Angels Tip-Toe

The affair was one of those family gatherings that one wishes he could avoid but realizes that all things considered, better as Shakespeare said, 'Do it now and be done with it.'

I was late for the thing and rushed into the crowded room having completely forgotten that Elvis himself advised us against it. But there I was and the damage was done.

I'm a veteran of many of these cross-purposed family dust-ups and it was immediately plain to me that a crusty, cross-purposed dust-up is exactly what I'd interrupted.

Of course, the rumble was a private matter and my interest would inevitably be seen by some as an unwelcome intrusion, but the Genome warrior spirit had gotten the scent of battle up his nose and the old limbic system seemed to say, 'sic 'em, boy!'

I maneuvered around the crowd, hoping to avoid detection, and I eased up beside Lupe and leaned in for a low-key update on the goings-on. 

'Aunt Cynthia seems upset,' I said.

'Runs in the family,' said the Lupe. 

I found her remark to be a bit frosty and was disappointed because this little god-niece of mine is famous for her Zen-like self-control. And besides, I was only trying to assure her that I was on her side, as always.

'What's the trouble,' I said, 'with the aunt I mean.'

'She was just explaining to me,' she said, 'in as many ways as possible, that I'm completely off my head.'

Now there's a term that's bandied about in this family when referring to one another and I've never quite gotten my head around it. Oh, I know what it means well enough. But I don't understand how it was put together in the first place.

'Out of your mind or lost your head would seem a more suitable expression," I said, "but off your head? Strange.'

She gave me one of her looks, and before I could match it with the several of her looks that I keep in my mental databanks, she began drifting away from me. I mean she moved through the crowd in the general direction of the doorway. 

For the first time since entering the room, I realized that this little mosquito was heated up and that if I were to be of any assistance at all, I should not take this particular dust-up lightly. I followed her through the crowd.

Love is a delicate thing, of course, and requires nurturing and reassurance. My next remark, although intended to ease tension and bring a smile to her face, was probably not ideal.

'Should I agree with the aunt, then? Are you off your head?'

She didn't take it the way it was intended and gave me another look that made me feel like the cat that brings a gift of mouse to the party only to learn that the market for dead mice is weak to non-existent. 

'I was about to apply the remark to you,' she said and I had to admit that it was a juicy comeback. She amazes me with that quick wit of hers. But although it had been more than a decade since this sister-like god-niece had scratched my face, I felt she might be considering it now.

I'm not actually certain of the facts, but I am certain that she immediately became agitated, shifting from one foot to the other, like a zoo lion waiting for dinner. It isn't often that her angry passions get the better of her but it was obvious that her limbic system was having the same conversation with her that I'd experienced when I entered the room.

Square-jawed from the beginning, her countenance became firmly set and squarer, and into her eyes crept the light of battle. Runs in the family. Then she shuddered from stem to stern and moved off into the crowd but in the direction of Aunt Cynthia.

Well, there it is. Where others merely slap the forehead and pull the face, she takes action. Catherine of Russia was the same. I wasn't actually there for the finale--called away on urgent business; Ms. Wonder had called to request a cup of the steaming from Port City Java. My guess is that whatever happened after I left, didn't go well at all. I'll update you in a future post.

Here Comes the Rain Again

Some days it's just one damned thing after another. You know what I mean. Why get out of bed is the question I ask myself. Of course, I don't need to tell you that. You've been here before.

 

What was it the Buddha said? Nothing lasts forever? No, that wasn't his. Sounds more like Shakespeare, who as we know, went around stealing the Buddha's quotes and then taking credit for them. No, the Buddha said something about the impertinent. Is that what it was? Impermanence I think is what it was, meaning that nothing lasts forever. That's the baby.

Don't get me wrong; the day started off in stylish attire even though the storm was headed our way, coming up the coast from Florida. The sun was bright, the heavens were Carolina blue, and birds were auditioning for America's Got Talent. I had a lot on my to-do list but I was still bucked because the day seemed so happy to see me out and about. 

Crossing the bridge on my way home from the Hyundai's visit to the spa, I was singing along with the Beatles to She Loves You. When George and John sang the title words, I was thinking that ‘she’ could be a reference to my car, Wynd Horse, and she loved me for getting her spiffed up. 

Then when Paul and I answered with, ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah!’ I realized that the bump, bump, bump of the tires on the bridge gridwork was keeping time with Ringo’s drumming. Did I say I was bucked? I immediately put the windows down and turned the volume up to 11.

Seldom does a day come along when all things come together so perfectly. When it happens, it’s a welcome reminder that God’s on his throne and all’s right with the world. This day was turning out to be one of those days. Yeah, yeah, yeah!

I decided to call my old pal, Mumps, and share the bright morning. He was creating one of his signature wood craft pieces when I called but he jumped right into the conversation and we spoke of Cuban cigars, the transmigration of souls, and the theory that the Universe is conscious. You know, the usual stuff.

I was fully immersed in this stimulating conversation in the way of the worshipers I remember from my infrequent childhood visits to the local church. I wasn't walking the pews or prophesying but neither was I paying attention to the events taking place around me.

It was only when Mumps asked, 'Is it raining' that I realized, to my wild-eyed surprise that it was indeed raining. I remember thinking that it was an odd coincidence; the kind that makes you wonder if the Zen Buddhists might be mistaken in their belief that it's all random events.

However, rain or not, I would not be brought down. Not this day. This day I would keep the chin up and the upper lip stiff. The rain was just another reminder that the Universe has a perverse sense of humor.

Before heading home I decided to enjoy a late breakfast at New Day restaurant. I had the usual egg whites and spinach on a croissant. I ordered two coffees to go because I never forget Ms. Wonder. 

With a coffee in each hand, I tucked the bumpershoot--you remember the rain--underneath my arm and exited for the Hyundai and home. 

The sky looked a bit threatening but I was parked a short distance away. Then the first drop fell. It was one of those fat, splattering raindrops. My hands were full and the umbrella was tucked away but I figured I could walk between these infrequent sploshes.

Then it began to rain for real. Still, I wasn't concerned because I was halfway to the car. Then the sky opened up and the deluge dropped. I was soaked to the gills in seconds. I stood outside my car, trying to find my keys to open the door as bystanders stared and pointed at me with concerned looks on their faces.

It was nothing new of course. I'd been here several times before. It's even been much worse. At least the children aren't crying and hiding behind their mother's skirts.

The rain was cold and my clothes were leaking but as I drove away I remembered an old gag of Master Wen's back at the Zen Center of Houston, "There's more good than bad in any moment."

I still haven't decided if he's actually correct in that assessment but it warmed me up a bit to think of it.

Embrace Your Curiosity

Cats are skilled negotiators. And none is more skillful than Uma Maya, Empress of Chatsford Hall. She's able to convince me to do whatever she wants, whenever she wants without a single word. I believe that Catherine the Great had the same effect on the Orlov brothers.

Uma has gotten too old to climb stairs but it's not a problem for her because she gets me to carry her up whenever she feels the urge to view the world from a second-floor window. In fact, she's gone so far as to train me.

Each morning at 6:00 AM, I get out of bed and make my way to the bottom of the staircase where I find her waiting for me. She is already in position looking up the stairs. I place one hand under her chest and one behind her butt. She then sits in my hand and up the stairs we go.

Uma uses methods far less grandiose than C the Great but her quiet persuasion has left an indelible mark on our mornings together. The ritual of carrying her up the stairs has become a big part of our spiritual bond, a testament to the intriguing ways in which she and I share our lives.

There is a specific reason why she wants to be in the window seat at that hour; the big yellow school bus stops on the street just below her window. Her face lights up with excitement and her eyes show an intense focus whenever the bus stops, lights flashing in the pre-dawn darkness, and the children begin making a big fuss to climb aboard.

I admit that I too find it an exciting way to start the day.

You're probably wondering how and why a grown man is so easily manipulated by a 9-pound calico furball. But if I explained, I'd have to begin by describing what my childhood was like and then discuss all that unpleasantness during the decade of excess, and I just don't feel like going into it right now.

The short of it is that our morning ritual is a reminder that we all have our quirks and oddities that make us who we are. As one good friend recently put it, We're all a complex mess! So while it may seem a little looney to some, I prefer to think of it this way: the most interesting people often dance to music that only they can hear.

I love watching Uma as she's watching the bus that we fondly refer to as Juliet. We took the name from the phrase that goes, "What light from yonder window breaks...something, something, and Juliet..." Do you know it? It belongs to the Bard--not Google's Bard; the Stratford on Avon guy, who seems to have had a way with words that Generative AI can only achieve in its dreams.

Watching Uma as she eagerly waits for the big yellow every morning with such intense curiosity makes me wonder if she feels that she's missing something by not being on that bus. Perhaps she muses that a day in school might expose her to the finer points of stalking mice. Impossible to know exactly what's going through her mind. Cats keep their deepest passions close to their heart.

Uma's fascination with the big yellow school bus taught me that curiosity knows no bounds. Just as she ponders the mysteries of the passing bus, I wonder about the ever-changing world around me. 

Uma's eloquence, though silent, motivates me to embrace my own curiosity. For all I know, the constant pursuit of understanding is the path to the unexpected joys of life. The thought gives me a reason to get out of bed in the morning.

Ride a Wild Wind

We had borscht for dinner last night. Ms Wonder said it was beet and sweet potato soup but I've lived in the vicinity of this old Russian soul long enough to recognize her MO. It may have had lentils and chickpeas mixed in with the cabbage and other members of the veggie kingdom but that was all subterfuge and misdirection. It was borscht alright. 

I don't blame the borscht for my sleepless night. I was already feeling the familiar sense of impending doom way before dinner. It was a feeling much like that felt by victims of lightning strikes just before the psychedelic brain waves. I haven't made a study of lightning strick victims but I've heard that such a feeling is common and I have no doubt that it's true.

"Something wrong?" asked the Wonder when I entered the boudoir amidst a tidal wave of cats.

"You need to ask, do you?"

"Qigong exam?" she said.

"No, not that," I said, "it's something that Amy Normal was talking about yesterday in Native Grounds. Vampire cats."

"Is that the band that covered that old Bob Dylan song? What is it, rainy day something?"

"No, not a musical group; actual furry cats but living an alternative lifestyle of vampires. Vampire cats! And what she said about them gave me quite a start."

"I wouldn't worry about it," she said. "Amy has a rich, varied, and vivid imagination."

"When you say Amy, are referring to Amy Normal, Native Grounds barista and backup mistress of the greater Durham night, or do you mean the little princess that lives in my head?"

"I'm certain of it," she said, leaving me to guess the answer to my question. "Still, even though we know it's only an Amy thing, it couldn't have been pleasant for you to hear it. Poor baby."

I didn't like that last part--the bit about the baby but I let it go because this Wonder is a master of diversion and subterfuge.

"Oh, I took it in stride," I said, which wasn't exactly the case but one doesn't like to look weak when discussing life's slings and arrows with these Helen of Troy types.

"Wore the coat loosely?" she said.

"Like Peter Rabbit," I said.

"You made your escape?"

"A strategic retreat," I said, "following the example set by Napoleon."

"Ah," she said, "perfect analogy. You refer to Napoleon leaving Moscow."

"How do you mean?" I said, not getting the drift.

"Well," she said. "he had to steal a sleigh, commandeer a team of horses, and then hightail it through the snow-covered countryside in the dark of night with the Russian cavalry on his trail. He couldn't have enjoyed that either, now could he?"

"No, I suppose not," I said wondering where she was going with the Russian motif.

Ms Wonder often speaks the soothing word in season and by the time she finished the history lesson, I was feeling much better.  

Leaving the stable in the company of Wynd Spirt and Quinn, I was singing along with the Andrews Sisters to their signature song, 'Hold Tight.' Princess Amy doesn't have a chance of keeping the mood in the lower registers when singing a song, which is amazingly subtitled, 'Want Some Seafood, Momma?' 

Little wonder that all things seemed to be coming up roses.

As I listened to the tunes, I felt an intense pang of joy but, with a little investigation, determined that it was only hypomania and no need to redecorate the house or change the wardrobe. 

By the time I entered Native Grounds, the blue bird was perched on my shoulder singing, if I remember correctly, an old Italian folk song.

 It's at times like these that I pity the people who don't want to ride a wild wind or to dance with the devil on a Saturday night. All they want is a careful garden that blossoms and withers according to season. But I'm not included in their number. 

No, the Genome is bent in a different direction. I like the storms that sweep away the everyday and get something new started. Makes me feel in touch with something greater than myself. Sooner or later, no matter how chaotic the present moment, Reason will return to her throne and all will be right with the world again.

Sometimes the best thing one can do is hold tight and wait for the gale to peter out. 

Now I know what you're thinking. What's all this got to do with vampire cats? Nothing. But what's it matter? The point is that we can never know where life is headed and we aren't in control of outcomes. Instead of fretting about; better to let be what will be. Que sera sera and all that.

You Know You Should be Glad

"Ms. Wonder," I said, "don't open any cabinet doors today. Doing so may very well spell disaster." I said it with vim if that's the word because it seemed to me that Life was up to her usual practical jokes and was busy piling stuff on the other side of doors so that when an innocent bystander opened one, ka-boom! Buried under a mountain of circumstances. I for one was fed up with circumstances.

"Sorry, Babe," she said, giving me a kiss on the head, "but I don't have time for it this morning. My new boss is in town and we're giving her a luncheon today."

"You can't give me short shrift; is that the term--short shrift?" I said to the back of her back as she left the salle de bains for the dressing room.

"Yes, short shrift, is perfectly correct," she said. "You could also say, quick work, or even kick in the teeth."

"That's it," I said, "you're giving me a kick in the teeth. Where's the old rally round spirit? That's what I'd like to know."

"I'm sorry, sweetie," she said and you notice how she tried to use vocabulary to cover up the lack of compassion? Well, it wasn't working for me. I was taking a line through Napoleon on this one and was prepared to march the troops to Moscow if I had to or sail the fleet to Egypt if that works better for you.

"It doesn't help to say you're sorry when I'm left in the lurch, reeling from the blows, tossed in the storm…"

"Alright," she said, coming to a stop in the middle of a herd of cats, "what's up?"

"That's better," I said. "I'll tell you what's up because I know that deep down inside you're a loving person who wants nothing but happiness for your Genome. I know that you devote your life to helping me get through the day with a smile on my face. I know that when the Red Queen is shouting Run for your life! you're there advising deep breaths…"

"Yeah, yeah, move it along," she said. "I've got ten minutes to be out of here."

"Alright, then," I said and took a moment to marshall the thoughts, "it's like this. I was sitting in Barnes and Noble yesterday morning and I happened to notice a young man at the next table clicking gaily on a keyboard and smiling in a way that said Life is wonderful and what a marvelous time it is to partake of it all ."

I paused to see if she was taking it well. "With me so far?" I said.

"Go on," she said with a wave of the hand.

"Well, the whole thing was inspiring. I wanted to feel that way too. So I opened my tablet and began clicking keys but what to do with those keys, that was the question that presented itself. YouTube I wondered? 

But, no, that was no good. I've overdosed on Jimmy Fallon with Margo Robbie, and the same can be said for Conan O'Brien with Keven Nealon. 

Then I thought about listening to a favorite podcast. No, I do that several times a day already. You see where this is going, Poopsie? The mental horizon was growing dark. Princess Amy was getting restless. Then it came to me, out of the blue as it were. Facebook!"

"Facebook?" she said. "Do you frequent Facebook?

"Well, don't say it like that," I said. "Yes, Facebook. I have lots of friends on Facebook. I have friends that I haven't contacted for much too long. I have friends that I've never contacted. I have friends that I don't even know. I know the names of their children, how they vote, what brand of faith they adhere to. The works. But I wouldn't know them if they walked into Native Grounds and ordered a latte."

"Did that make you feel better?" she said. "Connecting with friends on Facebook?"

"Well, the anticipation of having fun reduced the stress-related cortisols so I'd have to answer, Yes, it did make me feel better in the beginning. By the way," I said in an aside, "did you know that Ava Marie muds her kitchen ceiling in a tiara?"

She didn't answer, at least not verbally, but she did cross her arms and begin tapping a foot. That was sort of an answer I suppose.

"Well, anyway," I said, "there I was sitting in a bookstore trying to think of something to write on my status line and I couldn't think of anything. It was depressing."

"Don't let it get to you," she said," it's just one of those things."

"It is not just one of those things," I said.  "It's one damned thing after another, that's what it is."

"Try laugh yoga," she said and I could make nothing of it. Laugh yoga? The two didn't seem to go together.

"It's a technique of laughing when you don't feel like it and you keep laughing until you do feel like it."

"Fake it till you make it?"

"Something like that?"

"You think it will work?"

"Can't hurt."

"I'll wait until you leave for work, shall I?"

"Sure," she said, "I understand completely."

I didn't begin laughing when she left the house. I waited until I was driving to my morning hangout and stopped at a traffic light. "Ha ha," I said as though reading it from a script. "Ha ha ha." Nothing but silly, if that. 

I looked through the window of the car stopped next to me to make sure I wasn't being watched. "Hee hee hee." No better. Then I thought of, "Ho ho ho," and that felt a little better if only because it reminded me of Santa. I giggled. Then I laughed, just a little. Before I knew what was happening, I was actually laughing, not faking. It felt good. Amazing!, I thought.

"Shall I tell you what you sound like?" said Princess Amy just when I was feeling good about the laugh yoga.

"Oh, shut up," I said, "It's no big deal. It's actually a lot of fun like taking a trip to the moon on gossamer wings. You should try it."

I don't know that she actually tried it. I doubt it. But she did get quiet for a bit. Have you given it a try? I recommend it highly. Much better than hanging out in the Metaverse.