Uncommon Sense

Sometimes the best choice is one that just doesn't make sense. And it can be damned difficult, if not impossible, to get anyone else to see the reason for making that choice. Take my conversation with Ms. Wonder just this morning. 

"Poopsie," I said, "I'm going to Lowe's Home Improvement in Shallotte this morning so if there's anything you need in the way of hardware joy, just point to it and it's yours."

"Oh," she said in a dreamy sort of way, "The Lady of Shalott."

"No," I said, perhaps a little too loudly but only because I saw immediately what was about to happen and I was anxious to prevent it. This Wonder, although gifted with the most amazing brain--it must be a size 10 if an inch--can sometimes leave her stable orbit and fly off into deep space like an electron escaping the pull of the proton. 

"No, not Shalott," I said, "the word is Shallotte. Listen to the difference: you said, Shalott, but I said Shallotte. I'm going to the Lowe's hardware store, not the Lowe's food store, in Shallotte, the village about 2o miles away. And do you know why I'm going to drive 20 miles when I could drive as little as 10 miles to the Lowe's in Wilmington?"

"No," she said, "but do you know why the lady left the confines of the tower on her island prison? It was because she chose to look at reality rather than the shadowy reflection in her mirror. In other words, she chose to live life as it comes rather than pretend."

"Yes, that's all very well," I said, "and I'm sure it was the best decision for her at the time--proper steps through the proper channels and all that--but it has nothing to do with the subject at hand."

"She saw Lancelot," she said with an even more dreamy voice. "And Tennyson doesn't tell us in the poem but I'm sure she fell in love with Lancelot at first glance and thought she must see him again even if the mysterious curse took her life."

"All in the blue unclouded weather," she recited and continued with some guff about Lancelot's saddle leather and helmet feathers burning like one flame, and whatnot.

"The Lowe's in Wilmington may be half the distance to Shallotte but the drive time is double."

"Out flew the web and floated wide," she continued with a spirited waving of the arms.

"Poopsie," I said in hopes of cutting this diversion short, but it didn't work. Never does. Don't know why I continue to try.

"The mirror crack'd from side to side; The curse is come upon me, cried The Lady of Shalott."

The timbre of her voice and the look in her eyes told me that she was possibly under the influence of the spirit. It's a phenomenon not unlike voodoo practitioners when they are ridden by the loa while in trance.

"Surely the term is not is come upon me," I offered. "Perhaps comes upon me or even has come upon me. Don't you think?"

"She lay in a boat and allowed the stream to carry her to Camelot," she said. "Tennyson says that she wrote her name on the boat. I wonder why she did that."

"Perhaps to make it easier to find among all the other boats when she was ready to leave," I said.

"I think the boat with her name was symbolic of the strict role women were forced to play in the 19th century when Tennyson was writing."

I decided to try once more to get back to the subject. I knew that chances were slim but sometimes you just have to do whatever you can muster.

"She may have arrived during rush hour on the river," I said. "A lot of traffic."

"There was no traffic on the river," she said. "At least Tennyson didn't mention it."

"Probably just an oversight," I said. " Did he mention that the road to Shallotte is a 4-lane highway with no traffic lights?"

"You can't mean Camelot," she said. I'm certain it was a single-track dirt road unless...are you implying that the road may have been one built by the Romans when they occupied Britain?"

"I'm talking about the drive down Ocean Highway to Shallotte, not the road to Camelot."

"When Lancelot saw her, he thought she was very beautiful. He said, She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace...."

"I'm talking about why I'm driving 20 miles to Shallotte when I could drive a mere 10 miles to Wilmington."

"Then you'd better get started," she said, "the Lady of Shalott was dead when she arrived."

"I'm not sure what you mean by that," I said, "but I'm sure I don't like it."

And with that, I wished her a ta-ta and ankled out the door. In mere minutes I was on the Ocean Highway, windows down, 38-Special singing Caught Up In You, and the volume turned up to 11. Halfway through the song, I felt the way I'm sure Donnie Van Zant must have felt during the recording sessions for the Special Forces album.

And now I'm sure you see why I began this post by saying that sometimes the best path is to forget common sense and rely instead on the uncommon variety.

All About Nothing

After a bit of morning inspiration from the Muse, I walked onto the screened porch where I found Ms Wonder deep in meditation with the octopus, Olivia. Not a real octopus, you understand, merely an understudy.

"This morning I plan to blog about nothing," I said.

"That's it," she said. "Not good morning, Miss Wonderful? Just walk out and begin talking about nothing?"

I held up a hand to indicate that what I was about to say was off topic and not to become the topic. "Not Miss Wonderful," I said. "That would be the love interest of a boy in middle school. Ms Wonder is the correct sobriquet and it's an honorific for one who works in mysterious ways her wonders to perform. 

She clicked her tongue, got off her meditation cushion, and gave me a couple of whacks on the back. "Feel better now?" she said. "Think you can talk like a 21st century Carolinian?"

"Did you say, Canadian?" 

"Carolinian," is what I said.

"Then I'll try," I said. "I don't think I could manage Canadian this early in the day. It's the dipthongs."

"Oh, God, help me," she said and it did leave me wondering why but you're surely aware that this woman, no matter how strong a leading lady she may be, loves to practice subterfuge and misdirection and it's my job to ignore it. Still, I wonder why she said, 'Oh, God, help me'. 

"At any rate," I said, "the Muse reminded me about de nihilo nihilum, blah, blah, blah..."

Now she held up a hand. "Please," she said. "It's way too early in the morning for this conversation. Table it for the afternoon. Maybe I'll be ready to listen after a walk around the lake."

Well, I don't have to explain to you how that made me feel. A blow too low was my opinion. Too early for conversation! What would you have done in my position? Not that you ever are, of course.

I chose to end the conversation and you would have done the same, I'm sure if you were in the same situation. After all, we aren't orangutans or howler monkeys. No offense, if you're partial to our primate cousins. I merely use them as examples of what we're not.

I took a seat on the sofa and made preparations for the arrival of a cat. In seconds, there was a cat. But not from nothing. There was an unseen, unknown cat and then there was a known cat. Do you see where I'm going with this?

"What did you say about a cat?" she said and I was as surprised as you are. I remember wondering if I'd spoken out loud.

"Not a cat," I said. "I'm thinking about the big bang. First, there was no universe and then there was. Do you see what I mean?"

"Oh, I love that show," she said. "Have you seen the one where they go to the Star Trek convention?"

"No, no, no! Not the Big Bang Theory! It's the beginning of everything that I'm thinking about!"

"Oh, I get it,' she said. "You're talking about something coming from nothing."

"Yes!" I said. "Thank you. I'm talking about the Catholic concept of creatio ex nihilo or..."

"No, you're not," she said, "and stop talking in italics. You're planning, unless I miss my guess, to begin some deep drivel about how the universe could not come from nothing. Because only nothing comes from nothing. 

You probably want to make the argument that the very idea of something from nothing requires some all-powerful outside force with conscious intent. 

You probably want to say something like, the latest scientific thinking about the big bang is built on the foundations of the same original miracle upon which the Catholic concept of creation is built. Am I right?"

"Well, yes, since you put it like that," I said.

"Let there be!" she said with a grand flourish. "BIG Bang!"

I stared at the woman and I was speechless. Once again, when I thought I had a new perspective to share, she demonstrated that she knows everything. I suppose it shouldn't surprise me.

No, I shouldn't be surprised because I've learned that she knows all about any subject you throw her way. Still, I thought it might be fun to test her once again.

"Poopsie," I said, "you remember that thing I quoted when this conversation began?"

"You mean, from nothing, nothing can come?" That quote? Persius," she said. "Probably Etruscan."

"Like the Gherardinis," I said.

"Don't flatter yourself," she said. "It's not like they were your grandparents, or anything." Then seeing, no doubt, the shadow that moved across my face, she added, "But there is hope for you yet."

"Of course," I said. But I didn't say it with any real chirpiness. 

"See?" she said, and I had no idea then, and I still have no idea what she meant by it.

"By the way," I said, "I get that Persius guy confused with Perseus, the one that whacked off the Medusa's head.

"I know, you do," she said and then in her characteristic way she changed the subject like changing the sheets. "Let's go to Lake Gaston. The Virginia side this time," she said.

"Of course, the Virginia side," I said. "I care only for your happiness, Wonder."

"Sure you do," she said, and I was happy that we could finally agree on something.

Thinking About You

I thought about you on my walk this morning.

I always think of you when I'm there. We never got the chance to walk there together But I think of you when I'm there anyway.

I wrote your name in the sand and I drew a big, balloon heart above your name. I answered a phone call only to pull myself out of the deep grief I felt because you couldn't be there with me. I later regretted taking the call because it kept me from connecting with you. 

But then I realized that you weren't there to connect with me anyway. It was only your name written in the sand.

Tomorrow your name will be gone, blown away by the wind, but I will return and I'll think of you and I will, once again, write your name in the sand and draw a big, balloon heart above your name. I will continue this little ritual always.

Because I love you and I miss you. Always.

Just Saying...

My homie, Mumps, and I were having our usual Friday morning conversation in which we try to solve one of the world's great mysteries in classical physics. This morning, the topic was why Martha Stewart advised her followers to stop micro-waving the kitchen sponge. Why not, I wondered, and so I went to my most trusted authority in macro-physics.

We gave the subject a thorough examination, as is our way when intent on solving world problems. When I say examination, I mean to say a logical one, of course.  Much like the ancient Greek method of talking it out until we've considered every angle. We didn't actually experiment or Google anything. Our results were inconclusive but we did come to an agreement that we'd use biodegradable paper towels instead of sponges in the future.

I feel compelled to add that we don't use real sponges like the ones brought up from the bottom in Tarpon Springs, Florida. Certainly not! That would be like dropping lobsters into a pot of boiling water! We are civilized men, not something from the Middle Ages.

But back to our story for the wrap-up or moral, if you prefer. Most problems can be resolved, no matter how Gordion they may be, when two strong-willed and confident personalities begin picking at the threads and unraveling the thing. At least I like to think so.

During our investigation, unlikely as it may sound, I happened to mention that I'm certified as a Pet Preventive Health Coach. Yes, there is such a thing but if you're having trouble suspending disbelief, you're not alone. Mumps had the same difficulty and it seems to be an evenly distributed difficulty outside my Secret Circle of Initiates. 

Yes, I am a pet preventive health coach and have been and still am a lot of other things. How do I find the time you wonder. So do I wonder but still, there it is. 

I recently attended a business conference in Chapel Hill that was staged by the North Carolina Small Business Association. It's a common occurrence that you're seated at a table with other small business owners who have nothing in common with each other. At some point, early in the meeting, the hostess suggests that everyone take a moment to introduce themselves to the rest of their table.

It often goes something like this:

"Hello, Genome. Happy Cats Wellness? What's that?"

"I'm a preventive health coach for pets."

"A what? For pets? Ha, ha! Do you encourage them to eat well and get plenty of exercise?"

"I advise the pet owner."

"Do you suggest daily affirmations? Haha, ha!"

"I teach them about the necessary resources..."

"Resources? Do they get a library card? A gym membership? Ha, ha, ha!"

At this point in the conversation, I fall back on a proven strategy to smooth the conversation and make the whole thing a little less stressful for me. Is the correct word strategy or stratagem? A plan or scheme used to outwit an opponent or achieve an end? Probably. At any rate, here's the one I use:

"And what do you do," I say. 

I've said it before and I'll keep on saying it,  most problems can be resolved, no matter how Gordion they may be, when two strong-willed and confident personalities begin picking at the threads and unraveling the thing. It's also a good idea to show interest in the person you're speaking with to hopefully make a friend of an enemy. It's a tactic recommended highly by Sun Tzu.

The Blustery Day

"Space and time are inextricably linked or is it irrevocably linked?" I said to the Wonder when she entered the breakfast nook this morning.

She didn't say anything in response but she gave me one of her patented looks, the look that says she thinks I may have been out in the sun without a hat. Silly of her I should think since the day was still in its youth.

"No matter," I said. "You get the idea; space and time exist in distinct elements; let's call them moments, and one can slip into the spaces between moments and end up in a different dimension."

Still, no verbal response from her but she did furrow her brow and narrow one eye. 

"Happens all the time," I said having deduced that she was not inclined to accept my personal thoughts on the subject.

"I learned this from Wen the Dojo Master at the Zen Center of Houston," I said in explanation. "I never actually traveled anywhere in time but I learned from the master," I said to assure her that I wasn't in a meltdown.

"I know what you're thinking," I said. "You're thinking that I'm stuck in that On the Road thing I recently wrote about. You think I'm riding with no hands on the wheel and that I'm destined for the ditch. Maybe not that exactly but I'll bet it's something similar."

Again, no words from her mouth but her eyes were opened wide and she seemed a little panicky. I thought it best to hit pause and reassure her once more that I'd not recently experienced an abduction by space aliens.

"Take a deep breath," I recommended. "Take three. Now think on the quantum level. I mean, think about those YouTube vids you watch with Joe Scott or Sabine Hossenfelder and you'll be in the right mental space.

That's right, it's a quantum thing. You'll see the connection when we get to the punchline so let's stop dawdling and get right down to it. Here it is then:

You know that little pine forest where I walk each morning. Those pines surround a small lake with a boardwalk that leads to a pavilion in the center of it all. It's a favorite spot of mine and each morning when I visit the pines, no matter what else may be happening in my life, I feel a sense of comfort and safety.

Well, I should rephrase that. It actually doesn't happen that way every morning. In fact, it doesn't happen that way in most mornings. What usually happens is that I go there hoping to feel a sense of comfort and safety but then Princess Amy gets worked up over something. This particular morning was more than a little blustery and Amy is always excited about a windy day, especially when I'm out in it.

I was walking through the pines as is my usual way right after morning salutations, a ritual in which qigong and taiji play no small part, but generally no kung fu. But later in the morning that discipline too would pop up, not unlike the way the demon king pops up from a trap door in a Thai water opera. 

But that story is better left for a later post. It can only distract us from the larger event, which my biographers will call if I have anything to say about it, heinous multi-dimensional tomfoolery.

As I was saying before the attention deficit kicked in, walking through the pines my eye was arrested by something blown about by the wind at the edge of the forest. It turned out to be a plastic bag. 

The bag was tied in a loose knot and couldn't be mistaken for anything other than what it was. You've guessed it already no doubt; a bag of doggie poo. I was ticked off, to say the least. Why is it that we humans can't be trusted to do the right thing? 

Now if you're expecting me to say something about disposing properly of our pets' waste, you'd be in the neighborhood of being correct. But what I'm really going to say is: You're out in nature, Princess! Don't put the doggie poo in plastic bags. Just let Fluffy and Milo poop in the woods! 

I told myself that I'd pick up the bag of poo on my return trip but my conscience didn't approve of leaving it there. What if I decided to take a different path when I returned? What if I wandered into one of the interstitial spaces, is that the word I want? What if I was diverted into a different dimension altogether?"

I paused here to check in with Ms. Wonder. I thought it best to ascertain her temperature before continuing. She seemed transfixed by the story and I was very pleased with myself, as I'm sure you expected, so I continued the story.

"I assured myself that I wouldn't forget the bag and, as it turned out, I didn't need to concern myself because the Universe was in a manipulative bitchy mood this morning and had other plans unknown to me.

I continued walking the path between the lake and the forest. The pines were beginning to thin and the wind was even gustier. Things that usually don't fly were taking wing if I can use that expression, and flying about like autumn leaves, or perhaps flying about like grocery bags would be more apt because I saw two of them whisking along above the lake. It was beginning to look like a big day for flying plastic. Turns out I didn't know the half of it.

Eventually, I came to the street on the north side of the forest, and what to my wondering eye should appear but a remarkable sight. Coming toward me down the middle of the street, propelled by a stiff wind, was a large piece of heavy plastic that had once been a banner of some kind. The wind had formed a big, loose ball of the thing and it was rolling toward me, tumble-weed style, at rapid speed. I felt that I'd been catapulted into the Twilight Zone.

My first thought was, Most Gracious One! Can't you trust me to remember the plastic bag of poo without sending a reminder like this? The next thought was, what to do? I couldn't allow the thing to make its way into Brunswick Forest Boulevard and cause a traffic accident, or work its way into the forest beyond and muck about with Nature's residents. Obviously, there was only one right action.

I opened my arms wide, took a deep breath, and leaned forward into the midst of the thing as it caught up with me. When I say that I leaned into it, what I mean is that this refrigerator-sized ball wrapped itself around me. It covered my face so that I saw naught but red and white plastic. It enveloped my arms and legs so that I felt as though I was embraced by an octopus. Not that I know much about being in an octopus embrace.

I struggled to get free and for the first few minutes, the banner was winning on points. Eventually, I was able to free an arm and a leg and I beat the thing into something the size of a large beach ball.

Once or twice on my return walk, the wind caught the banner in my arms and turned it into a sort of sail that pushed and pulled me around the lake. I was beginning to realize that this day was going to be a one-damned thing after. Eventually, I arrived at the location of the original poo sac. I wrapped it in the banner and deposited both into a proper receptacle. 

"So there you have it," I said. "You're observations will be greatly appreciated."

"You do know how to live," she said in a low voice, and turning around, she left the presence and made her way upstairs. I've examined her final words on the subject and unfortunately can make nothing of it. If you have any thoughts please leave them in the comments below.