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 encountered 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 seem transfixed by the story and I was very pleased with myself, as I'm sure you expected. I continued the story.

"I assured myself that I wouldn't let that happen 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 got the better of me. Eventually, I was able to free an arm and a leg and through sheer stubbornness and refusal to submit to this force of nature, I beat the thing into something the size of a large beach ball. I could barely get my arms around it.

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-another kind of day. Eventually, I arrived at the location of the original poo sac. I wrapped it in the banner and deposited both into a proper receptacle. 

Later in the week, the receptacle's contents would be taken to a landfill and one day, centuries from now, archeologists would find the mummified dog poo and would conclude that dogs were worshiped in the 21 st Century. Considering some of the heinous ranygazoo we humans have caused this century, I'd say, on the whole, not a bad legacy to leave behind."

"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 thought on the subject since our interview and unfortunately can make nothing of it. If you have any thoughts please leave them in the comments below.

It's Always Something

“So you’ve been writing letters, young Lupe, you pixie-sized imp.”

I should probably explain that I had no intention of wounding the child. There is no better quality in the 12-and-under class than this little mischief-maker and, being my god-niece, she's one of the few inmates of the Village that I look forward to seeing on those occasions that I’m prevented from staying away.

“I write my mom once a week when she’s traveling,” said the Lupe.

“That’s not the kind of letter I’m talking about and you know it,” I said, adding emphasis on the last few words. I know her tactics, you see, and I wasn’t about to let her wiggle away from the intended subject. “I’m talking about the letter that’s been floating around with all the hallmarks of one of your magical spells.”

“Runes, you mean?”

“Not runes! Let’s not continue with attempted diversions, please. This is a serious overturn of the natural order that you’ve instigated and it must stop it now!”

“Why,” she asked.

“Because if it doesn't stop soon, the village curse will awaken and slither from the muck at the bottom of Lake Jordan to come make my life a living hell.”

“Jordan Lake,” she said.

I decided to appeal to her finer nature, if any, and so I said, “Lupe, please! I need your help. Will you rally round or not?“

“What curse?” she asked.

“Oh, why do you insist on making this so difficult? You know the curse. The aunt’s curse. Every time I visit this lunatic asylum, I suffer the effects of one of Fate’s practical jokes. The place becomes unfit for human consumption, especially this human.”

“But I live for those times,” she said, with a bright smile spreading across her face. “Nothing fun ever happens in the Village unless you’re here. Even Vickie Mason says that it’s the worst assignment in North Carolina for a blue bottle who wants to advance through the ranks. She has nothing to do.”

I raised a hand to quiet the little urchin. “Just one minute, young Lupe. Let’s stay on topic from now on but just for the nonce, explain to me what Vickie Mason has to do with this. And before you answer, let me assure you that we are going to get right back to that love letter. I’m too familiar with your tactics of diversion and obfuscation to fall for any of your tricks and, yes, I recognize that blue bottle remark as a diversion. Now—about Mason. What’s the story?”

“What does obfuscation mean?”

“Deliberately causing confusion. What about Mason?”

“She’s the new head of security.”

“Head of security?” I said. “What security?”

She laughed at the question. A full-throated, head-thrown-back laugh. “I know. Stupid right?” She shook the topknot and then continued, ”Uncle Gus decided the Village should have a security force to make the visitors feel safe. All the off-duty guides work as security guards and Vickie is the Chief.”

“But nothing here needs guarding. What’s the old boy thinking? Has he finally lost it?”

“The don’t guard. What they really do is answer visitor questions, give directions, run errands, that kind of thing. Mobile phone service sucks in the Village and the girl guides deliver messages for people.”

“But why would Vickie leave the county sheriff’s office and take a job like that?”

“Well, she says she took the job to have a better crack at pinching you.”

I marveled. I admit this took me by surprise and yet I was certain—the butterflies in the gut were certain—that the young geezer had hit the nail squarely on the head. Wham! Bam! Mason planed to set a trap for yours truly.

“You see, Lupe,” I said, “this is just the kind of thing I’m talking about when I speak of the curse. Mason simply can’t accept that I’m an innocent man. She has a vendetta against me. It goes all the way back to high school and that unfortunate incident involving underwear and flagpoles. No one should have to endure the level of persecution that’s directed toward me by that rural scourge.”

“Innocent? asked the shrimp. “Did you say innocent?”

“Innocent is what I said,” I said.

“But you burned down the girl guides dormitory.”

“Oh, my sainted aunt!” I said. “Are people still talking about that? Isn’t there a statute of limitations around here?”

“It only happened last Christmas,” she said.

“Exactly!” I said. “And I’ve explained at least a thousand times that it was not my fault. I had no other choice. You would have done the same if you had been at the scene, knowing that Mason and the rest of the sheriff’s deputies were going to arrive any minute. There was no time to phone Two Men and a Truck. I had to burn the place down to hide the evidence.”

 “Oh, don’t get your knickers in a wad,” she said, using one of Aunt Maggie’s trademark quips. “May Day Festival is only a few days away. Everyone is busy getting ready for it. Mason won’t have time to mess with you. And then barely able to contain the laughter, "She’s got to plan security.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” I said. “I hope so because Gwyn called me down here to do a little something for her and I don’t want any distractions.”

“Hmmm,” she said. “You’re going to have to devote all your attention to that little job,” she said, and she said it with a sort of solemness that caused the temperature in the room to rise.

“Oh, you know about the favor then? I hope it’s not another one of those harebrained schemes that only she can devise. I have enough black marks on my record resulting from the last favor she asked.”

"Why don't you just say no when she asks?"

"It's complicated," I said. "We have history."

"Oh," she said, "you mean it's like blackmail."

"Isn't it?" I said and I meant every word.

“Don’t worry,” said Lupe. “It’s not a big deal. You can do it standing on your head.”

“That’s reassuring,” I said. “What is it she wants anyway?”

“She wants you to slip into Alan’s room at the Inn and steal a ring.”

Rites of Passage

The day promised to be bright and beautiful and it put the old spring back into my step as I sashayed down the trail around Brunswick Lake. I was feeling better than better and I'll tell you why.

The events of recent months had left me feeling like I once felt while swimming at the bottom of Soddy Lake, scrambling around to find a few pebbles to bring back to the surface to prove to the boys on the bridge that I'd made it all the way to the bottom.

But hold on; I've just realized that this opening may leave a few of you wondering just what the hell I'm talking about. Let's put it in context and then I'll get on with the topic for the day. I promise to be brief.

In the days of yore, most of my relatives and I lived near the lake close to where it joined the Tennessee River. We had many traditional challenges, which I later learned are called rites of passage, and most of them involved water.

One of these, which was intended to occur prior to the 16th birthday, was to dive from a railing on Amstrong Bridge and go all the way to the bottom of the lake, into the trench where a mountain spring flowed, and then fill your hand with gravel to bring back to the surface.

Bring the gravel up and you were ready for driving, dating, and preparing for manhood. Otherwise, you were still a child. The prerequisites for this event were to first jump from the top of a bridge support column, and later dive from that same column, a distance of about 16. The distance from the top rail to the surface of the water was about 24 feet.

And so when I say that I'd felt like the kid swimming around in the dark, cold water trying to find a handful of pebbles, I hope you will get the gist.

But this morning, I found myself in the bright, clear light of day, sunshine and birdsong energizing my walk and lifting my mood into the stratosphere, not too near the sun.

I felt like Icarus--I'm sure you remember him from high school--and I joined the local birds of prey soaring all the way up to those towering cotton-ball clouds.

It was one for the record books and I'm still feeling its effects. Mornings like this make me feel that I can do anything and that the future is too bright to be without shades. We know that life isn't like that, of course. There's always something hiding around the corner waiting for you to become distracted by some shiny object.

Still, there's nothing like the feeling that comes from sitting on top of the world with a rainbow 'round the shoulder, if only for a little while.

Life comes what? That's right, life comes fast; and what? Yes, it comes hard! You're paying attention, my friend. Have a great remainder of the day and fierce qigong to you.

Summer Lightning

"Look at me!" I said to Ms. Wonder as we sat on the lanai on an afternoon so beautiful that it would have been offensive had someone recommended a self-improvement program. The sky was that special hue that we in the islands call Carolina blue. The clouds were white, puffy, and towering. The breeze was light, the humidity low, and the bluebirds were raising the bar with mood-lifting tunes. In short, it was a typical day in County Brunswick.

"What about you?" she said but she didn't ask it with any real pizazz. Still, I wisely decided to give it a pass and continue with my presentation while I had the floor.

"I'm living a new life; one day at a time in paradise," I said.

"Oh, really?" she said.

"Don't do that," I said.

"Do what?"

"You know what I mean," I said. "Don't use that tone of voice that says you've heard it all before. It's different this time. I've had 5 full days of normalcy and it's all because of my new attitude."

"You do seem a bit chipper," she said, "but I've seen this before. What makes you think this is a new beginning?"

"Because I've got Princess Amy on board," I said.

"Get out!" she said with full incandescence because when she placed her hands on my chest and pushed, I fell base over apex across the potted palm causing Sagi, the caramel-colored tabby to give me a wide-eyed stare similar to the one that Hamlet must have given his father's ghost.

Once, I picked myself up and dusted myself off, I raised myself to full height and stared down with bruised dignity. I saw in her eyes that she felt remorse for my tumble even though it was clearly unintended on her part. This, I reasoned, gave me the high ground.

"I'm feeling good about it," I said.

"Of course," she said, "and you should."

She had a new attitude, of course. I continued with renewed vigor. Is it vigor? I think that's the word.

"Yes, sir, feeling good from my head to my shoes," I said.

"I think I know where this is going," she said with an apologetic smile.

"Yes," I said, "it was a difficult lesson to learn, but the wires are now uncrossed and the tables are turned in my favor."

"Any worries?" she said.

"Very few," I said. "Why worry when I've got you?"

"Be ready," she said, "because you know that dark skies and rain will come."

"Life comes hard and fast," I said. "The only thing that's changed is me, not the world I live in. Tears will come but what do I care as long as I have you?"

I was on a roll and it felt good. I continued.

"I think I've changed for good," I said. "A brand new attitude. Obstacles will come but we'll get by, as long as we have each other."

With that said, she gave me a little punch on the arm. A playful little punch but due to my standing on one leg at the time and the loud report from a nearby thundercloud, I took another tumble.

She couldn't hold back this time. She laughed like a paper bag exploding.