I Love Lucy!

I bobbed to the surface from the depths of a dream, having been roused by a sound like that of distant thunder. Clearing away the mists of tired nature's sweet restorer, I was able to trace this rumbling to its source. It was the cat, Beignet.

The super-sized Beignet has never seen eye-to-eye with me on the subject of early rising. I like to sleep to the last possible moment and then leap out onto the day, taking full advantage of the element of surprise. I'm told Napoleon did the same. But this long-haired, ginger and white is absolutely up and about with the larks every morning.

Having bounded onto the bed, he licked me in the right eye, then curled up and settled in with his head on my arm.

"Isn't that sweet?" said the Wonder who had shimmered into the room. I could not fully subscribe to this point of view. What is sweet about getting out of bed before God wakes, only to go back to sleep again? Silly, it struck me as.

I extricated myself from the cat and brought myself to a fully upright position, the better to slosh a half-cup of tissue restorer into the abyss. It was only then that I realized Ms Wonder was knee-deep in boxes, looking like a sea-goddess walking on the rocky shore.

"Unpacking?" I asked.

"Getting the Halloween stuff out. I thought it might help to keep busy today."

"Then unpack 'till your ribs squeak," I said, "and let me help."

It seems nothing applies the healing balm like anticipation of the holidays and our hearts were in need of healing. Lucy, that little princess of sweetness and light has been adopted by another and is even now getting used to her new surroundings. 

It's an excellent situation for her, of course, being the absolute center of attention and becoming a member of a permanent family. Still, it leaves a void for us left behind. When Lucy left, it seems the sunshine and bluebirds followed her.

We love you, Lucy, and we miss you terribly and if history is any indication, we always will.  I will always remember being wakened by your tiny, cold, wet nose.

Be happy and healthy little girl.

Splitting Time

Space-time is one not two dimensions, as I'm sure I don't need to tell you, what with Google and Wikipedia and whatnot. You can think of it as God's fanny pack where he keeps all his stuff. You don't have to think of it that way, of course, I'm just saying that you can if you like.

What few realize--few outside the Brothers of Cool and the followers of Wen the Eternally Surprised--is that space and time are not an integrated whole but more of a smash-up. Most importantly, space and time have an inverse relationship and it's that relationship that allows for all the fun.

If you slow down time, not that you would, but if you did, then space becomes much larger. Compress space and time speeds up but, be very, very careful, because when space is mushed together even a little, it begins to hot up.

In my tenure as an acolyte of Wen, I was introduced to many techniques for taking advantage of this inverse R but the only one I mastered, if it is mastered, is the technique of splitting time. Don't let the term mislead you, splitting time is nothing like splitting the atom. It merely refers to stepping outside the present moment into the interstitial spaces between moments.

It may be helpful to think of space-time like a big jar of marbles, except that for it to be really accurate, the jar has no walls and there are an infinite number of marbles. Your life, if you call it a life, moves from moment to moment--marble to marble--at the point where the marbles touch.

To split time, you step outside the present moment into the space between, which is also infinite, and you move around the moments until you come to one you like the look of and then step back into time. From your perspective--you may want to remember what you've read of Einstein--you are in the future but to those around you, the time is now and you're the weird guy wearing outdated fashion.

I teach this technique in my Fierce Qigong classes but you don't need the classes to play around. If you get in trouble just step into any moment and look for the people wearing the purple jackets and the Bofo masks. They can help you get where you want to go.

That's all there is to it. Have fun. No need to thank me, it's the least I can do. By the way, you can move into the past just as easily but I don't recommend it. The past is a much more dangerous country than the future. 

That Familiar Feeling of Impending Doom

I woke this morning with an unusually large sea of cats around me. I don't know how many cats are the recommended maximum dose for an adult but I'm sure as hell that it's not all of them. I began levering them out of the way and as I did so I became increasingly aware of a feeling of impending doom.

I know you're thinking that the Genome is jumping the rails. But I'm not actually saying that the cats are responsible for the feeling of foreboding. Not even a brindled cat can bring that much damage in a single morning. The feeling I had was undoubtedly the work of Princess Amy, that bad apple of the limbic system.

If you've been following along, you will be familiar with this princess and her dirty work. She has a tendency to stir things up from time to time by pushing the thalamus around causing an imbalance in naturally occurring brain chemicals called feel-good hormones. If left unchecked, civilization staggers and Hell's foundations are shaken.

"Not today, Amy," I said to myself and then, "Poopsie, I have a feeling of impending doom." This last statement arose at the sound of soft footsteps coming down the hall. When those footsteps entered the room, she looked my way and burst into laughter on the magnitude of a steam boiler explosion. Sometimes I wonder if cossack blood runs in the veins of this descendent of the Russian Enlightenment.

"Not funny," I said.

"But, Beignet is stretched across you like you're a moose that he's just brought down, and Uma is on your pillow looking like the hat Daniel Boone wore." She said as though she felt it excused her laughter.

"A moose?" I said, offended not a little. And neither would you be only a little offended if the woman you loved described you that way.

"No, not a moose," she said. "Boone, as in Daniel, and why do you think you won't enjoy yourself today?"

"Well you know how it is," I said, "some mornings shine with promise of a day that will be the merriest of all the glad new year and others not so much."

She gave me a look that included a moue. It is called a moue I believe, when someone shoves out the puckered lips and then pulls them back to starting position?

After a moment of silence, which by the way is always to be avoided, I said, "In many ways, life at the moment has its drawbacks."

On this solemn note, the phone on my beside suddenly tootled, causing me to skip to the high hills, which dislodged Beignet somewhere into the surrounding air. Glancing at the screen on the phone, I saw that some species of Aunt was on the other end of the call.

"This might be a good time to order the lilies," I said to Ms Wonder but it was too late. She'd disappeared into the salle de bains.

You Can't Go Wrong With a Full Moon

I moved a few cats from the bedside table to make room for the strengthening cup of ginger tea that Ms Wonder had just delivered. "Good morning, Ms Poopsie," I said, "am I correct to assume that it's morning."

"It's a beautiful day," she said opening the curtains to let the sun-smile in and then she gave me a peculiar look, which led me to wondering just what she meant by that remark.

We will soon be celebrating our 31st Halloween together and I must say that it's been more good than bad, just like each individual moment is more g than b. But then I suppose that 31 years is just a bunch of individual moments all bunged together until they make one big mountain of time.

We first met when this daughter of the Russian Enlightenment provided pumpkin-shaped cookies and apple cider for the inmates of the 2010 Nasa Road One in Clear Lake City, Texas. 

On that day, so many Halloween parties ago, I was on friendly terms with her facilities engineer, Enrique. By that I mean that we had downed a good number of Dos Equis together. 

But I knew this Wonder Woman not at all. I wanted to know her for she had a profile that would have the sultans and pashas clamoring to win her consent to join the quality harem. And that hasn't changed.

When I asked Enrique, that deserving son of Monterrey, about her status, he informed me that she was affianced and soon to walk the center aisle while the customers remove their hats and the organ plays "The Voice that Breathed O'er Eden."

I don't know if you've had the experience, perhaps not, but in my school years, I once blocked traffic underneath the basketball net to allow Mitchell Chambers elbow room for the lay-up. 

Pay close attention because I am coming to the salient point. Being more mindful than I of the options in the moment, Mitchell made a choice that I had overlooked as being a possibility and passed the ball directly to me.

Well, I don't need to tell you the aftermath of passing a basketball at close quarters to a teammate who is not expecting it--ruin and damnation ensues, that's what. 

It was an equally disastrous R and D that ensued upon learning that Wonder had so recently been taken out of circulation. I took it hard. The tremors reverberated, if that's the word, from brilliantined top knot to shoe sole. But what can the preux chevalier do in these circs?

One is either preux or one isn't, of course, and the only option for a parfait knight, like the Genome, is to accept the situation and get on with life. Live life on life's terms, is the way I've heard it said.

And so the long winter wore on until the day my office door opened and a face like a Mexican leprechaun peeked round to say, "She came in looking sour this morning and when I asked her about it, she said, I'll tell you what the problem is. That pig-headed, tyranical, uncompromising, jack-in-office that I have the good fortune to no longer be engaged to, that's the problem."

Do I need to say that two minutes later I was in her office with the rent check and a suggestion that what might cheer her up was the new romantic comedy opening on Friday at the Bijou? She accepted the offer. It surprised me no less than it surprised you to learn of it. 

Perhaps for her it was merely something do to pass the time, but for me, it was like hearing you'd been chosen for a second interview in heaven. And what of it if on that Friday, when we parked at the theatre, I tried to get out of the car before unbuckling? I think you understand.

This woman is the brightest star in my firmament and I am so grateful for so many things that went right--that Enrique was on my side, that the movie was about a loser who is transformed when he falls in love with one of the quality, and, oh yeah, I'm grateful that the movie was about a great big, full moon too. One can't go wrong with a full moon.

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

The sun was high in the heavens, or fairly high, when I awoke this morning. I had taken bed at a late hour and needed an extra bit of tired Nature's sweet restorer. I shooed the cats out of my footer bags and with the outer crust upholstered, set out for the caffeine den. I had no more than shoved the nose past the front gate before I was hailed by Vinnie, aka the Enforcer and Auditor Larry.

The people who frequent the Renaissance Cafe and Bean Bar are the types who appreciate beginning the day in the lap of luxury, which is easy to accomplish when your definition of luxury is a steaming cup of bohea made just the way you want, without having to ask. It's amazing to experience even though I'm sure it's accomplished with false bottoms and mirrors.

"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.

Those outside the Inner Circle consider the leader of our group to be the Enforcer, due possibly to his size and 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 that can usually be found in the tightest clump of the outer fringe of this spiral of people dust. He is most often found in the company of Sideways Carl, who walks in a sort of oblique fashion as though trying to insinuate his way through the world. Carl has the gift of seeming to disappear when he stops talking causing him to flash in and out of sight during conversation.

The third personality is Auditor Larry, who is actually a collection of personalities, with a mind for many things and a voice for each one. In his recurring restful state, there is only a flicker across his features to indicate the presence of Tiny Artie, Fremont Jones, and Irv the Islander.

The Duck Man, already mentioned, could possibly pass without attention due to the unfortunate hallucination that he is actually sane, but the duck that sits on his baseball cap gives him away. This is not a plush toy but an actual merganser that acts as a sort of GPS guide to get him past innocent bystanders without attracting the police.

I can't discuss my coffee klatch without mentioning the other important regulars: Lady Hermione, Princess Amy, Sri Rama Hotchacha, and Nobody Johnson, who generally sits on the bench outside the front door and favors a drink called the Arnold Palmer. Look it up.

It's a diverse group who are united in single accord, at least between the hours of 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, without judgment, and with special dispensation to those in need; a disdain for anything that can be defined as work; and a firm conviction that dogs really can talk and that they often have something very important to teach us.

Well, you must begin somewhere, of course. So each morning, as soon as I get the cats fed and distribute assurances that when I walk out the door I am not leaving forever but will return in time for the next feeding, I navigate to a spot where someone who knows what I like will write, "Have a great day, Gene!" on the lid of my coffee cup.

Why would anyone do less?