“Now that you’re an adult, you might still feel a pang of guilt when you decline a dinner invitation in favor of a good book. Or maybe you like to eat alone in restaurants and could do without the pitying looks from fellow diners. Or you’re told that you’re “in your head too much”, a phrase that’s often deployed against the quiet and cerebral. Or maybe there’s another word for such people: thinkers.” ~ Susan Cain
“Introverts are offered keys to private gardens full of riches. To possess sucha key is to tumble like Alice down her rabbit hole. She didn’t choose to go to Wonderland – but she made of it an adventure that was fresh and fantastic and very much her own.” ~ Susan Cain
I finally got her to calm down – the cat, that is. Or maybe she just calmed down on her own? It matters not. It’s probably multi-factorial, at best. It didn’t hurt to give full display of the water spray bottle, thus confronting the marauding beast, and perhaps convincing her to shut the fuck up. There. I said it. Please note that profanity is used for emphasis in this blog, although I have been known to say that very thing to my longtime companion. The spray bottle says a lot as well. I didn’t have to squirt her this time. I don’t know . . . it’s just a matter of remembering that interspecies communications of this kind require adherence to much more than simple words. Cats got no fondness for rhetoric. They only take so much. Cats are weird . . . but here I sit, satisfied that I somehow got the cat to calm down. I have no idea what she was on about, and exactly why she chose to use a form of cat rhetoric, such as she did. That’s the difference between her and me: I seek to understand, while she already knows all of that shit, and she’s like all “figure it out for yourself, knucklehead”. I can tell you right now that any day that starts out with my cat calling me a knucklehead is going to be a very good day. Now, as a writer, I probly shouldn’a used that word “very”. Just sayin. This morning’s post is a good example of the lexical, syntactical interplay I . . . . oh, in the name of Jesus and his half-wit brother, Hairy! I’m just playing here. And it’s not about me, now, is it? Okay, agreed, now, going forward. Yesterday some precious things came back my way, some trinkets that my mother collected through the years. I don’t remember how I lost track of them. I could surmise to my heart’s content, and still not truly know how I lost them for a few years. Overall, the past five or so years are much more nebulous and uncertain than I know, at least as far as my overt, functional memory is concerned. I attribute this, in large part, to my having begun medication for two of my traveling companions in this life: PTSD and bipolar disorder type 2 . . . about four years ago. The one med I take for the bipolar stuff is a long-term med that has to be maintained at a certain level in the blood. My recent blood-work shows that the level in my blood is optimal at this time. I use these two (the second one is gabapentin) as tools. Since the diagnosis, by the lovely Dr. Solomon, my world has shifted, somewhat tectonically, into uncharted waters. Whew. Which brings me back to mom’s trinkets. One of those is a nice piece of bling, a hefty yet slim braided silver chain, which holds a chunk of silver that came from the wreck of the Señora de Atocha. This chunk of precious metal lay under 55 feet of water, just off of Key West, for over 350 years. Back in the day I knew some treasure divers, who by temperament are pretty much pirates, and I ain’t talkin’ some Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville pretenders. Henry Taylor often whipped out and brandished his trusty ukulele to spin a sea shanty for an unsuspecting audience. Henry was step-father to Lori Mellon, the truest love of my life. OMG, do I ever miss that woman! Our relationship was headed toward a beautiful place when she suddenly bowed out of this level of reality, via a car crash on the Interstate near Fort Meyers. Only a few months earlier her mother and the illustrious step-father, Henry Taylor, also had a car crash, and Henry didn’t make it through. I don’t know. I was 2000 miles away when it happened. Leaves me breathless to this very day. But enough of that, now. When I slipped this silver piece around my neck I had a spontaneous memory, which, though related to the treasure hunters, was a kinda sorta out of left field thing. It happened in the nightclub where I was a janitor during the first months after my major bike crash and head trauma. We had Dave Mason performing that evening. I mean, Dave friggin Mason! He performed with an accompanying guitarist, no mas. I was standing in the crowd, watching and listening to a rock legend, when something brushed up against my right side. I shivered at first because the ghost of an old sailor haunted that club. But it was a warm flesh and blood presence at my side, the girlfriend of a fellow musician, and that fella was the son of one of the famous treasure divers. There’s yer connection right there, me hearties. I don’t remember her name, but I do remember that she was a young, willowy beauty of a woman. The music was loud, so she sidled up close, her breast warm and soft against the side of my chest, and fairly whispered in my ear, close enough to allow me to feel her warm breath in my ear. She said, “He’s good, but you can do that too!”. She was comparing me to a rock and roll legend. There was another message there, one that I am truly sorry, to this day, that I missed. Her boyfriend was the son of a pirate, and a fellow musician, and I had a high sense of honor in those days, fired by the celestial Light that I had encountered a few months earlier. She was there to seduce me, and I missed it by way of unexpected virtue. Dammit. As I sit here this morning I can feel the truth of her aspirations toward me, and I wish I’d a gone and done it. I passed up a true gift from the Goddess. But that gift remains available to me to this very day. And perhaps that is why I spin a tale of pirates and seduction for you, here, this morning. I now wear a piece of Spanish silver around my neck, on a silver chain. That treasure is small compared to the treasure the Goddess offers me today, and tomorrow, and the next day. I’ll not pass it up again.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.