If you're new here, then you aren't familiar with the term. Fierce Qigong, in words of my own construction, is my lifetime aversion to eating pine needles. I suppose that needs some explanation too but it's a longish story and we don't have time to go into it now. We will one day soon. I promise.
For the nonce, let's get to the subject du jour.
Waking this morning to another day, minus the lark and the snail, I wasted no time in brewing a cup of Jah's Blessing, dark roast. Having refreshed the tissues with that first cup, I was disappointed to find the heart still down.
Once again, for the newcomers, the lark and snail reference comes from Pipa's Song by Browning. I must make a note to write an introduction for the newcomer. Otherwise, I'll never finish this post due to all the behind-the-curtain stage directions.
Down among the wines and spirits, as I've so often heard Ms Wonder describe it. And not only the heart but the head too. I was suffering from a distinct apprehension for an inclement future. And I'll tell you why I was suffering from a distinct A for an inclement F.
Down among the wines and spirits, as I've so often heard Ms Wonder describe it. And not only the heart but the head too. I was suffering from a distinct apprehension for an inclement future. And I'll tell you why I was suffering from a distinct A for an inclement F.
Ms Wonder and I had left the old metropolis of Wilmington and traveled to Crystal Cove, near the spot where the Tennessee River merges with Lake Chickamauga not far from the Scenic City of the Mid-South, or as I've often heard it called, Chattanooga.
I've received numerous comments asking why I avoid the Cove. After all, as one follower describes it, "It's a picturesque village, surrounded by manicured fields, peach orchards, and with a willow-fringed river running through it."
And to that, I would add, it's the home of my favorite cousin, Gwyndolen, and my most amazing god-niece, Lucy Lupe Lightfoot Mankiller, the company of both never tiring.
And so you ask again, Why? It's the question Ms Wonder asked as we drove across Yaphank Bridge and passed the marina.
"Why do you avoid Crystal Cove so fervidly? It seems like a perfectly pleasing place to me."
"Perfectly pleasing?" I said. "You would call it perfectly pleasing?"
You may notice a touch of annoyance, possibly some indignation, in my reply. I noticed it and having done so I thought better of it. This Wonder, who does so much to soften the pain of slings and arrows, making each day another one in paradise, deserves a softer touch and so I modified the tone.
"Yes," I said. "You no doubt look around the premises at all the luxuries--manicured landscaping, river frontage, a truck-load-full of inviting outdoor activities--and you might reasonably think that life is ideal in this quiet little village."
I paused for a few seconds. Not sure why. It may be that I'd forgotten where I was headed with that line of dialog. Or perhaps after mentioning a few items in the pro category, I was reluctant to begin listing the cons.
"However," I said, "Though every prospect pleases...."
"What about it?" she said. "Though every prospect pleases--what?"
"Well, you have me in deep waters there, Wonder. It's something I heard once and it made a big impression on me. I like to throw it into conversation every now and then to add a little whatsit."
"I wish you wouldn't," she said. "Every time you throw quotes around, I waste time trying to make sense of them."
"Are they supposed to make sense?" I asked. "Quotes I mean? Everyone quotes Shakespeare and his lines are mere nonsense. I'm sure they were nonsense even on the day he wrote them. Something to please the peasantry, nothing more."
"I can't believe you just said that. And you're supposed to be a writer too."
"Why do you avoid Crystal Cove so fervidly? It seems like a perfectly pleasing place to me."
"Perfectly pleasing?" I said. "You would call it perfectly pleasing?"
You may notice a touch of annoyance, possibly some indignation, in my reply. I noticed it and having done so I thought better of it. This Wonder, who does so much to soften the pain of slings and arrows, making each day another one in paradise, deserves a softer touch and so I modified the tone.
"Yes," I said. "You no doubt look around the premises at all the luxuries--manicured landscaping, river frontage, a truck-load-full of inviting outdoor activities--and you might reasonably think that life is ideal in this quiet little village."
I paused for a few seconds. Not sure why. It may be that I'd forgotten where I was headed with that line of dialog. Or perhaps after mentioning a few items in the pro category, I was reluctant to begin listing the cons.
"However," I said, "Though every prospect pleases...."
"What about it?" she said. "Though every prospect pleases--what?"
"Well, you have me in deep waters there, Wonder. It's something I heard once and it made a big impression on me. I like to throw it into conversation every now and then to add a little whatsit."
"I wish you wouldn't," she said. "Every time you throw quotes around, I waste time trying to make sense of them."
"Are they supposed to make sense?" I asked. "Quotes I mean? Everyone quotes Shakespeare and his lines are mere nonsense. I'm sure they were nonsense even on the day he wrote them. Something to please the peasantry, nothing more."
"I can't believe you just said that. And you're supposed to be a writer too."
I was distracted for a second or two at this point in the conversation, having to twiddle the steering wheel a bit to avoid a passing logging truck heading for the pulpwood landing no doubt.
"I'm not just supposed to be a writer," I said after taking a deep breath, lifting my chin, and then gazing down with half-closed eyes. It's something I've seen David Niven do in those monochrome movies from the 40's. It always seems to give him the upper hand and I like to get the upper hand when engaged in tit-for-tats with the Wonder of the Russian steppes.
"I'm not just supposed to be a writer," I said after taking a deep breath, lifting my chin, and then gazing down with half-closed eyes. It's something I've seen David Niven do in those monochrome movies from the 40's. It always seems to give him the upper hand and I like to get the upper hand when engaged in tit-for-tats with the Wonder of the Russian steppes.
"I am a writer," I said and I said it with no little energy because I meant to put a stake in the sand to say that I would not back down from my position.
"And besides, you can't deny that Shakespeare was in the habit of shoving down just any old anything that came to mind in those plays of his."
She looked at me with large eyes and...what's the phrase? Begins with an 'I' doesn't it? Incredulous. That's it. She gave me an incredulous stare.
She opened her mouth as though to say something but nothing came out, so I continued to speak, not that I had anything more to add really, I just wanted to fill up the empty space.
"You might also consider the poet, Keats," I said. He speaks of stout Cortez first staring at the Pacific and all his men looking at each other with a wild surmise, blah, blah, blah."
"So?" she said.
"Well, it wasn't Cortez, was it? Balboa was the bird that first stared at the Pacific."
She fell silent. Her eyes softened. I could tell that she was musing over my words. It made me feel better immediately. It always makes me feel better to think that she's considering my words.
"Alright, you big jamoke," she said. "You're right about Balboa, But it's a big ocean and it's open to being stared at, so I see no reason why Cortez may not have given it a goggle too. Now, that's out of the way, answer my first question. Why do you avoid Crystal Cove?
"It's not the Cove that I avoid. It's the village nearby. And the reason is the local constable, one Vicky Mason, has sworn to sign me up for an extended stay in the Hamilton County caboose."
"Really? For what exactly?" she asked.
She looked at me with large eyes and...what's the phrase? Begins with an 'I' doesn't it? Incredulous. That's it. She gave me an incredulous stare.
She opened her mouth as though to say something but nothing came out, so I continued to speak, not that I had anything more to add really, I just wanted to fill up the empty space.
"You might also consider the poet, Keats," I said. He speaks of stout Cortez first staring at the Pacific and all his men looking at each other with a wild surmise, blah, blah, blah."
"So?" she said.
"Well, it wasn't Cortez, was it? Balboa was the bird that first stared at the Pacific."
She fell silent. Her eyes softened. I could tell that she was musing over my words. It made me feel better immediately. It always makes me feel better to think that she's considering my words.
"Alright, you big jamoke," she said. "You're right about Balboa, But it's a big ocean and it's open to being stared at, so I see no reason why Cortez may not have given it a goggle too. Now, that's out of the way, answer my first question. Why do you avoid Crystal Cove?
"It's not the Cove that I avoid. It's the village nearby. And the reason is the local constable, one Vicky Mason, has sworn to sign me up for an extended stay in the Hamilton County caboose."
"Really? For what exactly?" she asked.
"I can't imagine why she doesn't let the dead past rest in peace," I continued. "Just because I was in town when the fishing guides dormitory burned, what of it? It's not like I haven't explained to her on several occasions, that it was not my fault."
"What do you mean, not your fault?" asked the Wonder.
"More than once," I said, "I've pointed out that there was little time to consider options. I had no other choice, really. Burning the place down was the only way to hide the evidence."
I waited for her response. I'm still waiting.
"What do you mean, not your fault?" asked the Wonder.
"More than once," I said, "I've pointed out that there was little time to consider options. I had no other choice, really. Burning the place down was the only way to hide the evidence."
I waited for her response. I'm still waiting.
