The Sun Popped Out Like a Startled Rabbit

I don't know if you're familiar with the story of Mrs Lot and her rather fantastic finish? If you are familiar, you may want to skip to the next paragraph. If the name doesn't ring a bell, then here's the gist. 

This unfortunate woman was the victim of history's worst practical joke. Told by her companions one day as they were leaving home for a road trip, 'Don't look now...', she did look, of course, don't we all when told not to? And by some odd coincidence, when she did look, she turned into a pillar of salt! I know! Who'd have guessed? I mean, salt of all things!

The reason I mention this here is that a very similar thing happened to me when unable to stop myself after being told by Ms Wonder to let the Straw Valley thing go, I revisited some old email from Robin and found the last missive from her unopened.

Reading from left to right, it said, 'I'd like to set up a day and time to talk.' Well, if you've been following along, you know how much I wanted this gig so it should not surprise that I sat frozen with the phone in my hands like one of those peasants, who talk back to a wizard and--presto!--they turn into a pillar of salt.

And so this very morning I found myself walking into the courtyard of Straw Valley with an appointment to review the space with Robin. At the very moment I entered the coffee bar, a willowy woman walked toward me with a warm and winsome smile. It was Robin.

It's at moments like this that you find the Genome at his best, ice-cold brain working like a Swiss army knife. Nothing creates so unfortunate a first impression as the hesitant utterance and the shifting from one foot to another like a south-side Fred Astaire. But in this encounter, I discovered the middle way.

As soon as Robin began to speak, I realized that this young woman created her own future, a co-creator of the Universe, making things happen by sheer force of will. The conscious observer dissolved and merged with the One bringing absolute balance. 

This woman grants no quarter to the possibility of failure and laughs in the face of the Aunts. We agreed to begin with Sunday morning classes at 10:00 as soon as the new year could get here. I felt that everything was just peachy in the here and now.

I emerged from the void when I heard her say something about making the deadline for the Indy newspaper and then she was gone with the wind. A sharp cry of joy escaped my lips. The Indy newspaper is the rag where everything worth knowing is broadcast to all of Durham.

The sun, once hidden behind a gray veil, came shooting out like a startled rabbit, rolled up his sleeves, and got down to some serious shining. Birds in the shrubbery sang in four-part harmony, five probably, and I saw the world through a pink mist.

My gazelle had come home.

The sun has blessed the earth for many go-arounds since that first day at Straw Valley. Not all those days have been so happy. But recently those blessings seem to have been reborn through the transformative power of bright, blue skies and benevolent sunshine. 

I feel that the lost gazelle has come home once more. Fierce Qigong, ya'll!

You Would Do the Same

It has been well said of the Genome, by those who know him best, that if there is one quality that distinguishes him more than any other, it is that he keeps the upper lip stiff and makes the best of things. It's living a life filled with Fierce Qigong that makes it possible I think, don't you?

 If you're new here, then you aren't familiar with the term. Fierce Qigong, in words of my own construction, is my lifetime aversion to eating pine needles. I suppose that needs some explanation too but it's a longish story and we don't have time to go into it now. We will one day soon. I promise.

For the nonce, let's get to the subject du jour. 

Waking this morning to another day, minus the lark and the snail, I wasted no time in brewing a cup of Jah's Blessing, dark roast. Having refreshed the tissues with that first cup, I was disappointed to find the heart still down.

Once again, for the newcomers, the lark and snail reference comes from Pipa's Song by Browning. I must make a note to write an introduction for the newcomer.  Otherwise, I'll never finish this post due to all the behind-the-curtain stage directions.

Down among the wines and spirits, as I've so often heard Ms Wonder describe it. And not only the heart but the head too. I was suffering from a distinct apprehension for an inclement future. And I'll tell you why I was suffering from a distinct A for an inclement F. 

Ms Wonder and I had left the old metropolis of Wilmington and traveled to Crystal Cove, near the spot where the Tennessee River merges with Lake Chickamauga not far from the Scenic City of the Mid-South, or as I've often heard it called, Chattanooga.

I've received numerous comments asking why I avoid the Cove. After all, as one follower describes it, "It's a picturesque village, surrounded by manicured fields, peach orchards, and with a willow-fringed river running through it."

And to that, I would add, it's the home of my favorite cousin, Gwyndolen, and my most amazing god-niece, Lucy Lupe Lightfoot Mankiller, the company of both never tiring. 

And so you ask again, Why? It's the question Ms Wonder asked as we drove across Yaphank Bridge and passed the marina.

"Why do you avoid Crystal Cove so fervidly? It seems like a perfectly pleasing place to me."

"Perfectly pleasing?" I said. "You would call it perfectly pleasing?" 

You may notice a touch of annoyance, possibly some indignation, in my reply. I noticed it and having done so I thought better of it. This Wonder, who does so much to soften the pain of slings and arrows, making each day another one in paradise, deserves a softer touch and so I modified the tone.

"Yes," I said. "You no doubt look around the premises at all the luxuries--manicured landscaping, river frontage, a truck-load-full of inviting outdoor activities--and you might reasonably think that life is ideal in this quiet little village."

I paused for a few seconds. Not sure why. It may be that I'd forgotten where I was headed with that line of dialog. Or perhaps after mentioning a few items in the pro category, I was reluctant to begin listing the cons.

"However," I said, "Though every prospect pleases...."

"What about it?" she said. "Though every prospect pleases--what?"

"Well, you have me in deep waters there, Wonder. It's something I heard once and it made a big impression on me. I like to throw it into conversation every now and then to add a little whatsit."

"I wish you wouldn't," she said. "Every time you throw quotes around, I waste time trying to make sense of them."

"Are they supposed to make sense?" I asked. "Quotes I mean? Everyone quotes Shakespeare and his lines are mere nonsense. I'm sure they were nonsense even on the day he wrote them. Something to please the peasantry, nothing more."

"I can't believe you just said that. And you're supposed to be a writer too."

I was distracted for a second or two at this point in the conversation, having to twiddle the steering wheel a bit to avoid a passing logging truck heading for the pulpwood landing no doubt.

"I'm not just supposed to be a writer," I said after taking a deep breath, lifting my chin, and then gazing down with half-closed eyes. It's something I've seen David Niven do in those monochrome movies from the 40's. It always seems to give him the upper hand and I like to get the upper hand when engaged in tit-for-tats with the Wonder of the Russian steppes.

"I am a writer," I said and I said it with no little energy because I meant to put a stake in the sand to say that I would not back down from my position.

"And besides, you can't deny that Shakespeare was in the habit of shoving down just any old anything that came to mind in those plays of his."

She looked at me with large eyes and...what's the phrase? Begins with an 'I' doesn't it? Incredulous. That's it. She gave me an incredulous stare.

She opened her mouth as though to say something but nothing came out, so I continued to speak, not that I had anything more to add really, I just wanted to fill up the empty space.

"You might also consider the poet, Keats," I said. He speaks of stout Cortez first staring at the Pacific and all his men looking at each other with a wild surmise, blah, blah, blah."

"So?" she said.

"Well, it wasn't Cortez, was it? Balboa was the bird that first stared at the Pacific."

She fell silent. Her eyes softened. I could tell that she was musing over my words. It made me feel better immediately. It always makes me feel better to think that she's considering my words.

"Alright, you big jamoke," she said. "You're right about Balboa, But it's a big ocean and it's open to being stared at, so I see no reason why Cortez may not have given it a goggle too. Now, that's out of the way, answer my first question. Why do you avoid Crystal Cove?

"It's not the Cove that I avoid. It's the village nearby. And the reason is the local constable, one Vicky Mason, has sworn to sign me up for an extended stay in the Hamilton County caboose."

"Really? For what exactly?" she asked.

"It's something to do with an unfortunate accident that occurred just before last year's winter solstice. She suspects, without corroborating evidence mind you, and so she sneaks around watching everything I do with the hope of catching me bending."

"I can't imagine why she doesn't let the dead past rest in peace," I continued. "Just because I was in town when the fishing guides dormitory burned, what of it? It's not like I haven't explained to her on several occasions, that it was not my fault."

"What do you mean, not your fault?" asked the Wonder.

"More than once," I said, "I've pointed out that there was little time to consider options. I had no other choice, really. Burning the place down was the only way to hide the evidence." 

I waited for her response. I'm still waiting.

Tinkerty-tonk

The sun popped up over Durham this morning, all hot and bright and showing off, and the gibbous moon was still hanging over Chadsford Hall with a smile on her face and a "Back at'cha!" on her lips. 

For some reason, a bit of trivia surfaced in my head. You know how these trivia do surface and the surfacing that arose was that the full moon of December has been known as the Cold Moon, the Yule Moon, the Snow Moon, and the Peach Moon by various members of my ancestors. 

Peach Moon? The thought causes one to pause and scratch the chin, or so it was with me.

Driving through the park--Research Triangle Park, not Duke Forest, not Hope Valley, and not the Cary Auto Park--I was listening to 70's-on-7, not that I chose it but because Ms. Wonder had been in my car on yestereve. I, of course, listen to 80's-on-8 but you know how it is when two people of proud constitution differ in opinion--governments have been known to put the cat out when it happens.

My morning had begun with that uncomfortable feeling I sometimes get that I am expected somewhere and yet there isn't a jot of a clue about where I'm supposed to be. You know the feeling I'm sure. Napoleon, I'm told felt the same when his courier brought the word that Nelson had sailed into Cairo harbor and burned the French fleet. Wouldn't surprise me to learn that Catherine the Great had the feeling just before removing her husband from the throne. 

"Poopsie," I said, "I feel as though I'm supposed to be somewhere today."

"Where?" she said.

"Ah, that's the 64-thousand-dollar question, isn't it? I confess I don't know."

"You'll have to explain that 64-dollar question but not right now. I need to be somewhere soon. Besides, you're probably experiencing a hangover from the manic day you had yesterday."

"Manic?" I said and I put a little topspin on it because I didn't like her choice of words. You wouldn't like them either if you lived in my head.

"I just mean that your day was hectic. It must have been annoying."

"Not really. About normal I'd say."

"If you do have an appointment, I'm sure you'll think of it in time," she said.

"But that's the problem," I said. "I have to get ready for the day as though I have an appointment even if I don't. Otherwise, when I remember where I'm supposed to be, I won't have time to get ready."

"It will be fine," she said. "I've got to hurry to get to the office. We're expecting a delegation from South Africa this morning and I want to make sure we have African coffee rather than Costa Rican."

"Ms. Wonder," I said because we Genomes strive to be useful at all times, "if you visited China would you want a hamburger for lunch rather than Szechuan stir-fry?"

"Gotta run," she said. "Bye."

Now, as you well know, I always look to this Wonder Woman for comfort and advice, and this lack of the rally-round spirit had left me off-balance. I quickly dressed for my appointment, if any, casual and loose to accommodate the morning qigong but clean and neat as required by the Mom code.  

I took Wind Horse out of the stable and hied for the open road but the mind was still looking under the mental carpet for the mislaid appointment. 

Default mode is the name I've heard for this zone where the lazy mind gets lost.This default mode often turns to the negative poles and, if you have a limbic system like mine, Reason may even step down from her throne. Thrones do not remain vacant for long and when Reason departs, Chaos moves in. 

Chaos is the realm of Princess Amy and she was in rare form this morning telling me a story unfit for human consumption and although Bobby Bloom was singing Montego Bay on the radio, I was caught up in the unsavory story. It was like the 5:00 news. 

Still, when Amy got to the part of her story that caused my spine to vibrate like the strings of a mandolin, my state of mind, as Shakespeare might have put it, like a little kingdom suffered the nature of an insurrection. 

I quickly assessed the danger, broke free from Amy's glamor, and told her to shut her pie hole.

Before you tut-tut, let me point out that vinegar, despite popular opinion to the contrary, often gives more satisfying results than honey when dealing with pests. It's true! Wonder will attest to it. And it was just at the moment I was telling Amy what to do with her phantasma or hideous dream that I broke out of default mode and heard Bobby Bloom singing,

"Oh, what a beautiful morning

Oh, what a beautiful day

And I got a beautiful feeling

Everything's going my way."

I was drawn into the feeling. I sang along with Mr. Bloom and if I sang a little too loudly, what of it? With a Peach Moon smiling in the sky and the morning sun in a chirpy mood, I felt that the lark must surely be on the wing and all was right with the world. 

As for my worries, they were nothing more than the idle wind and I gave them a wet smack and a miss. Tinkerty-tonk about sums up the whole affair. I do hope that appointment wasn't my weekly session with Susan Studebaker. 

Strange and Wonderful

The sky overlooking the Port of Wilmington (ILM) is bright and beautiful to those who're connected to the outside world. But in my world, the sky is overcast in a gray mist about the color of the Battleship North Carolina. My world has been sad since Tuesday. 

It's Princess Amy's fault of course. She granted me almost two weeks of unbridled boredom, a record length of time for this mood warrior to be free of anxiety. And now today, for no reason at all-- depression.

Before I say more about that, I should make it clear that I've gotten used to her face, as the old song goes, and I suppose I like having her around. After all, she puts up with the worst of me and that's saying a lot.

But I'm trying to be philosophical today or poetic or maybe fantastical; is that a word, fantastical?

Today it's hard to get in touch with my spirit and I have to look hard just to see my astral body, lying in a heap on the River Walk, held down by the enormous wings that, on sunlit days, carry me above the clouds and put a smile on my face.

If you're thinking that the Genome is having a bad morning, then you're right. A bad morning isn't the half of it. Still, as I write this, I've just come out of 24 South, the caffeine emporium at the end of the River Walk in downtown Wilmington. Not the Wilmington in Delaware; it's the one in North Carolina that I'm talking about. Wilma to my inner circle.

Yes, I have a steaming cup of Jah's brew-ha-ha and I have a Spotify playlist streaming through my earbuds and I can feel my spirit stirring.

Did I say stirring? I should have said rising up on, let me see, how does it go? Something about stones of perhaps the dead past? Ms. Wonder will know. I'll ask when I get back home.

At any rate, stirring, rising up, defiant. More to the point, I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore. Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead! I'm breaking through the clouds and into the sunshine. I'll soar above the abyss!

I know what you're thinking right now. You're thinking, Genome! Be careful! You may not make it. Better to be calm, take it easy and enjoy your coffee. Remember Icarus.

But I've had it with taking the familiar path. I'm going to throw myself into the chaos of the unfamiliar. I've had plenty of experience navigating the quantum waves of uncertainty and right now I feel like a starship commander running an enemy blockade. 

Amy!, Rev up the hyperdrive to warp speed and jump to hyperspace! We're going through!

I'll keep you updated regularly on progress. Check back often because I can't do this without you. You know that. Leave a comment so that I'll know you were here.

And before I forget, let me say that fantastical, is a word and it means strange and wonderful, like something out of a fantasy story. That's what I aspire to write; something strange and wonderful. 

By the way, Ms. Wonder tells me that the phrase I was stumbling over is, rising on stepping-stones of the dead self. I know! If I'd known the exact phrasing, I'd have used something else. 

You Are Enough

"You've heard it said that you can't please everyone," I said. Well, I'm here to tell you that you can't please anyone but yourself if that."

"Are you talking to me," asked the woman about to sit at the table next to ours.

"He's practicing for the little speech he's giving later today," said Lupe in response to the question.

"Oh," said the woman and sat down at the table apparently deciding that I was no real threat.

Now you're probably wondering what's going to happen next because you know as well as I that this Lupe, mature beyond her years full to the brim with particle physics and differential equations, is about as stable as a hot quark.

And you'd be right to wonder. With a manner that's usually reserved for BFFs, she leaned over to the woman and said, "You alone are enough. You have nothing to prove to anybody."

The woman, let's call her Solveigh because she had the look of someone who regularly spends weeks without seeing the sun.

"Excuse me?" said Solveigh. 

"Maya Angelou," said Lupe.

Solveigh turned her eyes to mine as though asking for assistance.

"Sorry," I said. "I'm a stranger here myself."

Solveigh turned to look at Lupe again. Now I was confused. I would think that once would be enough but apparently she's one of the devotees of Rumi and willing to give everyone the benefit of the doubt.

"If you look to others for validation, then you already have one foot on the banana skin," said Lupe and I'm sure she meant it to be an explanation.

Solveigh stood, picked up her latte, and headed for the door. Lupe watched her walk away.

"Too bad," I said. "I sensed that she has an interesting story to tell."

Lupe didn't reply.

"Don't you agree?" I asked.

"Well," said the godneice in a deeply thoughtful way, "you know what they say. You can measure the location or the momentum, but you can't measure both."

"Is this about quantum physics?" I asked.

"Isn't everything?" she said.

"Very true," I said. "Life comes hard and fast, especially when you're not paying attention."