Take a Line Through Napoleon

Uma enjoys nothing more than sneaking beneath the duvet in the early morning hours, but on this morning, inches away from her entrance to the underworld, she was confronted with the head of the youngest poppet, Lucy. 

It was not a welcome sight for Uma, who returned Lucy's gaze with the look that Amy Vanderbilt reserved for guests who used the fish fork with the salad.

I sympathized with her distress. The situation was her equivalent, all things being relative, to having an aunt arrive on the scene at the worst possible moment.

Napoleon by Ortizvlasich

Now, it is generally recognized by those who know me best, that I am a resilient sort of bimbo and where others fear to tread I can be found rising on stepping stones of my dead self to higher things. This is what I'm told and I see no reason to doubt it.

Look in on the regulars at Dulce Cafe and ask anyone if the Genome spirit can be crushed and they will tell you that no matter how dense the slings and arrows, the Genome will not eat pine needles. (There it is again. I must tell you the story one day soon. I promise.)

Take yesterday morning, after leaving those two young hearts in springtime, Jenny and Bill, I was tootling down the highway, with the daughter of the Russian steppes beside me, on my way to River's baseball game. 

You remember this River as the god-grandson, who achieved Near Earth Orbit on the occasion of his last birthday. River is now playing kid-pitch baseball in the Autumn League.

There we were, Wonder and I, basking in the love of good friends, the morning sunshine and the joy of Car Talk on the raido, and yet something unmistakable in the air spoke to me of the shape of things to come, and I didn't like it. 

Although the village was quiet with the normal Saturday morning doings--the farmer's market, the Jordan Lake wind surfers, the down-dogging yoga classes--the portent was dark. 

Suddenly, turning the metaphorical corner, I looked toward the horizon into a surging sea of aunts. There were tall aunts, short aunts, stout aunts, thin aunts, and one aunt who left a voicemail telling me that I was late to a business meeting--on a Saturday morning, of all things.

I immediately thought of Napoleon, having just captured Cairo, walking around town rubbing his hands together and thinking about tomorrow's headlines in the French newspapers that would compare him to Alexander. 

Then grabbing the extra edition of the Cairo Observer he learns that Nelson has sailed the British fleet into the harbor and burned all the French ships. I'm sure you don't need me to describe the aftermath. You could read those headlines from here.

Well, you can do worse than learn from Napoleon, of course. When faced with these unfavorable odds, he declared his work done, knotted the sheets together for a quick escape, and didn't take time to pack. 

Even though the lesson of the Cairo Campaign was clear, here we were in the stands urging the Red Hawks on to near victory in an exciting 11-9 game on a beautiful Autumn morning in South Durham.

I would be deceiving my public if I said that happy endings were flowing freely all round but the spirit was mildly effervescent. Go Red Hawks!

Ransacking a Castle in France is Not My Idea of Fun

The rainbow at our house was spectacular last evening. It reminded me of the Blessed Damoselle leaning o'er the vaulted bar of Heaven, and it also reminded me of a mixed berry swirl from Ellie's favorite yogurt shop in League City.

You probably didn't see that rainbow unless you live south of the City, east of Woodlake, and north of Parkwood. We have a unique natural environment in Chatsford you see, possibly due to the FedEx air traffic from RDU. That plus the Air Force seeding the clouds with crystals, which I'm told by reliable sources happens regularly.

When I saw that rainbow, I expected a most clement morning to follow and I'll be a wet smack and a miss if a most clement morning was just what we didn't get anything but. Sunshine, blue skies, birds singing on key, and hot and cold running water was the order of the day. But beauty, and mark my words very carefully, beauty isn't everything.

No beauty isn't the end all. I woke this morning to the sensation of something like an aardvark licking the top of my coconut. When I say aardvark, I mean something with a tongue like sandpaper. A quick glimpse told me it was a brindled cat of uncertain parentage--part tabby, part tortoiseshell-calico. It was Uma, Queen of Cats. 

This Uma, you may already know is addicted to the Genome, following me from room to room and insinuating herself between me and anything that has my attention. She thinks she can stop anytime she wants but the truth is that the Genome bouquet is far too strong for her willpower.

Immediately upon waking and feeling that tongue, I sat up in bed. The feeling that greeted me on sitting up was the one you sometimes have after a late evening on the tiles. The one where you feel you may die in about two minutes. The sharp pain between the eyes was surely the same as that felt by Sisera, when Jael, the wife of Heber, used a handy spike and hammer to deliver the Hebrews from their oppressors. 

"Poopsie," I called out when I heard the sound of running water coming from the bath. I had rightly concluded that the daughter of the Russian steppes was performing her morning ablutions. Don't tell her I called her the daughter of etc. She doesn't like it. I'll tell you why in another post.

"Good morning," she said and I toyed for a moment with the idea of mentioning to her that mindfulness requires non-judgment, but after careful consideration let it pass.

"Do you have one of those concoctions of yours in the ice box?" I said.

"Mango and pineapple," she said.

"With the secret ingredient," I asked.

"Blenheim ginger ale," she said and my heart leapt with joy.

I made my way carefully out of the bedroom and down the staircase taking great care to avoid the feline traffic. At the fridge, I retrieved the elixir, bunged it down the hatch, and then waited for the magic to begin. 

Something there was that drew my attention upward where I saw Abbie Hoffman, surely you remember A. Hoffman, the tuxedo kitty, had taken up his favorite position atop the kitchen cabinets. 

For a moment we were eye to eye and although I couldn't know exactly what he was thinking, the expression he wore on his whiskered map said, "There but for the grace of God go I."

Then the curative properties of the elixir kicked in with the force of Judgment Day and the top of my head flew off and my eyeballs ricocheted off the walls. When I picked myself up from the kitchen floor, Ms. Wonder shimmered in. And now Abbie H was nowhere in sight. The proceedings were probably too much for his delicate constitution.

"Take a look at this," said The Wonder whle shoving a brochure toward me.

After reassembling the remains, I took the sheet and gave it a cursory glance. It was a travel brochure for something called a Viking River Cruise.

"Let's go next year," she said.

There was a brief silence. We have not shared the same thoughts on travel since that Saturday morning drive to the state farmer's market, which I'm sure you remember well. And I didn't want to go into the subject when I knew in my heart that I must vote no.

"Poopsie," I said, "I appreciate your attempt to appeal to the Viking blood of the Genome ancestors. The Jarls having sailed to Britain with Canute and whatnot, and I'm fully aware that it is the Viking strain in me that appeals to the Slavic strain in you, but ransacking a few castles in France and then returning to Denmark to party is not my idea of a fun weekend."

"It will be educational," she said.

Well, I don't know about you but I was full of education years ago. No more room. Before I can take in anything new I have to throw something out. Why bother? is the way I sum it up. 

I realized that if things were different from what they were, not that they ever are, I could simply shake the bean and hand the brochure back. But things being what they were, I made a decision, which in the future will surely be seen as a major turning point. I chose my words very carefully.

"OK," I said.

Beginning the Day

Well, you must begin somewhere, of course. So each morning when the sun peeks over the horizon, Ms. Wonder wakes me for our walk. I never want to get up that early, always feeling the need for an extra bit of what I've heard described as nature's sweet restorer.

I know she gets me up early because it's good for me. And she always knows what's best in any situation. So when she says, get up, I untangle myself from the sheets and exchange pajamas for Arctic outerwear. 

When the walk is over, my head is filled with thoughts of steaming cups of bohea made just the way I like it. After feeding the animals, I navigate to that spot where everyone knows my name. The barista will deliver my coffee in a cup with "Have a great day, Genome!" written on the side.

I had no more than shoved my nose past the front door of the Renaissance Cafe and Bean Bar this morning when I was hailed by Vinnie, also known as The Enforcer. I changed course to shake hands, slap backs, and get the pourparlers out of the way when I was hailed again.

"On your left," said the Duck Man, who had sneaked in behind me, and I moved aside to give him free access to the smartphone scanner at the order here spot.

The Duck Man sometimes passes without attention due to an unfortunate hallucination that he is actually sane, but the duck that sits on his baseball cap gives him away. The duck is not a plush toy but an actual Merganser. It acts as a sort of GPS to guide him around innocent bystanders without attracting the police.

Those outside the Inner Circle consider Vinnie to be our group leader, possibly due to his size, vocality, and whatnot. But a true democracy exists in our gathering, with everyone providing opinions and suggestions, and no one paying attention.  

The Enforcer is one of three regulars who clump together in our corner of the cafe. He's most often found in the company of Island Irv and the Genome.  

Irv has the unusual habit of disappearing when he stops talking. Ms. Wonder assures me that he merely "seems" to vanish, but I've tested her theory and found it lacking. I'm not sure what it lacks, but it lacks something. I'm sure he uses false bottoms and mirrors to accomplish the feat, although he denies knowing anything about it.  

It's a diverse group united in a single accord between 7:00 and 8:30 AM. The tie that binds them has three knots: a shared social outlook that includes equal and compassionate treatment for all; a disdain for anything that can be defined as work; and a firm conviction that dogs really can talk and have something important to teach us.

I took a seat between the Duck Man and Island Irv. Duck Man was complaining about the barista telling him he couldn't bring the duck into the cafe, and he, for the hundredth time, explained that it's a companion duck.

"What a curse these social distractions are," said Irv. "They ought to be abolished."

"You think banishing ducks from cafes is a social distraction?" I asked.

"Well, I'm sure Karl Marx would have something to say about it," he said.

You may think it strange when I say that conversations like this are predictable for this group. And as incredible as it may sound, someone in the group usually falls victim to an attack of poetry. The poems often include the subject of sunsets and may describe emotions as virulent as a Greek tragedy. 

I once decided to speak out about it and was told my contributions to the morning tete-a-tete were no better. 

When I defended my choice of subjects, I was told something more exciting would be appreciated. The exact words were, maybe I could contribute contemporary news featuring someone like Taylor Swift, or Kyle Richards, or Courtney Stodden.

It happens that I don't keep up with celebrity news, but I did offer a quick little tale full of excitement intended to put them all in their place.

"Yes," said the Duck Man, "I see. Very different from the evenings at home with Morgan Freeman.

Find Bill

While I could not go so far as to describe the heart as leaden, it was definitely short of chirpiness. This can be expected when friends gather at a favorite oasis to browse and sluice, enjoying rain on the roof and warmth in their hearts, and then the time comes to say a biento. You just don't want the good times to end.

                                        Copyright Bill Rasor 2012

This describes perfectly the morning when Ms Wonder and I met Jenny at William's Gourmet Kitchen in the South End. We came together to exchange notes on the status of the upcoming wedding that will irrevocably link Jenny with the affianced Bill. 

You will understand the importance placed on these wedding plans when I tell you that this is not one of those light-weight, flit and sip, summer flirtations but the real forever-after thing. They love!

You may be saying to yourself if you are one of the more observant readers, that I am overlooking the elephant in the kitchen--the absence of any Bill in the proceedings. Where is Wild Bill Hillsborough you might be asking yourself but, if you are one of the Inner Circle, you know that the missing person is spending the weekend in Emerald Isle on the Crystal Coast, just down the Atlantic Ocean a bit from Beaufort, where Ms Wonder and I dealt with the aunts last weekend.

The aunts will not figure largely in Bill's stay because it's not the aunts themselves that matter so much as the courage one brings to them and this Wild B.H. takes a line through Napoleon.

It turns out that my lack of chirpiness was not due to the habit Bill has of materializing everywhere in the state of North Carolina where I am not. No, the disturbance that led to the v-shaped depressions, if disturbances do lead anywhere, was the appearance in the footlights of Princess Amy, that holdover from the Paleolithic who has the habit of making an ass of herself when she stops going to meetings and gets off her meds.

Not to worry, however, this Amy is not the menace she once was. Fierce QiGong has given me the necessary cosh for whacking her like a game of whack-a-mole every time she pops up for another go. And so I say, "Not today, Amy." Today I will be free from the limitations of yesterday.

That brunch was a good example of the principle that there is more good than bad in each moment. There was, in fact, more Wonder and Jenny present than there was absence of Bills. But he was still missed sorely! Hurry home, Bill.

Joy Reigns Supreme

Another morning that dawned bright and clear, at least I suppose it did, I wasn't actually among those present at the time. But when I did come to life all nature was smiling. 

Uma, Queen of Cats, who had been working on her twelve hours of shut-eye on the night table next to me, did a sitting high jump onto my lap so as to miss nothing that I might do. Her arrival caused me to sit upright in the bed, mindful of a profound serenity.

"Poopsie," I said, "I'm mindful of a profound serenity." The words were wasted because she was already in the salle de bains.

I remember thinking how odd it was that everything seemed so oojah-cum-spiff. Just this past weekend, we visited my favorite spot on the NC coast, where the wind-bent maritime forest comes right down to the sea, and the wild ponies run free, with absolutely nothing between you, as you stand in the breakers, and the Gold Coast of Africa. 

As I was saying, despite being in that perfect locale, I was deep in the soup and it was about to close over my head. It was that damned tiger/goat thing, and if you didn't happen to read that one, don't worry about it, these postings are not cumulative.

The short of it is that I visited my favorite place at the coast in order to build my confidence for the showdown with the aunts. Useless of course. It's pointless to argue with someone who was at your side all through your childhood because they know what a priceless ass you were then and will have no intention of listening to anything you may say.

Consequently, it was with heart bowed down with weight of woe that I drove back to Durham from Beaufort, that's bow-furt in North Carolina. Bew-furt lies in our southern sister state. 

I remember Ms Wonder saying to me once something about the heavy and the weary weight of this unintelligible world. It was some drivel written by a bird named Wordsworth, if that's his real name. Anyway, the quote seemed to me a good description of the depression I felt coming on.

When all else fails, I fall back on my luck star, or guardian angel if you prefer, or even totem spirit. I've lost count of the number of times I've been walking toward the tumbrel, like all those aristocrats in the French désagrément, when a governor's reprieve arrived, releasing me without a stain.

"Wonder!" I said, when she shimmered back into the room, "I'm mindful of a profound serenity."

"Joy reigns supreme?" she said.

"Very well put," I said, "but I don't understand how it could be. A few days ago, hell's foundations were doing the adagio and this morning--all bluebirds and rainbows."

"Fate's happenstance may oft win more than toil," she said.

"Oh, that's good," I said, "Shakespeare?"

"No," she said with a smile not unlike the one nature wore, "Bertie Wooster."

"Nunnh-uhh," I said, but it was uttered too late for she reentered the bath and left me alone with my tea and Uma the Queen of Cats. Given the circumstances, I decided my best course of action was to accept her word for it and get on with my day.