured it into my bloodstream. 

Well, what was I to do? I had to act. I thought that if I let her see me take some action, even a smidgen, she might calm down long enough for me to work out the details in a reasonable manner. But the only chance this tactic had of working depended on my making it just a little righteous.

I said in a voice that, looking back on it now, was perhaps a little too loud and was phrased with a goodish bit of topspin, "Don't just stand there with the door open!"

The two gave me a startled look as though seeing me for the first time. They may have thought me the spirit of their deceased grandfather or other because they let the door close without a word.

I now had Amy's attention along with Mutt's and Jeff's, which made the whole thing much too awkward to stop now.

"Have you made your selection?" I demanded and I'll tell you why I chose those words. You see these coastal yokel types expect to hear something along the lines of, You found your milk yet? When they hear something like, Have you made your selection, they think they're in the presence of the elite. And the result of it all is, they don't like it. So I was rubbing it in a little.

Jeff looked at Mutt and they replied in unison, "No."

"Well, step back and let me get my milk, please. Then you can take all the time you want."

Now, I want you to know that I expected some pushback from the two. But having closed the door with no objection, they continued in the same vein and stepped back from the dairy case. This was too easy. 

As I stepped up the door, I had second thoughts about the wisdom of having my back to them but my martial arts training told me that these two were not going to be trouble. Besides, turning my back completely implied that I considered them no more than the idle wind, which I respect not.

I retrieved my milk, closed the door, and gave them a stern look as I walked away. I believe if I had shouted, Drop and give me twenty, they would have complied.

Walking away, my conscience told me that this little episode represented a slip in my bipolar recovery, and I would have to make amends for it. But Princess Amy had stopped jumping around and her temperature was dropping from incandescent to moderate. She obviously approved of my handling of the situation. 

My feelings of the whole shebang were a mixture of mild regret caused by my back-sliding and something close to being pretty damn full of myself. I've still got it! about summed up my guilty indulgence.

Let me be perfectly clear; I'm not recommending that you follow my example. I highly recommend that you follow the middle way as described by the Buddha. But no matter what choice you make, be true to yourself and be kind to others.

Take It Easy

I was a new college student, something I had never imagined I might be, and yet here I was walking across campus to join some new friends for lunch. I was almost drunk with excitement. 

I’d lived my life up to now thinking that I was defective somehow and that I’d never have the opportunities that seemed to come effortlessly to others. I was convinced that I simply didn’t deserve the good things in life. It was just the way things were. Nothing to be done about it.

And yet, in the last few weeks of high school, I was surprised to learn that some of the people I’d known for 12 years actually thought of me as a friend. I still remember the shock—a joyful shock to be sure—when one of them told me that a small group was driving up to state college over the weekend and suggested that I join them. 

I did. 

A few months later, I was enrolled in university and had a part-time job in the local hospital. On this particular beautiful morning, I was walking across the mall thinking about how my life had turned around. I had a bright future as a medical research assistant—my dream job—and I was going to meet my new-found friends in the student union where we would share the excitement of new lives that included a future that would be bright and blissful. How could it not be, right?

The mall was a beautiful park-like setting in the center of campus, with meandering walkways shaded by gigantic oak trees. Walking underneath the oaks, I could hear drops of rain from the recent shower, as they fell from one leaf to the next with a wet plop, plop, plop. 

There was another sound too, slightly different from the sound of splattering raindrops. This sound was not so much plop as plip and it was followed quickly by plip, plip. I recognized the sound as that of acorns falling through the leafy canopy. 

The oaks were full of squirrels gathering acorns and occasionally one of the nuts would fall. I refer to the acorns, not the squirrels. Most of the dropped nuts would hit a tree limb and be deflected through the branches but some of them fell directly to the ground, not striking tree limbs, and those would fall hard and fast, hitting the ground with a solid thump.

I paid little attention to the plops and plips because I was caught up in thoughts of the future—the immediate future in the campus cafe and the glorious future in research labs finding the cure for cancer and any other malady that happened to get in my way. 

Then suddenly, out of the blue--thwack! 

A few days before, in my physics class, we had discussed Noh's scale of hardness, the standard method for determining the hardness of one object relative to another. You may remember that diamond is the hardest natural substance and is rated 10. The softest is talc and it’s rated 1. Most of the hard things we encounter in the world are rated 7. 

I don't know for sure where the outer shell of an acorn would fall on the Noh's scale--I'd guess a 6 maybe. But I can tell you that when an acorn falls from lofty heights and hits you squarely on the topknot, you forget about the future and pay intense attention to the here and now. Thwack! It hurts! The eyes fill with tears.

Now, given how happy I was at the instant just before that acorn arrived—my mood must have registered a 10 surely--you might expect my mood to fall to level 7 or possibly even 6. But you would be wrong. 

Just like that acorn that fell without anything slowing it, my mood fell directly into the basement. In an instant, expectations for that bright future were replaced with storm clouds. I would never be happy--never!

I didn't join my friends in the cafe. I couldn't face them, loser that I felt I was. I went back to my dorm room, a little cell that looked out over a parking lot, and sat there on my bed thinking that I should drop out of school and then what? I didn't really know. None of the ideas that came to mind seemed feasible. I wanted to disappear, to cease to exist.

If you can identify with that kind of drastic mood swing, then you probably already know something about the effects of run-away emotions. You've probably experienced times when your emotions got in the way of your intentions. Like the cat in the adage, letting I dare not wait upon I would.

It's not easy overcoming feelings like those described above but it can be done. There are no secrets and no "hacks." 

Fundamentally, it's all about paying attention to the feelings in my body and then persistently, even fiercely, practicing the principles that work to make us feel better, even when we don't "feel" like working them.

I refer to this persistent, stubborn commitment to my emotional recovery as Fierce Qigong. Overcoming emotional roadblocks requires fierceness because, just like that acorn, life comes hard and fast.

Join me, please. No matter whether you need some help coping with everyday life, or you simply wonder what I'm up to. When you read my blog posts, you're helping me with my recovery. If you have questions about anything I write about, please leave a question or comment. I really enjoy hearing from you.

Running On Empty

As I drove into the Castle Street Arts District this morning, the murals on the sides of buildings gave me no joy. At such an early hour, the traffic was light, and the streets were quiet, but all was confusion in my head. I felt like something the cat dragged in after a night of unusual circumstances. 

Now that you have all the data describing the starting point, you can predict the rest.

I'd come to Cafe Luna expecting to find my 15-year-old godniece Lupe there. She'd mentioned it in a text message I received this morning while preparing Uma's medications. I refer, of course, to Uma, Queen of Cats and Empress of Chatsford.

Lupe also mentioned something about ACDC tour dates, but I labeled that as an aside and gave the subject a miss. 

Her first text was terse and demanding. Come immediately, is what it said. I refer, of course, to Lupe's text, not Uma's. Uma doesn't have a phone anymore. I had to confiscate it after that mysterious box of cat toys turned up at our door, last summer.

I was at a loss to understand the exact meaning of her words. Come where?, I wondered, and why? I had no immediate comeback and I pondered the words trying to find the most appropriate reply.

What do you mean, come immediately? I typed.

What do you mean, what do I mean? came her response. I'm here at Cafe Luna waiting for you, you big jamoke. Get here in the next 15 minutes or eat my dust.

I suddenly remembered that I'd requested this audience the previous evening and I knew that if I didn't show up right away, the Cafe Luna sidewalk would be noticeably free of Lupes.

Still, even with good intentions and all that, I had to cross the river to get to the cafe. I don't mean that I had to row or catch a ferry. There is a bridge, but still, a few minutes were required to relocate. And so a few minutes later I was turning onto Castle Street and as I mentioned, the murals gave me no joy. 

I entered the cafe and saw them immediately. Lupe was dressed in a denim waist jacket if that's the term. She wore a short flannel skirt, black combat boots, and one of those leather caps that actors used to wear in movies of the late 60's.

I only mention her attire because, since moving to the Castle Street Arts district, her taste in outer upholstery has changed from Gothic to Hipster. It's something you may have noticed yourself.  

"Good morning," I said to the pair for there were two of them. I don't mean two Lupes. I wasn't manic after all. What I mean is that she was co-locating with a friend. I knew it was a friend because they were dressed alike. Jumping to conclusions do you think? Possibly.

"Good morning," said the friend, who resembled that young actress who starred in the movie from the early 80's. The one that became the seminal film of the decade. You know the one I mean. 

"Wow," said the godniece, who had remained silent until now--silent but with wide-eyed surprise on her map. "Why the frown? You look like something the cat dragged in..."

"After a wild night out with the neighborhood raccoons?" I said.

"I was going to say, Even though the market for same was sluggish to non-existent."

"What can I get you?" said a voice off-camera.

"Double cap," said Lupe. "Same," said Claudia. I did mention that her name was Claudia, didn't I? "I'll have an Americano," I said.

"Now tell me," said Lupe, "what's wrong with you?"

"For one thing," I said, "my thumb hurts like unrequited love because I stuck a hypodermic syringe underneath it while trying to load it with Uma's lactulose this morning."

"Oh, ungh!" said Claudia. "A hypodermic?"

"Not the pointy end," I said. "The other end." But she seemed to not get the gist. Her face radiated confusion. Rather than explain, I decided to change the subject because I didn't want this blog post to run into overtime.

And as for you," I said to Lupe, "I need some bright, warm welcoming this morning and so far your greeting hasn't met the necessary requirements."

"You know," she said, "there was a time when you behaved toward me like a godfather but you went astray somewhere and now I have to take care of myself. How could you forget that we were meeting here this morning?"

"Lupe, I need your advice," I said hoping to cut through all the distractions and get right to the nub. 

"I know," she said. "So whassup?" 

"It's like this," I said. "I've had several events of synchronicity lately. More than the recommended dose for the average adult. Events that involve things like Nickle Creek and Talking Heads."

"That is alarming," she said.

"You ain't heard nothin'," I said. "Most recently, I was reviewing some old blog posts and I came across the one titled, Saying Goodbye to Mom."

"That must have been difficult for you," she said.

"Don't interrupt please," I said, "I'll get off topic and never be able to find my way back."

"Two double cappuccinos and an americano," said the barista.

"Did I ask for an extra shot?" I said.

"No," she said, "but I'll take care of it right away."

I looked at the two hipsters seated with me at this table located near the window but not too near the door. I mention it here only because it's all I was aware of as I searched the recent activities to find my place in the narrative if it was a narrative.

The girls looked back at me as though they were waiting for me to finish something.

"What?" I said.

"Saying goodbye to Mom," said Lupe.

"Oh, right," I said. "You see, I remembered that the piece needed a bit of revision and since I had a few minutes, I decided to give it a go."

"Okay," she said and then looked at Claudia. Did I mention her name is Claudia? The above-mentioned looked back at her and then they both looked at me. 

"Go on," she said. Apparently, they were in agreement that my story was Okay so far.

"Well," I said. "The changes were already made and I don't remember making them. The phrases in the revisions were so creative, that I'm sure I'd remember if they were mine."

"The mind pulls some pretty quirky pranks sometimes," she said.

"You think that's all it is?" I said. "I just don't remember writing those words?"

"I'd say something along those lines, more or less, make up the probability distribution of the quantum wave function."

"I'm not so sure," I said.

"Well, at least consider it," she said, "and you might try sticking your finger in an electrical outlet on the chance that EST will reset your brain and clear up the mystery."

Once again, this teenage Jeeves had shown light on the dark corners of my mind. Our little encounter left me feeling better. The pain in the thumb was completely forgotten. Of course, my finger still smarted from the electrical shock.