Never Too Late

"Poopsie," I said, "I'm surrendering to Life and intend to live life on life's terms, as the saying goes. I'm convinced it's the only way to win freedom from the limitations of the past and my only chance to be reborn through the transformative power of Rumi."

Gene Jirlds Copyright 2000 - 2024

"What are you talking about, if anything," she said, "and why are you talking so fast? Have you relapsed? Are you into the fairy dust?"

"Wonder!" I said. Or perhaps exclaimed is a better word. "I'm shocked that you'd think such a thing. I am as clean and sober as damn it. I happen to be a little more sane, if anything. As for talking fast, you'd talk fast too if you were as excited as I am. I am finally free of the tyranny of desire."

"I'm guessing that you're referring to the Buddha's argument that desire is the root of all suffering. I suppose there is truth in it as long as one considers the qualifiers."

A short period of silence followed her words while she waited for my response and tried to come up with one. It wasn't easy on short notice after that crack she made about the Buddha.

"Why do you think that giving up your dreams will make you happy?" she said after waiting a polite moment for my response that never came.

"You speak of dreams," I said, "but what if they're actually illusions? And who needs dreams anyway? I have my memories of once having it all and I shall always treasure them. In the mid-eighties, I was the rock star of systems design at the NASA Johnson Space Center in Houston."

Thinking of those days as I spoke to her momentarily took me to a happy place. "Those were the days, Poopsie," I said.

"And so now, you plan to give up the chance of becoming a rock star once again and instead, you will eat pine needles for the first time in your life."

"What did you say, Wonder? Eat pine needles?"

Well, correct me if I'm wrong," she said, "but it sounds as though you intend to give up, right? You're going to surrender to whatever life brings your way. That sounds very much like quitting to me."

"Eat pine needles," I said and I mused as I said it. It was a shocking idea for someone like me who has lived a full life under the flag of I Shall Not Eat Them. 

"That's the gist of it, isn't it?" I said.  "But tell me, what can I do when a vast conspiracy continues to thwart my best efforts? A conspiracy that involves the complex coordination of multiple interacting agents."

"Have you considered simply following your bliss and forgetting about the outcome?"

"Are you suggesting something along the lines of damn the torpedoes; full speed ahead?

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting. To quote Beignet Lafayette when wearing his magic sunglasses, Let's do it!"

"Do you really think it's possible?" I said.

"I'm certain of it," she said. "I believe in you, even when you doubt, and I believe, as someone once said, It's never too late for now!

"I love that!" I said. "It's never too late! Possibly one of Shakespeare's gags." 

And with that, I was down the stairs and out the door but I heard her exclaim, ere I drove out of sight...

"Fierce Qigong, Genome!"

I Believe in Magic

Moonlight fell softly like a quiet rain outside my bedroom window and I lay awake watching Abbie as he watched the moonlight. And he did watch the light, quietly, intently, and with a singular purpose. There was just enough pale illumination to outline his ears, ever alert, to the sounds of early morning silence. His eyes, wide open, and curious, reflected the magic of a nearly full moon, and I was able to appreciate that magic as a reflection of his fascination.

It has always been this way since he arrived in our lives. He was only a few months old when we adopted him. The name on his passport reads, Abracadabra, named by the 8 year-old daughter of the foster family that cared for him as a kitten. It seems only a few months ago that Ms Wonder sent a photo to me of a little black and white guy, the markings that we call a tuxedo--black waistcoat, white ascot, white gloves, white spats. Very formal.

Although it has been at least 10 years, I still remember that photo in detail. His eyes were wide and round, as though the world he saw through those eyes was full of fascination and wonder. It was magic at first sight.

I was instantly in love with him. But no, it was something more than love. The wonder that filled his eyes was infectious! I wanted to see the world the way he saw it and I knew I had to have him in my life. We made it so.

We call him Abbie, but his name is Abracadabra, just as the 8-year-old named him. She seemed to feel it imperative that we know everything about him that she knew--the games he liked, the food, the way he preferred to be petted. We understood the emotion that caused her to insist that we care for him the way she had. We understood perfectly. It's like being enchanted by fairy music. Once you enter fairyland, you never want to come back.

We considered Abbie a loner when he first came to live with us. A loner and an explorer. I suppose one would feel compelled to explore if infected by the wonder-lust reflected in those eyes. One of his favorite spots to explore was the top of the kitchen cabinets. Many times, when counting cats before leaving home--an activity I highly recommend when you live with 5 cats--I would wander the house calling Abbie! Abbie! At last, remembering to look up, there he would be, atop the kitchen cabinets, watching me. Wonder eyed!

Although the other four cats accepted a routine of twice-daily feedings, Abbie preferred small meals, several times each day. He somehow convinced me to willingly comply with his wishes. For the last 10 years, I've gotten up at least twice during the night to feed him. And the amazing part, the wondrous part, is that it never bothered me. Enchanted!

How could one not fall in love with a little guy that had started sleeping with you, in the same spot every night, just so he could let you know when he was hungry without waking the entire house. Each night when I go to bed, I smooth the spot that is his spot in anticipation of his arrival. Eventually, I wake to his presence and his quiet little "brrrppt" that lets me know it's time to eat.

He developed a routine to communicate with us at mealtime, or should I say to train us. The procedure involved stretching the right foreleg to touch my leg with his paw--meaning that he would like another spoonful--then moving toward the door and looking back over his shoulder toward me to let me know that we could return to bed.

He loved the sound of ice tinkling in a glass or bowl. Simply adding ice cubes to his water dish would bring him racing from some remote part of the house to enjoy a long, cool, sip.

Lying there in bed on that February morning, I thought of all those things and more. I thought about how much we had bonded, he and I, in the last couple of years. I thought of the other four cats and their health issues, and the fact that Abbie was never ill.

"You and me," I said to him while stroking his back. "You and me forever."You will probably be here with me when the others are gone, I thought. It was only a week later that we had to say goodbye to him.

It is so very true, what my friend Bob says about them. "They are so small and yet they take up so much space in our lives, and when they leave us, they leave a great empty space in our hearts.

Abbie has left that great empty space in our hearts and his leaving has shattered a bit of that enchantment, tarnished something of the wonder. But that won't last long. I know that it will change because Ms Wonder and I will be eternally grateful to him for that gift of wonder and we will strive to remember that his leaving can only enhance it in the long run.

Thank you, Abbie! That early morning when you and I enjoyed our last full moon together, you taught me that even on the darkest night, one need never lose the enchantment and wonder of this great, wide world. You taught me to believe in magic.

Traffic Was Terrific!

"Genome!" I heard my name as soon as I stepped inside the door to Native Grounds. It was my two favorite caffeine addicts who, bless their hearts, had not expected to see me on this Easter morning.

I faced them and opened my arms wide to show that I was as happy to see them as they were to see me. Lupe immediately jumped up as though a stick of dynamite had warmed her seat and she began doing her Genome dance to the amazement and amusement of the holiday morning crowd.

"We didn't think you'd be here this morning," said Claudia. "Wasn't the traffic terrific?"

"If by terrific you mean terrific as in the song, There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays," I said. "As I remember, the words are, From Atlantic to Pacific, gee, the traffic is terrific. If that's the meaning, then I'd have to issue a resounding, No."

"You may not be aware," I said, "but the Memorial Bridge has reopened! That makes this day not only a holiday but a zippy-dee-do-dah day!"

"Wonderful!" they said in two-part harmony, or so I like to think.

"Yes," I said, "so much better than the previous weeks when Wind Horse was forced to circle the city before getting the all-clear to enter the downtown traffic stream. As I remember, the exact instructions from the traffic controllers were, Tuscon, you're cleared for landing as long as you stay in the two right lanes then take the second exit to 3rd Street Wilma. 

Upon hearing that last statement, Lupe gave me a crooked smile and shook her head to indicate that she'd rather I didn't go there.

"Complicated," said Claudia, "sounds like landing instructions for an airplane." Lupe turned toward her with a wrinkled brow. She seemed to think that we'd been diverted from the subject at hand. She was right of course but the whole thing suited me well so I continued to move it along.

"It was only Princess Amy up to her usual hijinks in an anxious moment," I said. "Last week you will remember, I was quite nervous about being in the left lane when I needed to be in the right. The traffic next to me was so dense, I couldn't see any possibility of merging."

"What did you do?" asked Claudia. Lupe placed her arms akimbo--is that the word I'm looking for--and then stamped a foot. She didn't approve of the direction of the conversation and wanted to make it clear.

"Princess Amy got hotted up," I said, "and shouted, Be worried!", but I remained calm and reassured her that although I was a bit nervous about the situation, it was not my first time."

"But when the truck ahead of me tried to occupy the same space that Wind Horse was occupying, I asked the Universe if there was anyone in the next lane who knew how to safely and responsibly drive a car. I also reminded her--the Universe--that a safe driver who had not had fish for dinner would be preferable."

"What did fish have to do with it?" asked Claudia. Lupe sat down and began thumbing through her phone. No doubt she was looking for something to help pass the time.

"Fish?" I said. "I'm afraid you have me in deep waters there. I heard it once in my youth while watching the movie Airplane, and thought that if it was important when flying then it was probably important when driving."

"Today is Easter," said Lupe, and I don't have to tell you why she brought up this new subject when the subject at hand was completely bereft of Easters.

I decided to give the young geezer a break, meaning Lupe, not Claudia, and follow the path of her diversion as though I didn't notice her attempt at misdirection.

What I had noticed when she mentioned the holiday was that a throng of coffee addicts, all of them complete strangers, never before seen in the Castle Street District, occupied Native Grounds this morning. All of them were probably visiting the metropolis of Wilma to take Mom to Easter brunch.

All these unfamiliar faces gave the place an air of Bizzaro Bean Traders. Not a pleasant experience by any reckoning. Still, it was made tolerable by the unique aroma of the globally grown and locally roasted.

All in all, I'd say it was a pleasing gift of a fine spring day and one worthy of appreciation. I wish you a day just as fine today. Thank you for being here to share a little piece of my holiday. Jah's blessings to you.

Magic In the Music

I was hoping to see a familiar and friendly face as I opened the door and entered the caffeine den. I wasn't disappointed. Two of them were present.

"Good morning," said Claudia. And right behind her greeting came the salutation from Lupe, "Welcome back to Wonderland," she said.

"It's very good to be back on the home field," I said. "Now, what is the urgent crisis that we're dealing with?"

"Not an urgent crisis," she said.

"Not urgent?" I said. "Then why all the texting demanding that I appear for questioning?"

I was aware of some giggling coming from the direction of Claudia. She's a giggler. I don't know why.

"I have good news for you, silly. I've found Molly Mysinger's ring and I thought you should be the first to know since you're the jamoke tasked with finding it."

"The ring! You've found the ring that Gwyn lost? This is good news."

"Yep, Gwyn had me preparing the planting beds at the Inn, and when I was cleaning out the fountain near the front gate, I saw it sparkling in the sunlight at the bottom of the fountain."

"Do you have it with you? I won't feel really good about it until I have it in my hands."

"That's what I want to talk to you about," she said. "But first, why are you so down? I thought you'd be happy about the ring."

Oh, I'm happy about it," I said. "It's just that I've been a little blue lately."

"What's the problem?" said Claudia.

"No problem," I said. "It's the weather forecast in Wonderland. Overcast with a chance of rain today and for the foreseeable future."

"Wonderland? Why do you guys keep talking about Wonderland?" she said. Her brow had taken on that scrunched look that usually comes from eating a fruit smoothie too fast or the expectation of another trans-dimensional discussion between Genome and Ms. Mankiller.

"Well, it's like this," I said. "I've always been a strange combination of quantum physics nerd and angel channeler, and the combination is a mixture that's highly unstable."

"Whaaat?" said Claudia.

"He means he can't make up his mind where he should place his faith," Lupe said. His options are the Buddhist concept that everything is empty or the spiritual concept that the conscious universe is your best friend. I may have marred some of the details; I'm not an expert in his philosophy."

Claudia frowned again. I was beginning to think she had a smoothie hidden away somewhere.

What you need," said Lupe turning once more to face me, "is one of those music-based treatments that are based directly on the biology of neurological impairment and recovery."

"If it's anything like Laugh Yoga, you can forget it," I said. "I've been there and it's a dead-end road with no detours."

"Not at all," she said. "I read about it in Scientific American Mind. The musical-based treatments aim to restore functions lost to injury or neurological disorders by enlisting healthy areas of the brain. Among the beneficiaries are people diagnosed with stroke, autism, tinnitus, and depression."

"Will, forgive my doubt, but I'm familiar with many of the so-called cures for tinnitus, and autism, and it sounds like snake oil to me; one cure for whatever ails you."

"Snake oil?" said Claudia.

"You could consult a shaman in the highland tropical forests of Peru," said Lupe. I believe they know of other cures."

"I don't plan to be in Peru anytime soon," I said and I meant it to sting. I felt this little land-shrimp wasn't showing the proper rally-round spirit with all this Scientific Mind mumbo-jumbo.  

"Researchers have noted that those with aphasia, even though they don't speak fluently, may be able to sing words and phrases with no difficulty," she continued, completely ignoring my last comment. "The treatment is known as melodic intonation therapy."

"I don't care about melodic intonation therapy," I said and I may have raised my voice because it was then that I noticed most of the patrons of the cafe were looking in our direction. But to be fair, they may have been attracted by Lupe's swaying dance that accompanied her introduction to melodic IT.

"Music is persuasive and compelling," she continued, still apparently unaware that I was speaking. "When patients believe in their treatment, their attitude tends to remain positive."

I said nothing more on the subject but gave her one of my patented looks; the one designed to convey no emotion much like the ancient Greek stoics.

"Lupe, all I need to know about music therapy was brought to the Billboard charts by the Loving Spoonful in 1965." 

"And what's that then?" she said.

"There's magic in the music and the music's in me," I said.

"Well, do you know the song, The Magic in the Music, by Sophia the First in the Princess Prodigy?"

"Sounds like a romantic comedy that Shakespeare could have written but I'll let it pass. What's the message in it?" I asked.

"Strike up a spell anytime you choose it," she said. "Then you can feel the magic; all the magic in the music."

"I like it," I said.

"Knew you would," she said. 

Claudia nodded. "Me too," she said.

"You always come through, Lupe," I said. "She always comes through," I said to Claudia.

"For me too," she said. "There's no other like her."

"I'm not sure I'm ready to go that far," I said. "But I'll take it under advisement."

Make It So!

Wind Horse rocketed across the Holmes Bridge and straight into the mouth of downtown if mouth is the word I'm looking for. And before anyone asks, and I'm sure that someone is thinking about it even now, the bridge referred to is not the Holmes Street Bridge in Shakopee, Minnesota. 

I realize that bridge is a noteworthy one because it's the state's only example of a deck truss bridge. But for God's sake, let's not get sidetracked by another diversion.

The bridge I refer to features a 250-foot double-leaf bascule structure over the Cape Fear River and empties into 3rd Street leading to downtown Wilmington, NC. So please no more questions.

As I was saying, Wind Horse charged straight into the road leading to downtown and I was reminded of a poem we memorized and recited back in Shady Grove Elementary School. You may remember the poem unless you came along after poetry was banned from public education.

The poem is called, The Charge of The Light Brigade, and begins with "Half a league, de dum, de dum, de dum, and then delivers the punchline...

"someone had blundered"

That summed up my feelings perfectly. Someone had blundered and it wasn't me. I had done everything humanly possible to sort out a life worth waking up for but the higher power, if any, had slept in, apparently.

If you're a regular visitor to the blog, you won't be surprised when I say that because of the emotional turmoil in my head, I soon found myself parked in front of Native Grounds, my favorite downtown caffeine den, and looking forward to meeting up with my favorite members of Team Genome, that being my god-niece, Lupe Lightfoot Mankiller, and her BFF, Claudia Solviegh Bensen. 

Stage direction: Genome enters Native Grounds. 

"Genome!" said the pair. "What's going on? What's the emergency?"

Sit down and tell us everything, said Lupe. "You look like someone who drank from the cup of life and found a worm at the bottom."

"What's the matter?" I said. "You want to know what's the matter? I'll tell you. I've had it! I'm tired of reading about all the other bipolar bozos who've become rich and famous and yet, where's mine? That's the question I ask the Universe."

I paused long enough to order a double cappuccino with oat milk and a sprinkle of nutmeg. I know! Nutmeg! Don't get hung up over it; I sometimes like to stir things up a bit.

"I too suffer the slings and arrows of mental illness," I continued, "with none of the up-side. I've paid my dues, and all I get is treasons, stratagems, and spoiled."

"I understand exactly what you mean, dear old ancestor," said Lupe, "even though you've bungled another quote. I might suggest that you would feel better if you got a haircut. You look a little like a chrysanthemum."

"And I know you're only trying to help me feel better by lightening the mood," I said, "but I'm on a mission here. I've asked you to meet me so that I can express my revised evil plan for world domination. And, of course, I'm asking for help from my minions."

"Wait, wait, wait," cried Claudia. "You're getting far ahead of me. First, are you really Lupe's ancestor and do you actually have an evil plan?"

Lupe placed a hand on Claudia's arm and shook the coconut--she shook her own personal coconut, not Claudia's. I was not to be diverted by any off-stage action so I refused to give up the floor and I continued with my plea.

"We Genomes do not lightly forget," I said. "Well, we do forget some things like appointments, people's birthdays, and mailing letters, but we don't forget abject suffering.

I don't know if you're aware but yesterday I experienced what your grandparents' day was called a nervous breakdown. I lost all structural support and collapsed into a heap on the floor."

"We heard," said Lupe. "And we want you to know that we're here for you even when we don't appear to be."

"Yeah," said Claudia. "We'll be your structural support."

"I spend all day, every day," I said, "looking for the silver lining, a little light music, a bit of cheerfulness. And what do I find? Grief! That's what I find. Loads of unrequited grief. I've had enough!"

Lupe patted my right hand and Claudia patted my left. I expected them to pat my head next and I suppose if I had two instead of one, the pats would have happened.

"Whenever I get that depressed," said Lupe, "the feeling turns into anger and I go out into the street and start knocking peoples' hats off. That usually helps."

"Oh," said Claudia, "I think Genome would never do something like that. You wouldn't would you?"

"I'm not always good and noble, Claudia," I said. "I am the hero of this story but I do have my off moments. Remember, the hypothalamus takes orders only from Princess Amy and the behavior that results is not always under my control."

"Is it really as bad as all that?" she said.

"Let me put it this way," I said. "It's never difficult to distinguish between the hypothalamus with a grievance and a ray of sunshine."

"C'est le vie!" said Lupe. "Just one long string of mistaken identities and rash acts and whatnot."

"But that's all done," I said. "From now on, it's going to be a different story. Today I finally open that gate and step out onto the yellow brick road."

Claudia gave Lupe a quizzical look. Is that a word, quizzical? Lupe explained, "It's a mixed reference to the Wizard of Oz and to a session with a shaman in Sedona, Arizona."

"What will you do differently?" she asked me.

"To start, I will inventory all those items in Mom's boxes and remove their power over me. They've become an anchor holding me back. Then I will review my success as a published travel writer and that will bolster my confidence and put me back on solid ground. From there, I will move forward one step and one day at a time."

"By Jove, I think you've got it!" said Lupe, and I recognized the gag from some musical or other but the exact source eludes me. Maybe one you're familiar with. Leave a comment below.

"And there's no better time like the present," she continued. "Shakespeare says, if you're going to do something, you might as well pop right at it and get it over with."

"Somehow, I feel that in the present circs, Shakespeare isn't the bimbo I care to follow. Someone like Napoleon perhaps."

"Forget Napoleon," said Lupe. "He's a bum. Listen to Jean Luc Piquard instead:

Make it so, Data! Engage!"

With her words of encouragement, I shot out of my chair as though I'd sat on a tack. I practically flew out the door and into the wide, blue, open. 

And here I still am today, engaged like the dickens! Buckle up is my advice and make sure the safety bars are in place.

It's a wide, wild, windy world we're riding through, Billy Bob!