Free Fallin'

" I have seen it all now, Ms Wonder," I said with conviction as I entered the salle de bains.

"What now," she said.

"Just now, on my return trip from Native Ground, I saw a guy on a skateboard standing in the middle of the street, looking at his phone."

"Hmm," she said, "in the middle of the street?"

"In the turning lane, just gazing at his text messages," I said. "Cars whizzing all around."

"I've always been drawn to skateboard culture--Free Falling, and all that, but not in the middle of Highway 55 during morning rush hour.

"Free Falling isn't about skateboarding," she said," and besides Happy Cats Wellness needs you right now. You can't afford to break any bones."

You are aware, I'm sure, that she referred to our new digital enterprise, the authoritative source of all things that improve health and elevate the happiness of the household mouser.

"You and Island Irv," I said.

"What about me and Island Irv?"

"Irv tells me I'm too old to skateboard, but I say consider the facts. I've already exceeded all expectations for the Genome's demise and I'm not so certain that I don't have another decade of extravagance in me."

I paused here to give the words time to sink in and get the fullest effect. As I watched Ms. Wonder, busy with her eyebrows, I began to wonder if the words had any effect at all. I decided to press the point.

"It's like Galileo and the Jesuits all over again," And I meant it to sting a bit.

"What?" she said.

"You know what I mean, Kepler happened to notice one day that Mars circled the sun and he even mentioned it in one of his New York Times best-selling books."

I waited for her to nod or indicate in some other way that she was following me. It didn't happen. She shrugged instead.

"Well," I said, just a little disappointed, "Galileo ignored Kepler's observation even though he was, at the time, defending himself from Vatican censorship because his very own views suggested that the Earth was not the center of things. You see what I mean?"

"No," she said.

"Ms Wonder! Do put on your thinking cap. The Vatican was telling Galileo to stop spreading nonsense even though it was common knowledge that the Jesuits had made the same observations and that Copernicus had written extensively about them.

"You're driveling," she said, and I didn't like her attitude one bit. Neither did Princess Amy like it and don't make me have to stop here to explain Princess Amy.

"Galileo ignored Copernicus too," I said."

"Did you sleep well last night?" she asked, but once more I pressed on, refusing to be derailed by her questions.

"It's Olber's Paradox, Ekaterina," and you may notice that I used her formal name to emphasize that I was serious and had enough of her attempts to muddle my thoughts. "When you look into the night sky it seems full of stars because that's what you're focusing on. But look again and you see that it is essentially dark. It's a simple observation and yet it has so much meaning, missed by most observers."

I paused again, to look into those emerald-green eyes for a sign that my words were having the desired effect. Nope! Bust again! I didn't like the look in her eye either, and I didn't want to be like Galileo and ignore the evidence that had been placed before me like ripe fruit.

"Will you consider discussing a simple mood stabilizer with your doctor?" she said.

"No, Poopsie, not drugs. Too twentieth century. Gamma-ray bursts are the current thing."

"Gamma-rays is it?" she said.

"Looking into the center of most galaxies is a monster black hole," I said. I don't know why I said it. It may have been anxiety causing me to think that the time was right to say something. Then again, it may have been a whim. The look she now wore is one that I very familiar with. She was looking at me the way a mother might look at a child who just turned the cereal bowl upside down on the dog's head.

"We are doomed," I said, having decided that the time was right for closing remarks. "The end is right around the corner."

After several moments of uncomfortable quiet, she spoke.

"The universe is full of infinite prospects," she said. I mused for a moment or two and nodded in agreement. She went on to say, "And there is limitless time, is there not?"

I nodded again because when Ms. Wonder speaks in a certain tone of voice, one gets quiet and pays attention if one desires to stay out of the quarantine room. I once more mused on her observations and, in the twinkling of an eye, it struck me.

"Nothing to worry about?" I said.

"Nothing," she said. Then she patted me on the shoulder and walked into the other room. I looked into the mirror to see how Amy was taking it. I expected she would take it big and that's just the way she was taking it. She had collapsed into a heap on the floor.

"Everything is going to be alright, Amy," I said trying to reassure her. "You heard Ms Wonder, nothing to worry about."

"There's always something to worry about," Amy said.

"True," I said, "but there's infinite possibilities and limitless time. If only Napoleon had known, things might have turned out differently for him."

It's amazing isn't it, how things that seem to herald the end of the world may turn out to be just what the doctor ordered. I returned to work on Crystal Cove without a single care. Oh, but you probably haven't heard about Crystal Cove. I can't go into it now but it's my new book and you're going to love it. And yes, I know that Wonder suggested I should work on Happy Cats but let it go, dear reader. Put it completely out of your mind. I've got this. Really I do.

Princess Amy Explained

"Off with his head!"

-- Queen of Hearts, Alice in Wonderland


Deep inside the brain, there is a region that's known to be the center of intense emotion or, as I like to call them, the emotions of survival. Known as the limbic system, its job is to identify potential threats and then kick-start responses to deal with them. 

Princess Amy


The amygdala (uh - MIG - duh - luh) is just one of the named regions of the limbic system and its job is to work with other structures to regulate mood. For example, the amygdala interacts with the prefrontal cortex to generate and process the major emotions of anger, happiness, disgust, surprise, sadness, and particularly fear.

My amygdala can be quite dramatic. I think of her as a spoiled little brat who throws tantrums when she doesn’t get her way. I call her Princess Amy. Amy has a lot in common with the Queen of Hearts in the Lewis Carroll story, Alice Through the Looking Glass. 

That queen is the ruthless ruler of Wonderland. She is happy only when she wins and she always plays by her own rules. When she disapproves of someone's behavior, she yells, "Off with his head!" Once when Alice was running as fast as she possibly could to escape the chess pieces chasing her across the game board, the queen challenged her to "Run faster!" 

Princess Amy does the same. "Run for your life!" is one of her favorite commands. And just like the Queen of Hearts, she sometimes screams “Off with their heads!” In every case the only person in danger of losing his head is me.

The Queen of Hearts is despised and avoided by all the inhabitants of Wonderland because they live in fear of her. But I know that Princess Amy isn't really a despot. She actually has my best interests at heart. It's just that, like me, she's afraid that we're going to fail at life too. Instead of fearing her, I try to remember to show compassion. It helps in this regard to think of her as a frumpy little bluebird who is cute and funny even when she's hotted-up to the point of incandescence. Then I can simply say, "Chill, Amy. Everything is OK. I've got this." 

Where's Napoleon Now?

The morning was one of those sparkling ones like that effervescent orange juice they sell in the food courts in Union Station in the District of Columbia. You know the stuff I mean. They make you smile just to think of drinking one and that's the way the morning made me feel--like smiling. 

I must have been smiling when I entered the front door of Native Grounds. I don't know how long the smile continued because immediately I entered, I was met by the entire southside gang, sitting at a large table near the door.

You may remember me mentioning this gang in previous posts, possibly--possibly not, because I don't write of them often. I prefer to avoid this tattered group of young men if that's the correct technical term, a miss-matched assortment of everything South Durham society has to offer, and who hang together, I must imagine, because they all work the night shift at the Food Lion. 

My theory is that they bonded, the way young men do bond while spending the early morning hours drinking Red Bull--a sport they discovered one morning when Curtis, the born-again Christian, discovered that he could get quite a buzz going drinking something perfectly legal and without a stain on its character with the church.

A few of the more alert of the group looked up from their multi-syllabic caffeinated drinks and grinned at me, thinking no doubt of the last time we met. I was considering the appropriate greeting when a voice behind me said, "What up my ninja?"

It was Doob, a Yoda-sized expatriate of Cleveland, wearing an oversized Browns hoodie that looked like it would fit an NFL tackle. His fist was raised and leaning in my direction waiting for a bump. 

Just before I arrived, Derek, one of the coffee-jockeys, left his post behind the counter and walked out to the sidewalk, the better to straighten tables, and had followed Doob into the cafe.

"Are you alright with this?" I asked Derek as I inclined the bean toward Doob.

Derek shrugged and raised both hands, palms up. "What you gonna do?" he said. "Besides, Curtis says the apocalypse is upon us and it just don't seem right to get up in somebody's face about being politically incorrect when it's the end of the world."

I looked at the designated Curtis. "What end-of-world? There's no end of the world at any time soon. That's so Y2K," I said.

"No," said Curtis, not looking up from his red-letter King James, "I'm pretty sure it's the end. It's the vampire cats." All the others nodded in unison.

"Just as long as it's not the brain-eating zombie apocalypse," said Irv.

"Vampire cats!" I said, putting a lot of topspin on it, and why not? Justified it seemed to me. I'm sure you would have done the same had you been in my position. I wasn't having a manic moment if that's what you're thinking. I remember checking in with Princess Amy at the time and she was calm as dammit. 

"There are no vampire cats," I said to Curtis. "That's just one of Amy's stories. She got it from a Chris Moore novel."

"Unh, unh," said Chad, "we saw 'em. Last night at the Food Lion."

"What? You saw the vampire cat?"

"Lots of 'em--truckloads," he said.

Chad slid something down the table that looked like a large caramel, macchiato with lots of whipped cream in an oversized mug. Doob took a slurpy hit, held his breath, and passed it to Curtis.

"Want a rip, man?" said Curtis looking directly at me. I was incredulous, is that the word I want? I gave him one of my patented looks. "It's alright," he said, "it's medicinal."

"Medicinal? What medicinal? You have a medical condition?" I said.

"Show him the card," said Chad, and Curtis took a blue card out of his shirt pocket and flashed it my way.

"That's a Durham County library card," I said.

Chad nodded. "Yeah," he said, "that's our condition. Reading makes us anxious."

This somehow got to me. I was nonplussed if that's the word. Had no comeback. I looked back at Doob who was still standing there with his fist extended in my direction. I gave it a bump.

"Troot," said Doob.

"Truth," I said.

I can't explain why, but I knew as I walked to the order-here space that today would not be the day I had hoped when I left home. Where, I wondered, was Napoleon when he was really needed?

Write is Might

"Ms Wonder, I've just had the most marvelous revelation. I'm sure I don't need to explain the true nature of life to you, so let me get right down to the nub," I said as she emerged from the garage with her arms full of boxes. 

Wonder's Photography sold to benefit Independent Animal Rescue

"Here, hold this," she said as she shoved one of the larger ones in my direction. It was disconcerting, it was diverting, and it certainly wasn't the response I was looking for.

"You could probably teach me a thing or two about life," I said, I hoped it help me avoid her attempt to derail my thoughts with those cardboard containers.

"Hold this," she repeated and I realized that I hadn't avoided anything. This time I responded by taking the box from her arms, but not with any real chirpiness.

"This box is empty," I said.

"Yes," she said. "I just now came from the Lighting Gallery," she said.

This got right past me. I felt a chill all along the dorsal fin. I live in fear that one day her perfect brain will come unhinged and I will be back where I started--standing on the shoulder of the road in the rain. Could this be the day I wondered?

"What gallery is that?" I asked.  

"I delivered some of my art prints to that lighting gallery on Highway 70 in Raleigh. I told you about it," she said. 

"Ah," I said. Not my best retort but I take pride in the fact that I do not mislead my audience and 'Ah' is just what I said.

"Still," I continued, in an attempt to get back on track, "I feel compelled to remind you that the foolishness we know as daily life sometimes comes slowly, and when it does come slowly, its impact is soft and gentle like the easy dawning of a Sunday morning."

"Easy like Sunday morning," she said. I don't know why. She just did. Just a whim do you think? I thought about asking her what she meant but realized, in the nick of time, that she was attempting to cherry-bomb my fruit punch again. She's done it before. Enjoys it, if you want my opinion.

"But it's been my experience," I continued, "that more often than not, life comes fast and strikes us squarely between the eyes, like the baseball you didn't keep your eye on. It's coming hard and fast like that this morning."

She gave me a searching look, at least I think that's what it was--searching. You know that look where the eyes move to the right and then to the left, scanning the map as it were. Gave me the feeling that perhaps I'd finally gotten her attention and that something good was coming. I was right. She let the boxes in her arms drop to the floor. I liked that. It was time, I reasoned, to begin weaving my web around her.

"There is much to do when your passion is writing," I said, and you surely know how good it felt to be talking about writing and not about lighting galleries. And if you're concerned that Ms. Wonder missed her day in the sun with art prints and whatnot, don't worry. We got back to that as soon as I had satisfied Princess Amy that the sky wasn't falling. If you haven't met Amy,  you'll want to ask one of the regulars to tell you about her.

Having gotten Ms. Wonder back on the topic of writing, I continued. "Oh sure, it looks easy. You're probably asking yourself, What's so hard about it? Where's the difficulty in putting a bunch of words together to make sentences and then group them into a paragraph or two? After all, Shakespeare did it with one hand tied behind his back and look at the drivel he sold."

"What a minute," she said. "Do you actually think that Shakespeare slapped onto the page anything that popped into his mind?"

"Please," I said. "Have you really read his stuff?" I waved my hand in the air. "All silliness and nonsense, if you ask me," I said, "but then what do you expect from someone who roamed the countryside stealing ducks?"

"Stealing ducks?" Her brow furrowed and then she asked, "Are you thinking of the stories about Shakespeare poaching deer in the Charlecote Park?"

"Let's not heap more coals on Shakespeare," I said and I thought it a pretty good comeback. "The supporters of the Earl of Oxford and Sir Francis Bacon do enough coal-heaping. No, let's talk about life and the fiend hiding in the bushes that we call Fate. The one that smacks us upside the head when we're looking the other way."

"What about it?" she said.

"What about it? Wonder, you amaze me! Do you know that more than half the time, when we aren't paying attention, our minds are wandering from pillar to post? Thoughts just rise up from the deep at random. It could be something from a Lovecraft story. Something about Thul-hu perhaps."

"Cthulhu," she said, which shot far over my head, again. 

"Ka-thoo-loo?" I said.

"That's right. Not pronounced the way you'd think."

"Thank God," I said. "But are you sure of the pronunciation?"

"Positive," she said.

"Do you know everything?" I asked.

She waved her hand in the air far more vigorously than the effort I made with mine. "And besides, I don't see a problem with daydreaming", she said. "Some researchers think it's therapeutic. And besides,  I think you're delusional."

"Not daydreaming," I said. "I'm talking about idle fretting and worrying that we fall into when we're not paying attention." 

But, truth to tell, I was beginning to get her drift that somehow, somewhere between there and here, I'd lost my way. But you know how it is when you find yourself in such a predicament, you have no choice but to soldier on and try to make some sense of it.

"Half the time we worry about the future or replay uncomfortable memories of the past," I said. "Fair warning, Ms. Wonder, idle minds are the enemy."

I thought that last remark might grab her attention but she only gave me another of her patented looks. This one was more serious than the last. Her eyes weren't actually rolling from earth to heaven but they were in a fine frenzy to find a comfortable spot to rest.

"Not buying it?" I said.

"Nope," she said. 

"I'm out of practice," I said.

"I'll give you an 'A' for effort," she said.

"Would it help my argument if I brought in something about Napoleon? Perhaps found a way to introduce Catherine the Great?"

"I think not," she said.

"Cocker Spaniels?" I asked. She shook her head.

"How about something with elves and dragons?" I said.

"Possibly," she said. "Elves and dragons would make it more interesting but I'm not sure it would strengthen the argument."

"Well, you would know," I said. "I'll work on it and get back to you. But it may take some time. I feel as though I need to start all over again." 

Burning Down the House

I should mention to those who follow this blog regularly, that there will be no mention of Napoleon, Catherine the Great, or Cocker Spaniels in this post. I mention it for no particular reason other than my desire to never disappoint my fans. For newcomers, never mind.

Ms. Wonder, whom I'm sure you know moves in mysterious ways her wonders to perform, had refilled my supply of omega capsules. She's thoughtful like that. Unfortunately, she'd mistakenly gotten the brand with lots of omega 6. She didn't realize that the more evolved species of omega is not good for my arthritis and so after the morning visit to Native Grounds, I was off to Jerry's Vita-Rama to get the preferred brand.

When I entered the store, a familiar face greeted me from behind the counter.

"Are you sober?" I said.

"Are you crazy? Of course, I'm not sober.," he said. "That man broke my heart. Listen and I will tell you a tragic story. It's a story of deceit and lost love. It's a story of...."

"Yes, we've been through all that before," I said, not meaning to be callous, but hey! We all have our limits and I'm well acquainted with mine.

"Well, then you know the story," he said.

"I do."

"Then why did you ask me if I'm sober? You must be drunk?" he said.

"Not since January 1991," I said.

"Well, there you are then," he said and he gave me an appraising eye. For the first time I noticed that he wore a purple shirt with silver crescent moons. I remember thinking that only a fat, bald guy could pull it off so well. Then he said, "Why are you here anyway?"

"I brought back some Omega capsules. They're the wrong ones."

"What's wrong with them?"

"Well, I don't mean to say that something is wrong with them. I just mean they aren't right for me."

"Why not?"

"They have far more omega 6 than is good for innocent bystanders. The inflammation you see."

"Who said omega 6 is pro-inflammation?" he said with an eye that told me he didn't believe it.

"I don't have the sources on me but take my word for it, I can't use them."

"The claims on the bottle haven't been verified by the FDA anyway so what difference does it make?"

"Are you sure you work here?" I asked

"I'm just saying," he said.

"And I'm just saying that I'm going to return them and get the ones I want, which is omega 3 with 600 DHA and 240 EPA."

"You don't have to be snippy."

"Sorry," I said, "was I snippy?"

"Snippy is what I said. Why do you take them anyway?"

"Not for the reasons on the bottle," I said.

"Very wise," he said, "and if you want to keep it a secret, you can trust me to be silent as the tomb."

"Thank you," I said.

"Of course," he said.

The door tinkled behind me and the expression on his face told me that either the angel Gabriel had walked through the door to announce the onset of Judgement Day or else Lucy Lupe Mankiller, Dark Mistress of the Greater Durham Night, was with us. It turned out to be the latter. She wore the total package: the clothes, the hair, the makeup. She looked like a crazed clown in a horror film.

"Morning, Lucy," I said.

"Don't use that wimpy kid crap on me, you worm! You abandoned me at the coffee shop in mortal need of rocking some dark magic and not a single witch in the house." She brushed her blouse as though it had been contaminated with vampire-cat hair.

Then in a different tone of voice, she asked, "Do I look like a zombie on crack?"

"Not my first impression," I said, still having the deranged clown image in my head. It felt good to be honest for a change.

The purple-shirted one, who had been standing behind the counter opening and closing his mouth like a grouper in an aquarium, said in a breathless undertone, "You burn down the house, girl."

Lucy looked at him for the first time and her expression changed in a way that's hard to describe but I'm sure you've seen it before in young women when they meet someone they think may turn out to be special in some way such as having a lot of money or not living with their parents. Then she spoke in a voice that differed markedly from the one she'd just hammered me with.

"Most fly eyeliner," she said.

"Sweet of you to notice," he said.

Lucy stepped forward and offered her hand. He brushed the back of it with his fingers. "Enchante," she said and I'm not so sure she didn't curtsy just a little.

I grabbed hold of the counter to steady myself and looked through the window in the direction of the horizon, which I'm told is handy when the world seems to be spinning 'round. Some days you can't do any better than staying tethered and letting the wild winds blow.