"Poopsie," I announced as I walked into the kitchen and found her enjoying the squirrel circus in the backyard, "I have an announcement to make, and you should be the first to know: I'm finally on the road to 'Find Out.'"
Yesterday Once More ~~ The Carpenters
Her face lit up like the Christmas lights on the Riverwalk and I'm pretty sure I saw a twinkle in her eye. I half expected her to throw her arms around me and ask, Where have you been all my life? Nothing like that happened, but she did ask, "Is that the funny little town near Zebulon?"
"No, you're probably thinking of Lizard Lick, but honestly, Zebulon is a funny enough name on its own."
"Wait, a second," she said. "I've got it. It's called Horneytown, Isn't it?"
"Horneytown isn't near anything," I said, "and what I'm trying to tell you is..."
"Tick Bite!" she said. "The name of the town is Tick Bite."
"Tick Bite is lost somewhere in the eastern flat lands," I said. "It hasn't been seen since the big blow of 07. Wonder, take a deep breath, and relax. Find Out isn't a place at all--it's a journey of self-discovery."
"Why do you keep saying it with capital letters if it's not a proper noun?"
"It's the name of a song, Poopsie, a song by the artist formerly known as Cat Stevens. And it's not only a song title, it's a state of being--actively seeking and accepting the lessons in whatever life sends your way."
"Oh,", she said with a quizzical expression, followed by an awkward silence.
"You see," I said. "when I look back at all the good times I had in years gone by, it makes today look rather sad. So much has changed. But I've found a possible solution to all that."
"Okay," she said, "I've heard this before but let's get on with it. What've you got?"
As I spoke those words, another adage came to mind, although I couldn't remember the source. I mentioned it anyway. "I believe Rumi's words were, When life sends lemons to your door, invite them in and make lemonade. It's not an exact quote."
"That's not what he said," she moaned, "and his name is pronounced "room-ie," not "ruhm-ie. But go on--I'm listening."
"Why are you talking so fast? And why bring the Buddha into it? You say you're Buddhist, of course, but I think you make it up as you go along."
"Am I talking fast?"
"So, you're planning to find serenity by simply accepting your life as it is? You're going to give up your desires, forget about your dreams, and be content with what you have?"
"Well, it doesn't sound very appealing the way you put it," I said. "But remember, Poosie, I still have cherished memories of a life well-lived – a reminder of what I once had."
"Will the memories of your rock star days in the ‘80s be enough for you?" she asked.
"Those were such happy times," I said. "It seems like only yesterday. I can get those feelings back, like finding a long-lost friend, and it will seem like yesterday again."
"You think so, do you? Those happy times will come back all on their own if you only let them?"
"I'm tired of struggling, Poopsie. When I stop fighting everything, all the worry and frustration will end. I'll find the serenity you mentioned."
"So you're prepared to dine on mud pies and dandelion roots? Your motto, 'Eat no pine needles!' can fly out the window."
"Wait a minute," I said.
"That's right," she said. “Give up the struggle and live happy, joyous, and free."
My knees buckled and I sank into a heap on the floor. I felt a strange lightness--a lightness that felt hollow. It didn't come from a release of the burden of care; it was born of having nothing left to lose. I didn't like it.
“It’s never too late, you know.”
“Too late for what?” I asked.
“It’s never too late for right now—for this very moment and this very life. It's never too late.”
“Do you have any suggestions?”
"I do," she said. "Join me tomorrow for a boat tour of the Cape Fear River. Surrounded by the incredible beauty of the natural world, singing the words to those melodies that sound so good to you, the years will melt away and it will be yesterday once more. I promise you will feel refreshed and re-energized."
"Will I be reborn? Will I become a new man?"
"That's not the way it works. There is no new man. There is only the same man who is singing his songs every day. One day at a time."
"I don't know how you do it, Poopsie. Something about that brain of yours is wondrous. You should donate it to science when you're done with it."
"Every sha-la-la-la, every wo-o-wo-o still shines," she sang. "Every song that I sing is so fine. All the best memories come back clearly to me and, just like before, it's yesterday once more."