My Secret Mission

Some days begin with a bang, which is the way I like to think the Universe will end or, if not the Universe itself, then the end of the Genome. Banging, I mean, not whimpering. Give me a bang over a whimper any day. This particular morning got off to a banging start. It happened like this:

South Durham Renaissance District 

I was on my way to Dulce Cafe, looking forward to a caffe Americano and possibly an apple-walnut muffin. The morning was cool and refreshing and the windows of Wind Horse were down, the music was up, and Billy Squire assured me that everybody wants me. 

One can never be in a dark mood knowing that everyone wants you, of course. The song isn't one of those uplifting tunes that assure you that everything's going to be alright, but somehow, someway, just those words--everybody needs you, everybody wants you, make me feel good. There may be a moral in there somewhere but let's skip it for now.

For no reason in particular, I was thinking of a time, years past, when I'd just completed my duty to keep the western world safe from the Red Menace. We did our duty in those days. It was a way to repay just a little part of the benefits of living in a free world. Not like today when everyone is a hero in uniform. But that's another bit of derailment, what I want to talk about is Rome. I know. You didn't expect that.

My NATO assignment was completed in Stuttgart. If you happen to be American and have never served in the armed forces, let me explain that Stuttgart is a city in Germany. When my assignment was done, I was surprised to hear that I'd been reassigned to Rome. I speak now of the city in Italy, not the one in Georgia. And when I say, Georgia, I mean the one in...oh, never mind. 

I was feeling pretty good about Rome and when my Top Sargent told me that the mission was classified, I was pumped! Can you say, secret mission?

Now, I think I should point out that Master Sergeant Bones--not his real name--didn't actually say the mission was classified. His exact words were that he didn't know what the mission was about. But isn't that how these secret missions are discussed? No one comes right out with the goods. Loose lips and all that.

When I arrived in Rome, the lieutenant there told me that I was the first team member to arrive and that I should hang out somewhere nearby and report in each day. And so, that's how I came to live in Rome, about four blocks from the Spanish Steps, in a day and time when people were allowed to sit right down on the steps without fear of being fined.

Those were my thoughts this morning as I listened to Billy Squire and drew near the intersection where I would turn left. But before I could get into the turning lane, a maniac in a white pickup truck passed me in the turning lane and rocketed through the intersection.

Yes, I'm pretty sure that rocketed is just the word to describe it. As soon as he was past the intersection,  he suddenly made a sharp u-turn, as though remembering an errand and careening up onto two wheels, he came back toward that same intersection.

By that time I was halfway through my turn, which put us on a collision course. Well, you know how it is when two virile men confront each other, one fueled by testosterone, and one driven by a spoiled little brat of a limbic system. Someone's going to be unstoppable and someone's going to be taught a lesson. 

But I've been taught that lesson before, so I told Princess Amy to calm down and I slowed to allow the truck to make the turn.

Now we were driving down Fayetteville Street in single file. I was marshaling my insults and arranging what I hoped would be a withering, if not blistering, verbal attack on the fool. But before I finished the composition, this white-trucking, tattooed, bearded, MAGA-man turned into the Duke Fertility Clinic. 

Apparently, he'd been on his way to Chapel Hill, passed me at the intersection, and then realized at the last moment that the sperm was hot and couldn't be kept waiting. Knowing all that, how could I hold a resentment?

By the time I arrived at Dulce Cafe, I was cool, calm, and ready for my espresso, and besides, everybody wanted me. 

If you aren't familiar with the Market Place district of South Durham, let me explain that it's filled with what passes, in this part of Carolina, for Italian architecture. It's not actually Italian, of course, but it's pleasant enough and it brought Rome back to mind. 

It's not Italian but it's pleasant enough 

At the counter, Delores asked for my order. "Americano," I said. "I know you are," she said. She laughed and immediately, my memories returned to Sant'Eustachio il Caffe in Rome when I would walk up to the counter and say, "americano" and the barista would say, "I know," and all the guys behind the counter would laugh. It happened that way every morning. It never got old. 

Sant'Eustachio il Caffe

The secret NATO mission turned out to be not so secret and not really a mission. I spent several weeks in Italy waiting to hear something but it was a bust. A bust for the army but not for me. That mission turned out to be one of the best times of my life.

Dulce was quiet this morning and I became bored halfway through the coffee. As I drove back past the fertility clinic, I looked for the white truck, but it wasn't there. I guessed that the driver had gone through the drive-thru to make his deposit. 

For some reason, as I considered the fertility clinic, I thought of how I used to sit in Vatican Square and look for nuns wearing unusual habits--unusual to me. Some of them are quite amazing and amusing. 

I don't know why the fertility clinic made me think of the Vatican but it did. Maybe it had something to do with conception. What goes on in that clinic may not be immaculate but at least it's in sterile surroundings. That must count for something.

It was quite a morning--lots of banging--and of course, that's what we prefer, right?

Magic Happens

I don't know if you're familiar with the story of Mrs Lot and her rather fantastic finish? If so, you may want to skip to the next paragraph. However, if the name doesn't ring a bell, then here's the gist:

The unfortunate woman was the victim of history's worst practical joke. We must assume it was a practical joke because the story, as it's recorded leaves room for doubt. We do know that when told by her companions, 'Don't look now...', what do you think she did? Of course, she did look. Don't we all when told not to? 

The courtyard of Straw Valley

That much of the story isn't so fantastical but now we come to the punchline. When she looked, by some odd coincidence, according to my sources, (you aren't going to believe it), she turned into a pillar of salt! I know! Who'd have guessed? Salt!

The reason I mention it here is that a very similar thing happened to me this morning when Ms Wonder told me to let the Straw Valley thing go. You remember that I hoped to teach public qigong classes at that jewel of venues until I bobbled a reply to the event planner.

At any rate, while revisiting some old emails, I found an unopened missive from that same organizer. Reading from left to right, it said, 'I'd like to set up a day and time to talk.' 

Well, if you've been following along, you know how much I wanted this gig so it should not surprise you that I sat frozen with the smartphone in my hands like one of those peasants, who talk back to a wizard and--presto!--they turn into a pillar of salt, or something. Forgive me if I misalign some of the details.

And so this very morning I found myself walking into the courtyard of Straw Valley with an appointment to review the space with the planner. At the very moment I entered the coffee bar, I saw her walking my way and, I thought it very auspicious that she wore a smile.

It's moments like this that you find the Genome at his best--ice cold brain working like a Swiss army knife. Nothing creates so unfortunate a first impression as the hesitant utterance and the shifting from one foot to another like a south-side Fred Astaire. But I was up for it. I'd found the middle way. I'm sure, considering this and that, it must have been not unlike the Buddha.

As soon as she began to speak, I realized that this young woman created her own future, making things happen by sheer force of will. I quickly gave up control and simply allowed it all to happen. We agreed to begin with Sunday morning classes as soon as the new year could get here. I hoped it wouldn't be delayed by some unforeseen solstice nonsense.

I was deep into the moment, allowing the Universe to work its magic, and as I slowly emerged from the void, I heard her say something about making the deadline for the Indy newspaper and then she was gone with the wind. A sharp cry of joy escaped my lips. 

The sun, once hidden behind a gray veil, came shooting out like a startled rabbit, rolled up his sleeves, and got down to some serious shining. Birds in the shrubbery sang in four-part harmony, five probably, and I saw the world through a pink mist.

I knew it would be a perfect day when the barista swirled a heart into the foam of my morning latte. 

More Banging Less Grousing

"When I was a kid, we used to wait until dark and then build a big bonfire in Mr. Davis's front yard," I said to Ms. Wonder as she traipsed around the kitchen working up some new culinary delight.

"In the front yard?" she said with a touch of incredulity.

"We had big front yards in Shady Grove," I said. "The band was always located on the front porch, 'making music,' as the saying had it, and we didn't want the fire too near the band so we put it far out in the front yard, close to the road."

"Why build a bonfire at all?"

"Ah, it's one of those holdovers from the early days when my ancestors came over from Wales and were isolated in Appalachia. I didn't know that when I was a kid, but I didn't need to know. It was simply fun to have a bonfire in the night and that was reason enough. Much later, I learned that we were following a remnant of the old Celtic customs of our ancestors."

She glanced at me and I saw a sort of whatsit expression on her face. An expression that could easily have been followed by her excusing herself to attend to something she'd forgotten. I see that expression often when I begin one of the stories my childhood.

"You see, in Northern Europe, the Celts would build bonfires on the hilltops to help warm up the earth and add a little more light to the night. Moral support for the sun, I think it was. They would then beat drums to raise a ruckus and frighten the Spirit of Winter away. 

That was the whole point of May Day Eve--to push Winter back and encourage the new sun king to roll up his sleeves, spit on his hands, and get down to the business of summer."

"That's interesting," she said but her tone wasn't convincing.

"Well, the reason I bring it up..."

"Why do you bring it up?"

"Because I'm sick of winter and I'm sick of this virus thing. I don't like it. I know that members of our audience who operate from a base in New England or from the steppes of Russia are probably rolling their eyes right now at the thought of winter in North Carolina, but I'm sure we're all aligned in our disapproval of the virus. I think Providence has jumped the rails again, Poopsie. This is certainly not the stuff to give the troops if you want my opinion."

"Which troops," she said.

"Don't worry about which troops," I said. "We've had some warm days recently and I've seen the bluebird around the neighborhood and I do hope that she sets up shop on the corner and gets down to business soon. Bringing a little sweetness and light to the situation I mean. So I've decided to do my little part and start banging away and push this virus thing away with the winter."

"Banging?"

"That's right, I've built a bonfire in my heart and I'm going to start banging on anything that I can bang, which at present is Happy Cats Wellness, that online fount of information to keep cats and their caretakers healthy and happy."

"What do you plan to do with Happy Cats?" she said with a lot more enthusiasm than I'd noticed earlier in the conversation. "I thought you'd given it up, shut down the website, and closed the door."

"That's true," I said. "But Uma Maya has inspired me to crank it back up. I plan to stir up the Happy Cats website and launch a full-frontal social media attack."

"A little more of the Beltane analogy and a little less of the militarism," she said.

"Sorry, it's that old Napoleon line that runs through my soul," I said.

"Right," she said.

And so there you are dear reader. You've been apprised of the entire affair. You should now consider yourself banged to the fullest and you should feel much better for it. I'll keep you updated as the story progresses.

Turtles All the Way Down

Remember that story about a Great Flood that's featured in so many episodes on the History channel? If I remember correctly, 40 days and 40 nights of rain figure into it. Well, it's rained without stopping for 18 months in North Carolina and although the mountains are still above above water, all the rivers, lakes, and many of the roads are overflowing.

I was feeling particularly peevish on this dark, rainy morning, and so I thought a little outing with the radio tuned to just the right channel would help soothe my irritable mood. And so Ms Wonder and I climbed into the Volvo and began cruising the roads, doing our best to avoid low areas and high water.

I began to feel a little better as I listened to Supertramp performing Goodbye Stranger. The decision to get out of the house was a good one I thought. It just goes to show that, once again, the Universe proved to be a foul practical joker.

We made a right turn onto Farm-to-Market Road, remembering it to be elevated above the surrounding terrain but the sheet of water washing over the road where it crossed Sutter's Creek told us that it simply wasn't so. We slowed to a stop a few feet from the torrent.

There was no other traffic on the road, so it would be easy to turn around but I sat there for a few moments, not really thinking of anything in particular. I do that sometimes. It's nothing for you to worry about. It passes quickly. But it didn't pass quickly enough this time.

"Look!" said the Wonder pointing into the water.

Her tone of voice made it clear that something worth noting was there in the water but, try as I might, I couldn't see it. Not at first anyway. But then I did see something. I wasn't sure what it was. A dark shape in the water that was doing an impressive imitation of Nessie.

The head and about 4 inches of the neck were above water. For those of you living in the Federated Malay States, the 4 inches would be about 10 centimeters. Behind the head, there was a curved back with ridges running down the spine. Ridges similar to those on an alligator's back, but this was no alligator. It was a snapping turtle.

"Do something!" wailed the Wonder.

"What?" I asked. "Do what?"

"It's heading for the storm drain," she said. "We can't let it go down the storm drain."

Well, you're fully aware by now that we Genomes are quick-witted, and as soon as she said storm drain I understood her concern. The sewer is certainly no place for a snapping or any other turtle. No argument from me on that point but what I wanted to know was who she meant when she said, we.

"Please," she said. "It's moving fast. It will be too late if you don't hurry."

Now, if you frequent these pages with any regularity, you know that when this woman of wonder pleads for my help, her wish becomes my command. 

I was out of the car even before I finished the mental inventory of the things I didn't have to help move a snapping turtle. But although I was short of snapping turtle moving tools, my timing in exiting the car was perfect for the prank planned for me by the Fate sisters. I was drenched in a cold down-pour in about three seconds.

My clothes were soaked and I was cold and shivering.  The rain in my eyes made it difficult to see clearly. My shoes were in ankle-deep water making squelching noises as I walked. "Mama!" about summed up my attitude.

Squelch, slosh, squelch, slosh....

The turtle was moving fast. Snappers do move quickly, unlike their cousins, and the water flowing into the drain was helping with his breaststroke, which wasn't bad without the help. He was dangerously close to the drain.

A glance toward the car told me that the anguish still darkened  Ms. Wonder's face. It was her pleading look that spurred me on. I would be her knight and I would slay this dragon. Not an appropriate metaphor, you're probably thinking, and you're right but still, I think you know what I mean.

As it sometimes happens, a solution came to me at the last instant. Like a bolt out of the blue--another bad metaphor--I suddenly recalled a poster I'd seen about rescuing turtles from the roadway. 

That poster included the how-to for holding a turtle in a way that prevents the rescuer from needing rescue. I was certain that I could do it. Not totally certain but close enough to be getting on with.

Squelch, slosh, squelch, slosh... 

I moved quickly behind him with a low, stooping approach like a professional bowler approaching the lane. Where do these mental images come from?

Squelch, slosh, squelch, slosh... 

I grabbed his shell with my right hand at about 5 o'clock and picked him up out of the water. I was surprised by how heavy he was. He was surprised too, judging by the expression on his face. Probably not a frequent flyer.

Squelch, slosh, squelch, slosh... 

I grabbed him with my other hand at about 7 o'clock. But he was wet and I was off balance due to his unexpected heaviness. I was struggling to hold on to him and remain upright. It forced me to move faster than I'd planned.

Squelch, slosh, squelch, slosh... 

I was too far into the forward fall to recover but I would still save this turtle and win the favor of the Lady Wonder. Giving it my all to keep balanced, I lifted the turtle up as high as I could to get him above the guard rail. He seemed to be enjoying the bird's eye view; his eyes were opened wide and he had a sort of smile on his face.

At this precise moment, the turtle was able to scratch my hand with a rear foot. Now, this clawing did no damage to my hand. It did however add a great deal of excitement to the experience. 

You remember Princess Amy, of course. She decided that the scratch could be serious and that another scratch was probably coming. The drive to win the favor of Lady Wonder combined with Amy's cries of Run for your life! proved too much. I took it big!

Yes, I panicked. Not something the Genome often does. Let there be no doubt about that. But on this occasion, I caved. Not only was I off balance but I was fully extended and falling toward the stream below me. 

I released the turtle and he flew up and up, then he seemed to pause at the top of the arc before turning down, down. All my post-release English did nothing to improve his azimuth. In short, he went straight into the storm drain. And I went straight into about 8 inches of water on the roadway.

Nothing is so bitter as disappointment in the eyes of your lady. Nothing that is except realizing, when it's too late to be meaningful, that it was all unnecessary anyway. You see when I tell you that the turtle went into the drain, it's assumed that he ended up in the storm sewer. But that's not what happened.

This particular storm drain emptied not into a sewer, but into Sutter's Creek that runs underneath the road at this point. All the effort I'd put into getting the turtle into the creek was pointless because that's where he was going anyway.

How will I turn this into a positive experience for the Genome, I wondered. The answer came right away. It wasn't going to happen. My only option was to throw myself at the mercy of the Universe.

By the time I squelched my way back to the car, the laughter coming from inside told me that the Universe had ruled against me.

Dark Side is the Fun Side

"Where do you wanna celebrate tonight?" said the Smurfette in the passenger seat. If you haven't been following along, then I should tell you that this Smurfette is my 13-year-old, god-niece, Lupe. 

"Celebrate what?" I said.

"Your first night back in the Village after all that excitement last Christmas," she said.

I gave her one of my patented looks. Wasted on her, of course. She ignores all my looks. Knows me too well.

"First,  you young geezer, I've driven down from Durham today and I've got no energy left for celebrating. Second, I don't respond to references to last Yuletide. It's the dead past and I intend to let it stay dead."

She grew pensive if that's the word, and quiet. She looked down at her hands. I don't know why. A whim? Then her expression changed dramatically. It hotted up.

"What then?" she demanded. "You finally come back for a visit and I get my hopes up that something fun will finally happen in this moldy, old, village, and now you're going to bed. You've gotten old!" 

A moment of silence passed while she waited for the gravitas of her comment to sink in and I waited for... I'm not exactly sure what I waited for. I just waited.

"First, you little goober, you know that every time I come into this blotted village, the earth opens up and swallows me whole and I'm never heard from again."

More silence. She sighed and gazed out the window to keep from looking at me.

"Fine," she said. "But can't we do something tonight--anything?"

"Tales of the Dark Side is on television tonight," I said. "The feature is How to Kill a Vampire. It's a BBC production."

She mused on this morsel and I took it as a good sign. I decided it couldn't hurt to continue with it, "Did you know the best way to rid yourself of a bothersome vampire, is a stake through the heart? The vampire's heart preferably. You could do it the other way but it's a much bigger production." 

Without going into all the details, let me just summarize by saying that any movie with stakes through the heart is right up this little ninja's alley. She gave in without a struggle.

We met in the party room of the Inn of the Three Sisters to watch the movie on the big screen TV. I was relieved to know that my first day back in the village would wrap up neatly without incident.

Ha!

We know, you and I, that it's just when you think all is well and stop looking for it, that the Universe sneaks up behind you and lets you have it behind the ear with a sock full of wet sand. But one can hope.

Lupe and I sat on the floor in front of the TV, a bowl of popcorn between us. Midnight was only minutes away. The movie began at 11:30 so we'd already learned of the vampire, although we hadn't yet been introduced. And we'd learned that the townsfolk had resolved to rid themselves of the thing. Or rather, the local doctor was cajoled into doing it.

The doctor and one unfortunate villager had entered the old mansion on the hill and had descended into the cellar. It was a silly thing to do, of course, but they did it even though Lupe and I were telling them, No, no, you stupid twerps!

There was no light in the cellar, other than the single candle the accomplice carried. Now when I say cellar, I mean just that. This was no self-respecting basement with recessed lighting, a second fridge, and beanbag toss. This was a dark, damp, rat-infested, cellar. And it had a casket in the middle of the room with a vampire in it. 

We learned that the vampire's name was Daisy. Really? Daisy? It's true; I don't make these things up.

The two heroes crept up to the coffin. The doctor pulled a sharpened wooden stake from his coat with his left hand, and then a wooden mallet with his right. The other guy just held the candle. But it wasn't his only purpose; he also opened the lid of the casket.

Inside the coffin, illumined by the candle, lay Daisy, beautiful in her vampire sleep, except for the blood that trickled from the corners of her mouth. The doctor placed the tip of the stake on Daisy's left breast and raised the mallet. Just at that moment Daisy opened her eyes and saw the mallet about to fall. She took it big!

Daisy's mouth opened in what I knew would be a prolonged, unearthly shriek. But that didn't happen. No shriek from Daisy.

At the same instant Daisy opened her mouth, so did Lupe open hers, and although Daisy's scream was stopped short by the stake, Lupe actually did a passing imitation of a prolonged, unearthly shriek. 

Lupe's scream was inches from my ear and the sound of it electrified me. I was moved to action. But there was nothing for me to do except kick the popcorn bowl into the TV screen. I did it expertly.

The noise woke my Aunt Cynthia, whose bedroom was at the top of the stairs, and she shouted to her husband, although there was no reason to shout since he was sleeping next to her, "Paul, wake up and put your pants on! The Lord has come back and Judgement Day is here!"

Well, you can't expect the sleeping members of the household to remain calm with all that going on. And remaining calm is just what they didn't do. 

My grandfather, a veteran of the Great War, had told me the story of the Battle of the Bulge many times. His unit, in preparing for the German onslaught, referred to it as, Judgement Day.

When Grandpa Will, sleeping in a room down the hall from Aunt Cynthia, heard her shouting, he assumed the Nazis had begun the final push, and he immediately took steps to buy time for the allies. 

His service revolver, the one he brought home as a souvenir of the war, was quickly warmed up and he began firing out his bedroom window into the night. I'm not sure what he was shooting at but there you have it.

As you've probably guessed, the gun-play aroused the neighborhood to the man, and to the dog. They took it big too! Men and dogs alike. For their part, the dogs were inspired to create a rousing serenade to serve as a theme song for the on-screen action. 

The men, who were no less hotted up than the dogs, demonstrated their patriotism in this perceived hour of crisis by exercising their Second Amendment rights. The sound of gunfire and barking dogs could be heard as far away as Dallas Bay. 

It took some time for things to settle down. I could still hear sporadic gunfire as late as 2:00 AM. I don't know when it actually stopped. It may have just moved out of hearing and continued to move around the globe like daybreak.

Something resembling calm was eventually restored. Family and guests were returned to their beds. When peace and quiet reigned once again, Lupe and I were raiding the fridge in the main kitchen.

"Wow!" said the shrimp with a mouthful of butter-pecan ice cream. "That was exciting. I don't know when I've had more fun."

"It's certainly been the most eventful summer solstice I can remember," I said.

"Me too," she said. "We've had a few winter solstices that come close." With that comment, a wince creased my face, and a smile that simply could not be held back creased the corners of her mouth. 

I'd gotten a big kick out of the evening, and that's not a reference to the popcorn bowl. I especially enjoyed being interviewed by Constable on Call, Vickie Mason, in her vain attempt to pin the whole ranygazoo on me. It was a refreshing change to have nothing to hide and I was almost looking forward to the rest of my stay.

I decided to give the little Hobbit (Lupe) a pass for that reference to exciting winter solstices.

"We've had some exciting winter solstices," I said to her. "But this one wins the Oscar because it didn't require starting an unfortunate conflagration to burn down the fishing guides dormitory."