On this particular morning, what I wanted most was some stimulating conversation, a cinnamon scone, and a steaming mug of arabica grown on the east-facing hills of Peru but brewed right here in Port City.
Unfortunately, I'm still afflicted with inner ear issues, the kind of issues that apparently go by the name of vertigo. That's the word people often say to me when I mention my lack of balance.
It's as though the word explains everything but I'm blowed if I get the meaning. I've always thought vertigo had something to do with a fear of heights.
Due to my intermittent woolly-headedness, Ms. Wonder volunteered to drive me to Castle Street to meet Island Irv for coffee. Isn't she sweet? Irv and I have a standing appointment to sip Jah's Mercy while comparing notes on the cultural and business elite in the old metropolis and Wonder didn't want me to miss it.
"When must we leave to be there on time?" she asked.
"I think about 8:30," I said.
"I'll lay out something suitable for you to wear on Sunday in the city," she said. Did I mention that I'm woozy-headed and wobbly?
At exactly 8:23 I was shirted, trousered, booted, and adjusting the hat to tilt slightly over the left eye, which makes all the difference of course.
"Poopsie," I said giving the word a little extra oomph to get it up the staircase and into her office. "I'm dressed and prepared to slip down the waterspout at your command."
Seconds later she appeared at the top of the stairs looking like the goddess Diana come to judge the worthy. She gave me a concerned look. She seemed to find my appearance that of a man who has passed through the lion's den but with a much different result than Daniel.
"Do you expect me to be seen in public with you in those boots?" she said.
I looked at my feet. I found them shod in what seemed to me to be perfectly respectable manly footwear.
"Well, I thought I would," I said. "Too much, do you think?"
"I suppose it depends on what you're going for. I once saw Mr. Gotrocks wearing boots like that while tripping the light fantastic on the dance floor in a Myrtle Beach music hall."
Leave it to the Wonder to know the preferred styles for appearing in any social situation. There are no others like her. The angels broke the mold and whatnot.
"Tell me, Poopsie, were you always like this, or did it come on suddenly?"
"Did what come on suddenly?"
"That magnificent brain of yours. Were you a gifted child?"
"My stepmother thought I was intelligent. I remember she often told me that I was too smart to behave this way or that. Or did she say too pretty? I forget."
"Hmmm," I said giving her remark the thought it deserved. "We can't really judge by that though. My mother thought I was a smart kid too."
"Ever been hit over the head with a chair?" she said.
"Once or twice," I said, "but it happened so long ago, that I barely remember it."
She placed a hand on her hip. Akimbo, I think it's called. She didn't say anything but she did raise one eyebrow so high I worried it would get stuck.
"Thank you for driving me, Poopsie," I said because it occurred to me that given her body language, something, I forget what at the moment, is the better part of valor. "I realize it's a bit of a bother for you and I'm truly grateful."
The eyebrow relaxed. "Don't mention it," she said. "The boots are fine, just straighten the cuffs of your pants to break evenly over the tops. The way you're wearing them now gives a Willy Nelson vibe."
I did what she asked. "How's that?"
"Perfect," she said. "Now you look like the man I married." She smiled and took my arm in hers to help steady me. "I like the hat," she said.
On hearing her words, I had the momentary illusion that I'd been struck by lightning. I felt an infusion of spirit that seemed to fill me to the bursting point. I felt like a man living the dream as another day in Paradise unfolds. And I liked it.