Pirates of Penzance

I woke early, at least it had the appearance of early. The light filtering through the curtains was a pinkish hue and this is, I believe, a sign of early morning. I'm no an expert of course. 

Beignet was limbering up with a good long stretch, front legs thrust forward and butt high in the air. It felt really good I'm sure, although I don't practice the move myself. I tend to qigong rather than yoga.

Uma Maya was on duty high atop the cat tree surveying her domain and making sure that everyone was cued and ready for the day. Abbie Hoffman, I suppose, was high atop the kitchen cabinets to make sure he was no where near Uma. 

In short, all was as it should be. How any household can function without at least a dozen or so cats is beyond me. I'll bet Napoleon kept cats.

"Good morning, Ms Wonder," I said, and then after taking a quick glance out the open window, "It's a beautiful day."

"The bluebird?" she said.

"On my shoulder," I said.

"The sun?" she said.

"High in the sky," I said, "or fairly highish, and bright certainly."

"Clouds?" she asked.

"Puffy and cotton white," I said.

"Cumulus humilis," she said or something that sounded like it.

"You're joking," I said. "Do refer to the clouds and a newly discovered variety of early human?"

"The clouds," she said, "They take their name from the latin cumulo meaning heap or pile."

"Now I know you're putting me on. A pile of clouds? This is one of your practical jokes, isn't it? You're going to run me up and down the flagpole a few times this morning."

"I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing," she said, "I learned about clouds in my aviation weather class. Cumuli are part of a larger class of clouds know as cumuliform, which includes stratocumulus, cumulonimbus, cirrocumulus and altocumulus."

"My grandmother's name was Alta," I said.

"I misspoke," she said, "I meant to say alto. Alto-cumulus."

"Oh, sorry," I said.

"Not at all," she said.

A moment of silence passed. A moment not unlike the silence that reigns on stage when one of the actors in a community play forgets the next line.

"Poopsie?"

"Still here," she said.

"Do you know everything?" I said.

"Certainly not," she said.

"Well, then you have a sticky brain, much like the sticky brain that my friend Mumps has. By the way, did you say aviation weather? You actually took a class in aviation weather?"

"Hmmm," she said.

Another moment of silence passed, one much like the first.

"Poopsie, are you, or were you ever, a fighter pilot?"

"Beg your pardon," she said with a laugh, "did you say pirate?"

"I did not say pirate and you know it but that was the funniest part of the play wasn't it?"

I probably don't need to tell you that we had gone off-topic with this reference to the play but we had seen the Durham Savoyard's presentation of the Pirates of Penzance recently and it was still entertaining us two weeks later.

"I really enjoyed the sergeant major," she said.

"You mean the major general," I said.

"Are you sure? Didn't he sing 'I am the very model of a modern sergeant major?'"

I raised a hand. I yield to no one in my enjoyment of the works of Gilbert and Sullivan and I could easily discuss these Pirates all day, but we were on a hot topic and I didn't want it to cool.

"One moment, Poopsie," I said.

"Yes," she said.

"Just one moment."

The third period of silence passed. It was beginning to look like a big morning for moments of silence.

"What were we talking about before we jumped the rails?" I said.

"You were saying that it's a beautiful day," she said.

"So it is," I said. "The snail is on the throne and all's right with the world."

"The snail is on the thorn," she said. "It's God who's sitting on the throne."

"Ah, yes, that's right," I said, "Sorry, honest mistake."

"Not at all," she said.

"Did you say, pilot or pirate?" I said. But she only winked and then another one of those silences filled the empty space.

Keeping a Calm Mind

I hurried to Native Grounds after reading Amy Normal's text about deep dark depression, hopelessness and WOE. She was tending coffee bar when I arrived and my dark roast was steaming in the cup at the X in front of the counter.

"My heart has been torn asunder and I am forced to confront the truth that my manga-haired, love monkey is a douche nozzle who has sullied my innocence and whatnot and cast me aside like an unmatched glove." This came from the Amy's lips even before I could ask the question.

"Drama much?" I asked.

She called me a name that the contract with my ISP prohibits me from repeating here. Then she seemed to grow calmer and said, "It's the only way I have of describing my angst and dark inspirations."

"It's not a vampire thing," I said. "It sounds more like a Goth thing."

"If you weren't about the only person I know who offers hope to the hopeless I'd drain you to dust and sweep you into the cat litter box. Does that sound vampire enough for you?"

"Alright," I said. "I get it. So what has happened between you and Foo Dog."

"He's dumped me," she said, "and all because my vampire passions compelled me to frisk with another man."

"Well, there you go," I said. "You can't expect otherwise."

"Don't you read vampire lit?" she said. "A vamp's love minion is d-e-v-o-t-e-d, hello. They understand as  no one else understands that the dark powers cause us to be total romance sluts. When a man says something romantic, we're like, 'Please, sir, let me turn down my IQ and offer you this moist, supple body that seems to have lost its way.' I had not choice in the matter given what he said."

"Which was?"

"He said that all he wanted to do was save the woman he loves and that, as far as he's concerned, that's the same thing as saving the whole world."

"And that did it for you?" I said.

"It's Valentine's Day. I would have done him on a bed of carpet tacks."

I mused this over, turning it this way and that before speaking. "You know, Amy, I don't think this is an apocalyptic event. I think that given time Foo will forgive you and the two of you will renew business at the old stand."

"It's more complicated than that. The romance agent was Kyle, you know Kyle, he's the property of the Countess."

"Oh now I see. This does get tricky. You're suppposed to be the backup Countess, aka Mistress of the Greater SoDu Night, and now you've made a move on her man. Yes, this could be complicated. Wheels within wheels no doubt. Yes, probably wheels within wheels."

"Something like that," she said, "and now she's on her way over here to talk to me and I'm totally puckered about it."

"You have confrontation issues?"

"Me? I'm insincere. I just wear the mask because when you roll up all wild in somebody's face like a mad woman, hair on fire and all guns blazing, no one's going to mention that your roots are showing."

"Insincere?"

"Did I say insincere? I meant insecure."

"Well, I don't see that you need to worry. You only need to face her with a calm mind and you will be ready for anything."

"That's what I've heard you say but, damn it, it's not so easy."

"Oh, it's simple really. All you need to do is move slowly and think of nothing but your breath."

"You mean like slo-mo?"

"Exactly. Just move slowly and think of your breath. Give it a try now is my suggestion."

"You don't need to think about breathing," she said. "It's automatic."

"It's autonomic," I said, "and when I said think about breathing, I meant pay attention to your breathing."

She began to move as though suspended in molasses, turning this way and that, reaching for cups and things on the counter.

"This is going to calm my mind?" she said.

"Don't talk," I said. "Move you hands around and focus your eyes on your hands. That's it. Keep it up for a couple of minutes."

At that moment, the front door opened and a young woman walked into the cafe. A young, lisom woman with a vivid shade of red hair, emerald eyes, and a walk that reminded me of a burlap sack full of wild cats. It was the Countess. I turned to look at Amy who had her back to the door and was at the moment refilling the cream pitcher in one-quarter time.

"Amy," I said. She turned and saw the Countess at the exact moment that everyone else in the shop saw the Countess. I don't know if you've ever had the experience of being in the presence of, well, of just being in the presence. It may be the same if you happen to be with the President or the Pope or the Buddha. That's the way it was in Native Grounds at that moment. Everyone was in the presence of the Countess. I remember thinking that here was a woman who had practiced making an entrance.

The Shopping List

"I owe you an apology," she said. "I thought the reason you were having trouble finding the right business partner was that you were making bad choices and sabotaging yourself."

I still can't believe that she got out of the starting blocks with that remark. Bad choices? Sabotaging myself? Well, it just goes to show that not even the quality elite, like Ms. Wonder, is perfect.

"I didn't realize the full extent of what you're up against. I knew Durham women were high strung, but I had no idea they were such vicious little sharks."

"Well," I said, "I'm not sure that can be said about all of them."

"Okay, just the ones you seem to know. Don't get me wrong," she said, "I've bailed out of the middle of a business deal before. I once walked out on a hunting party in South Texas because my client sat with a tub of popcorn between his legs and, when not feeding his face, pointed and laughed at the members of the hunting party every time they missed a quail. But that's another story. Did they have everything?"

If the above spot of dialogue seems confusing to you then you can imagine how my mind ached as I tried to get around it. I felt that the honest woman had forgotten some of her lines. But then suddenly, in that strange way it sometimes happens, I remembered something that allowed me to catch up with her.

On the previous day this Ms Wonder had asked me to pick up some items at the Scrap Exchange, in the Golden Belt district, which she assured me would come in handy--the items, not the Golden Belt, although I'm sure it too comes in handy. 

The couple working the service desk that day put me strongly in mind of people who raise Cocker Spaniels. Not sure why. I handed them my shopping list and they searched for me, digging through boxes and cartons of the discarded treasure stacked along the walls. They seemed pleased to have a customer who had specific needs and wasn't just browsing for something wacky.

"They had everything," I told her, "but what I'd like to know is what I'm supposed to do with this junk."

"First," she said, "you write a suggestion for a new meditation class on a puzzle, break it up, and stuff the pieces into an envelope. When your prospective partners open them, they wonder if they've gotten a message from a psycho but then they see your name on the outside so they put the puzzle together. Then they see the suggestion as coming from a very creative guy."

"I don't know, Poopsie, it all sounds very high school to me."

"That's why it works. It makes a woman feel that she's back in high school receiving a valentine from a secret admirer. Of course, you probably never got valentines from secret admirers so you can't appreciate what I'm saying."

"Hey!"

"Just kidding," she said. "Oh, I thought of another good idea."

"I can't wait," I said.

"You'll love this one. Remember that online service that does business cards?"

"I don't use business cards," I said.

"You'll use these business cards. Order a box with nothing but your name on them in Art Deco type. Blue font on cream card-stock. Then when you hand out your cards, your prospective business partner will say, 'But your contact information isn't on here.' Then you write your number on the card. That tells her that you don't do business with just anyone. Only certain people meet your standards and she's one of them."

"A lot of people prefer to tweet," I said.

"Too chatty," she said, "Stay low-tech and it will set you apart."

"Ms. Wonder," I said resorting to the formal address, "No offense, but I don't know where you're coming from with this. I can't picture people in Houston, Texas handing out understated cream business cards."

"You're right about that," she said. "Most people in Houston introduce themselves by honking the horns of their pickup trucks. But I've spent a lot of time in Charleston, South Carolina, and let me tell you they have some slick..." 

I can't repeat the rest of her statement and as far as I was concerned, it was pure drivel. It had all gotten right by me. I began to wonder if that marvelous brain of hers had gone kaput. I thought it best to move on to another subject.

"So what am I supposed to do with this Ouija board?" I asked.

"I haven't figured that out yet," she said, "I just thought you should get one."