Smoke Testing

Every time I drive by the corner of Grandiflora and Waterford, I see a sign that announces: 

Sewer Smoke Testing

Tuesday, August 17

Today is August 28 and I'm seriously worried about those workers who've been testing the sewer smoke for the last 11 days. After all, smoking sewers must be a bigger health risk than smoking tobacco. Don't you think? 

Surely someone has reported this to the city by now. We need to get those people out of the sewers. They're probably lying around, in some chemical-induced stupor like the people in opium dens we used to hear so much about. 

Is sewer smoke testing ever sanitary?

My first thought when learning about this sewer smoking was that another silly study or test was underway that would tell us what we already knew. Or if not something we already knew for certain, then something we strongly suspected.

I remember working as a laboratory assistant for a certain chemistry professor at my alma mater when he was studying the effects on laboratory rats of drinking whiskey. The study required a case of Jack Daniels, Black Label, Tennessee sipping whisky, and several crates of white rats. 

You're probably thinking that I don't need to tell you the results of the study. You're probably thinking that the rats became intoxicated and then adopted silly if not downright irresponsible behavior. That happened, of course, but it was a secondary result.

The seminal finding was that the consumption of Jack Black resulted in silly, irresponsible behavior in student laboratory assistants. But even if that specific result wasn't on your immediate radar, you must still agree that we didn't need a study to know it would happen. But that's not the thing that interests me today.

After a bit of reflection on these unnecessary studies and their findings, I found myself plunged into deep thought. As you well know, too often when a man of my mental powers is deep in thought, nothing comes of it. The machinery whirs for a while and that's the end of it. But on this occasion, voila! I know; it's something the French say. I don't know why they say it but it sounds good so I say it too. Voila!

You see, it occurred to me that I might be onto something that would make Ms. Wonder happy and also be a bit of goose for yours truly. Not actually goose, of course; a figure of speech. I'm actually a big supporter of geese rights.

In this case, the goose is money. You see, surprising as it may be to you, I'm aware that some of these controlled studies result in a flight to Oslo and the awarding of Nobel Prizes. And those prizes come with a substantial bit of goose.

I decided to look into the matter a little further. First, I reviewed some recent studies to get an idea of the current trends.  Here are a few actual research projects that I found: 

• The American Heart Association is responsible for a study showing that patients recovering from a heart attack can reduce chest pain and improve quality of life if they stop smoking cigarretes.  

• According to a study reported in the Journal of Applied Psychology, older workers bring valuable knowledge to the workplace. 

• A recent study reported in the Journal of Health Psychology shows that being homeless is bad for physical and mental health. 

• Statistical analysis reported in The American Statistician proved that the Mexican drug war increased homicide rates.

Now if, like me, you see an opportunity in all this to do a little Google research, write a paper, and then board a plane to Oslo, let me suggest a few ideas that I'm kicking around. Run these up your flagpole to see if any of them inspire you:

• Does a traumatic head injury leave the victim with headaches?
• Does daily jogging increase the likelihood of knee surgery? Or better yet, does knee surgery intefere with jogging?
• Does drinking alcohol cause people to feel more relaxed at parties? (Assuming that everyone has been vaccinated.)
• Does advancing age increase the probablity of accidental injury?  

Those are just a few ideas that've come to me since sewer smoke testing. I hope these thoughts are not a direct result of smoking the sewers. I'd love to hear your ideas. Perhaps we can share that Nobel Prize. 

So It Goes

Well, here we are again. You're probably tired of hearing it--Ms. Wonder's undoubtedly fed up. I know this because her reaction, when the subject comes up, is something like Shakespeare described as the poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, glancing from heaven to Earth, from Earth to heaven. Not a direct quote but you get the idea.

I apologize if you're bored with the subject, but it's not like I enjoy it either. It reminds me of the time Niles asked Frazier what he thought of the tassels on Nile's new loafers. Frazier said he never cared much for tassels and Nile's said:

"Never have I and yet there they are."

But enough of the preamble. Here's the thing that's bugging me. I've described Amy as the red queen in Alice but it occurs to me that sometimes she takes a line through Captain Bligh of the Bounty. After her practical jokes leave me in a heap on the floor, she has her minions put me in a small rowboat with nothing but a loaf of bread and a bottle of water and then set me adrift off some remote island.

Not literally, of course. But the result is the same; I feel helpless and hopeless.

That's where I am today--adrift and alone. At least alone emotionally. I mean to say that Uma Maya, the feline Empress of Chatsford, and Sagi M'Tesi, the caramel-colored tabby, are here with me to comfort and console. And Ms. Wonder is with me, despite her frenzied eye-rolling.

I want to make it clear that I don't blame Princess Amy. Not her fault. She was born before she got her fair share of self-control. She simply cannot resist pushing red buttons. It's just unfortunate that her curiosity often leads to the Universe getting her knickers in a wad. Unfortunate, yes, and yet, to paraphrase Niles, there they are... wadded knickers.

In another Frasier episode, he told one of his callers (paraphrasing): You're mourning a loss, but it isn't for what you think. What you really mourn is the loss of the life you thought you'd have. 

Bruce Springsteen's song, Glory Days, puts it into context for me and makes me realize that when I'm mourning the life I thought I'd have, instead of creating a new life that works, what I'm actually doing is trying to relive the glory days. 

In other words, I'm trying to recapture a little of that past glory but it never works out. Instead, I'm left with the realization that time slips away quickly and leaves me with nothing. That's why the only solution is to follow Frasier's advice and create a new life with new memories, memories that are closer to home and much more real than the glory days.

And so, that's what I'm doing--starting life over. Not for the first time, mind you. I've done it before, several times, which is why you and a few others are tired of hearing it. But I'm not giving up.

Billy Joel says in his song, And So It Goes, In every heart, there is a room, a sanctuary safe and strong, to heal the wounds from [our past life] until a new one comes along. And so this time, in my quest for a new life, I'm taking refuge, not in the glory days, but in the strong, safe sanctuary in my heart.

Don't fret for me. I'll not abandon my loyal readers. I'll be here and I'll do my best to keep it upbeat. Be safe and well, my friends. And don't forget to leave comments. They help more than you can imagine.

An Occasional Eden

The morning had opened warm and moist and my stroll around the gardens had left me glistening but now I was seated in the cooling shade of the forest canopy and refreshing the tissues with the contents of an icy cup. 

Despite my poor choice in upholstery for the morning walk--I should have chosen more lightweight cotton and something with shorter sleeves--I nonetheless had achieved a Nirvana-like repose.

Thunderstorms might be troubling the coast elsewhere, but here in Airlie Gardens, just east of Wilmington, I enjoyed a peaceful calm that comes only to those who have done absolutely nothing to deserve it.

The air was redolent with birdsong, and ocean breezes rustled the leaves of camellia and azalea. I was restoring the soul while  Ms. Wonder wandered the garden's interior, camera in hand, producing something she called a pictorial essay, whatever that is.

A young man who'd parked his noisy pickup in a space near the picnic area gave me a look as he passed by on his way, unless I missed my guess, to join his waiting family. It was one of those looks that if translated into the common tongue would have included phrases like 'silly old coot.'

I recognized it as a look of envy, although, what actually sparked the green-eyed monster in this young geezer, I cannot say. But I didn't blame him for it. On a morning this warm and humid, a table in the shade with cooling sea breezes and icy refreshments is highly desired, if not downright coveted.

After all, who could be offended or cast blame on others when surrounded by the garden paradise known as Airlie Gardens, especially in the middle of the celebration known as the North Carolina Azalea Festival? The answer, of course, is no one.

And we will do well to remember that we don't know everything. Best to assume that anyone entering the grounds of one of the few Edens left on earth, is committed to spreading goodness and light. Otherwise, such a person is risking being expelled the way our ancestors were expelled from the original Eden.

Smith and Rock

Only minutes before the whole thing began I was seated at a table near the cafe door and wearing a mood that would stop traffic had there been any. It wasn't my usual morning brood. No, this was deeper angst brought on by Ms. Wonder's insistence that I make those phone calls today.

Nothing is more unpleasant than interviewing health-care providers and making appointments by phone. Yes, I know that it sounds perfectly simple to you but you haven't tried it, have you?

I'd finished two double espressos and still, the outlook was dark. Even wearing my new beret hadn't helped as much as I'd hoped. Don't get me wrong, the latest choice in head joy did make me feel slightly better than otherwise but the mood remained in the cellar. I'd become convinced that the Universe was taking advantage of me and not in a good way.

Into my awareness, there slowly crept sounds of commotion coming from the alley behind Port City Cafe. I could hear a dog barking and crows raising a ruckus. I decided to check it out and walked around the building to the delivery dock.

As soon as I rounded the corner, a cargo van came screeching into the alley. The turn was so sharp that the van tilted up on two wheels and plowed through a row of garbage cans before coming to a stop.

You surely recognize the MO. It was Princess Amy who loves to arrive in a whirlwind of drama. Amy wasn't literally driving a van. An almond-shaped cluster of brain cells can't get a driver's license in the Carolinas. You know that.

"Well, you certainly don't see that every day," I said to her as she crawled out of the wreckage. I had to say something complimentary after she'd gone to so much trouble to impress me.

"Thanks," she said. "Kind of you to say so. I feel much better now," she said as she brushed her blouse and jeans. 

"I'm sure you do," I said.

"Now," she said with a deep breath, "what's all this nonsense about you not having a purpose?"

I admit the question took me by surprise. I recoiled slightly and searched the data banks for the appropriate response.

"Well...," I said.

"Save it," she said. "And now you listen to me. You are the chosen dark minion just like I told you in the dream."

"I am?"

"Just not of revolution and wholesale social change," she said.

"Uh...," I said.

"It's more like redirection and subterfuge," she said. "And so from now on, you must listen to me and do exactly as I say and everything will go fine."

Well, I knew this was nonsense and pure piffle, I mean I may be the lead squirrel in the race to the nut tree but I'm not stupid.

"But what about?" I said.

"You let me handle that," she said.

"What if?" I said.

"I'll take care of it," she said.

I stared at her in silence much like Chris Rock stared at Will Smith at the Academy Awards.

Amy climbed back into the driver's seat in the van, started the engine, and as she drove away she said, "Next time you see me I'll be driving a semi. Have a good morning. " And with that, she was gone.

"What about the sewer harpies?" I yelled but she was too far away to hear me.

The Russian Doll

For some time now, I've felt as though I'm caught in a time loop, like that Netflix series, Russian Doll, in which the heroine repeatedly dies and then wakes the next morning to relive the previous day. Unfortunately for me, the series ended before the writers explained how she escaped.

Frustrating isn't a strong enough word to describe my circumstances. Maddening comes close. Even writing has become a struggle and writing this blog is the one thing that I could always count on to make me feel better.

I've tried many different ways to change my situation, but no matter how hard I try, blah, blah, blah. Know what I mean? Futile. A bust. Pffththth! Like the man said in his best-selling book, one familiar to us all, 

"...for what I would, that I do not; but what I hate, that I do."

I know! My life story, for the nonce. But hey! Those who know me best, know that I refuse to eat pine needles. Not familiar with the term? It's an Inner Circle thing. If you're new here, you might want to search the blog posts for that phrase, "eat pine needles."

Now, I'm all too familiar with what Rumi says in his poem, The Guest House. It's something along the lines of, 

"Being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness, 

comes as an unexpected visitor.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond."

I try to follow this advice but it never seems to end well. Like the star of that TV program mentioned above, I die each night and wake up to the same day all over again. Well, my friend, let me be clear about where this guide from beyond has led me. It's like this:

I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore! I'll still welcome them at the door and invite them to make themselves at home but damn if I'm going to join them for tea.

Now, I don't have grandiose plans and I'm not overly confident. I have no idea about where all this is going to lead and I don't make any promises or make any predictions. But I'm going to practice Fierce Qigong like the dickens because something's got to give.

Many thanks to everyone who's stuck by me this far, especially you. To quote Ms. Wonder, "I've said it before and it's still true...I don't know what I'd do without you."