Connecting the Dots (Blog #465)

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A few short stories and observations before I leave town this afternoon for business and pleasure–

1. People think they are soooo funny

Two nights ago after I turned my lights out and crawled into bed, I heard an insect buzz, buzz, buzzing around my head. I yelled into the living room, “THERE’S A JUNE BUG IN HERE!”

My dad hollered back, “That’s odd–it’s July.”

2. People are assholes

Earlier this week I was writing at Starbucks, and some goober on the other side of the room struck up a conversation with three strangers. That’s a natural-enough thing to do, I suppose, but this guy was separated from these women by at least ten feet and was practically yelling across the communal area–HELLO THERE!–going on and on about where he was from (he was a Yankee) and why he was down here in the south (he needed a change of pace). Anyway, I had my earplugs in listening to music, TRYING to concentrate on writing, but this jerk wouldn’t stop being socialable with these ladies.

The nerve.

“DO YOU KNOW HOW STARBUCKS GOT STARTED?” he said.

Then he told them (and me) exactly how it all happened. I’m not kidding–he shouted every frickin’ detail about this entrepreneur who was trying to sell coffee machines and ended up hawking Joe out of a broom closet in Seattle’s fish market. Loud Guy even ended the story by saying, “–and the rest is history.”

I wanted to throw my latte straight at his bald head.

But I didn’t because I’m in therapy.

So get this shit.

The next day–the next day!–I’m out driving in my neighborhood and see this same fella walking the streets–just gliding along with a damn smile on his face as if he owned the county. He even had his t-shirt tucked into his khaki shorts–like a perfect asshole! I wanted to roll down my window and yell, “Untuck your shirt, you little turd, and wipe that grin off your face!”

But I didn’t because I’m a spiritual person.

3. The universe is an asshole

Seriously, the universe can deliver this guy into my experience two days in a row, but it can’t introduce me to Zac Efron.

4. People are kind

Conversely, here’s something. A couple months ago I was in Hot Springs working on a travel-writing story. My last day there I “took the baths” for a few hours, and while soaking my body in mineral water, I met the kindest man–a chiropractor. For at least an hour we chatted–about Hot Springs, the hot springs, health and wellbeing, worry and meditation, even his family in Fort Smith. As much as the guy at Starbucks got on my nerves, this guy delighted my soul. Such a pleasant surprise.

Well, Friday night I was out listening to live music with my friend Kim, and there was a group of obvious friends sitting by us. You know when people are enjoying each other–talking, laughing, carrying on, dancing. Well, one couple in particular caught my attention. They just seemed laid back, fun.

So get this shit.

The laid back, fun guy was the brother of the gentleman I met in Hot Springs. (Kim knew him and told me his last name, and I made the connection.) What a small world, I thought, then kept thinking I should introduce myself. But what would I have said?

“Hi, I’m Marcus, and I met your brother in a bathhouse.”

You know how we all have voices in our heads? Like that voice that tells says you should lose weight or get a damn job or whatever? Well, I have this still, small voice that never puts me down and is never shaken by life (or assholes at Starbucks), and that voice spoke up while I was watching these darling strangers.

“They’ll come to you,” it said.

But then the evening went on, and they didn’t. (Oh well.) Everyone left the restaurant except me and Kim and the staff. And then–and then–out of nowhere–the two returned. She’d misplaced her glasses. (They were in her purse.) But the point is–like the voice said–they came over to say hello. (Life is weird.) I said, “I met your brother in a bathhouse,” and we had a delightful chat about jewelry, dancing, staying “open.” We all hugged before they left, and they said, “We love you.”

To me, a total stranger.

I didn’t even hesitate. “I love you too.”

5. The universe is kind

Love is all around us.

Last night after a hard day of manual labor and a hot shower, I stood in my driveway and looked at the stars. Searching the sky, I finally found The Serpent constellation, then afterwards discovered Pegasus, The Horse. Although they’ve been there for centuries, they seemed to appear out of nowhere. For me, I guess they did. Not that I haven’t seen the individual stars before, but I simply didn’t know how they fit together. Even now their fitting together seems to blink in and out–it’s there one moment and gone the next. Since this is my experience with people–now we fit together, now we don’t–perhaps love is like the stars–all around us–there if we can only see it and connect the dots.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Just as there’s day and night literally, there’s also day and night emotionally. Like the sun, one minute we’re up, the next minute we’re down. Our perspectives change constantly. There’s nothing wrong with this. The constellations get turned around once a day, so why can’t you and I? Under heaven, there’s room enough for everything–the sun, the moon and stars, and all our emotions. Yes, the universe–our home–is large enough to hold every bit of us.

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The Universal Dance Floor (Blog #450)

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As much as I love swing dancing (and I do), I adore two-stepping. Two-Step, a country dance, comes from Foxtrot, and, although there are a number of different ways to count and dance it, is typically counted “quick, quick, slow, slow.” Like Foxtrot, Waltz, Quick Step, Polka, and Tango, Two-Step travels counterclockwise along line-of-dance, which is the imaginary “loop” or “track” that’s laid out around the perimeter of any dance floor. (Spot dances like Rumba, Cha-Cha, and Swing are danced in the middle of the floor; line-of-dance dances are danced on the outside.) Anyway, there’s just something about two-stepping. Not only do you get to constantly travel around the dance floor, you can also turn or spin around yourself or your partner at the same time.

It’s go-go-go. (Yeehaw.)

Currently it’s two-thirty in the afternoon. Today’s blog is number 450 (in a row), and I’m writing it now because I’m going to a wedding reception this evening and plan to party hardy. The wedding itself was earlier today (at noon), just down the street from our house. (I walked there and back.) And whereas it was a beautiful wedding (truly), it was also a Catholic mass, which means it lasted a long time and involved a lot of standing and sitting, a lot of repeating, “Lord, hear our prayer.” Honestly, it was difficult for me to pay attention. I used to work at weddings as a photographer, and after about a hundred, they stopped being riveting. Plus, today’s mass was mostly in Spanish, and I don’t speak Spanish.

In short, my mind wandered.

Yesterday I wrote about my search for the constellation Cassiopeia, part of my recent fascination with our solar system. I’ve really been wanting to understand why stars and planets move or appear to move the way they do. Last night I looked up a model of the universe online and found a site that shows where the planets currently are. In one diagram, the sun was shown in the middle, in another, the earth. This was extremely enlightening, seeing the universe from both an outside and an on-the-ground perspective, and it really helped me understand why this planet is over here and that planet is over there.

This is all I could think about in church earlier today, the planets and their orbits. Normally planets move through the constellations (the zodiac) on the ecliptic (the planetary racetrack) from west to east, but sometimes they seem to move from east to west. This is called retrograde motion, and I learned last night that it’s an illusion that occurs when a faster moving (inner) planet passes a slower moving (outer) one. This same illusion happens when you speed past someone on the highway. You’re both technically moving forward, but relative to you, the other person or car appears to be moving backwards.

Still trying to get a picture of how the whole thing works, I imagined during the wedding that the sanctuary was our solar system. I thought, What if the sun were in the middle of the room, and I (as the earth) were orbiting around it? What would another planet to the left or right of me look like? What if they were on the other side of the room, “eclipsed” by the sun? And then it hit me–the universe is like a dance floor!–all the planets looping around the sun counterclockwise, each on its own path, some spinning right as they go (Venus, Uranus) and some spinning left (all the others). I thought, It makes perfect sense. Some planets dance solo and others dance with partners (moons).

Like one big cosmic Two-Step.

We’re all equal on life’s dance floor.

Yesterday I was reminded of an affirmation that I’m quite fond of–“Everything is happening in divine right order.” To me this means that the planets and yes, even you and I, are on our proper paths. Not that everything is predetermined, but rather that we are all where we are meant to be–the universal dance floor!–and the rules of dance apply. Here it doesn’t matter if you spin right, spin left, dance solo, or grab a partner. What matters is that you’re dancing. Some days you’ll dance quick, some days you’ll dance slow. At times, others will appear to pass you by. Don’t let this upset you. It’s an illusion. We’re all equal on life’s dance floor. Each of us–at best–is simply, fabulously whirling around in circles–circles that have nowhere to go or be other than right here, right now–circles with no beginning and no end.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Aren’t you perfect just the way you are?

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Chasing Cassiopeia (Blog #449)

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Having the day free, I spent this afternoon reading, first in a book called Healing and the Mind by Bill Moyers, then in a book called The Power of Your Subconscious Mind by Joesph Murphy. By the time I’d read fifty pages in each book, my brain was bleeding, so I took a nap. When I woke up, convinced I needed to make today “a reading day,” I turned my attention to my beginner’s astronomy book. However, my mind couldn’t handle any more information. It was full. Plus, being cooped up in the house all day, I was growing restless, irritable.

About sunset I told my parents, “I’m going for a walk.”

Manned with my phone and an astronomy app, I determined to use my walk as an opportunity to identify stars and planets. For the last week I’ve been stargazing after midnight, so I thought being out around nine would not only let me see a few different stars, but would also let me see which stars “come out” first. (Some of us take longer than others.) Y’all, I can’t tell you what a great time I had. I learned in the book today that all the planets (and our sun and moon) travel (basically) along what’s called the elliptic, a narrow band in the sky that’s somewhat like a racetrack for the galaxy’s major players. The first ones to show up on the track as the sun sets? The two brightest planets–Venus (in the west) and Jupiter (currently close to the moon in the south).

For two hours I walked around Van Buren, listening to podcasts and periodically checking my phone against the night sky. Starting out I found Castor and Pollux, the two brightest stars in the constellation Gemini (in the west). Tonight was my first time to deliberately and consciously see them. As they dipped below the horizon, I turned my attention to what have this week become easy constellations for me to spot–The Big Dipper, The North Star and The Little Dipper, The Northern Cross, The Summer Triangle (which isn’t technically a constellation but rather three bright stars in three separate constellations), and Scorpius. Then I found Saturn in the southeast (in Capricorn), trailing behind Jupiter (in Scorpio) along the ecliptic.

I realize this jargon may not make sense. A week ago I would have been totally confused by this information and am just beginning to sort it all out. Today I learned that the ecliptic travels through twelve constellations (the zodiac). Or at least it used to. Things have shifted a bit. But still, astronomers and astrologers make reference to these twelve constellations all the time. Zodiac means “circle of little animals,” fitting since the majority of the twelve constellations or zodiac signs are animals. If you can find the ecliptic, “the signs” will appear along it in the order (or reverse order) they appear during the calendar year (starting around the Spring Equinox)–Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Cancer, Leo (where Venus is currently), Virgo, Libra, Scorpio, Sagittarius, Capricorn, Aquarius, and Pisces. For those interested in the zodiac (and–uh–horoscopes), your “sun sign” is the constellation along the ecliptic that the sun was “in” at the time you were born.

Anyway, the stars were all I could think about tonight. For the last week I’ve been looking for Cassiopeia, the famous w-shaped constellation in the northern sky. I’d read that if you know how to find The North Star using The Big Dipper (and the last two stars in the ladle), you can follow that arc to Cassiopeia, the mythological queen who was banished to the night sky by Poseidon for her vanity. However, until tonight I couldn’t find her–I’ve been looking from my driveway, and I guess she’s been behind the neighbors’ houses. But as I got close to home about ten-thirty this evening, I saw her peeking out between some trees. Y’all, I got so excited.

And then I got pissed because all the streetlights and car lights kept making her hard to see.

Finally, I came up with a plan. Back inside the house, I asked Dad if he wanted to drive out-of-town to look for stars, to chase Cassiopeia. Five minutes later, we were piled into Tom Collins (my car), on the hunt. We went to three different places, each about ten minutes from the house, each with different vantage points. And whereas we could still see the city lights, being farther away from them made spotting the stars MUCH easier. At the first location, Cassiopeia was still behind some trees, but the sky was dark enough for me to find Draco the Dragon, something I haven’t been able to do from my driveway. Then at the second location, there she was in all her glory–Cassiopeia, the Queen.

Speaking as a queen myself, she looked fabulous.

Finally, at the third location, Dad and I found Mars, which had just shown up in the southeast along the ecliptic. (It’s reddish). I was thrilled. I kept driving the car a little farther down the road, turning off the lights, getting out, checking the sky. Yep, they’re still there. Back in our driveway about midnight, I looked again. This time, even with the city lights, I was able to find Cassiopeia, Draco, Mars–all my new friends. I suppose they were there all along, I just didn’t know how to find them. I don’t know why this delights me so much, star hunting. There’s something about seeing what the ancients saw, something about finding my place in the heavens. Plus I think, What other wonders–friends–are right in front of me, just waiting for me to finally notice?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Each season has something to offer.

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Star and Self-Gazing (Blog #443)

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Feelings, who needs ’em? Ugh. I’ve spent the day feeling. Feeling tired, sad, guilty, angry, intrigued, amused, hopeful. Not necessarily in that order. Ick. Feelings here, feelings there, feelings, feelings, everywhere. Who came up with this emotional highway? I’ve been all over the road today.

Pick a lane, Marcus, pick a lane.

Mostly all I did today was read. First I read fifty pages in a beginner’s book to astronomy, something I picked up recently because I’d actually like to understand the universe I live in. Seriously, I’ve spent my entire life not knowing my Arcturus from a hole in the ground, and I intend to do something about it. Today I learned that you can use The Big Dipper (year round) and Orion (in the winter) to find almost every major constellation and/or star in the sky (if you’re in the northern hemisphere). Also, I learned that Pollux, one of the two bright stars in the constellation Gemini, means “much wine.” (The other one, Castor, means “he who excels” or “beaver.”) Suffice it to say, Pollux is now my favorite star in the sky.

Even though it’s technically below the horizon as we speak.

In addition to starting the astronomy book, I also read an entire fiction novel, a story about a family suicide. So there I went feeling again–sad for the characters, mad that the author didn’t use quotation marks, even though a lot of people were–get this–quoted. Apparently this is a thing now, to just run everything together. Like, Marcus says, I think this is a bad idea. What is the world coming to? Call me an old fart, but I’m just not on board.

This afternoon during reading breaks I took the dog back I’ve been sitting the last seven nights (KoKo). Part of me was ready to take her back. I like to sleep in, and although she never barked, I could hear her moving around in the mornings. But then another part of me really wanted her to stay. She’d nuzzle up to me and give me the biggest hugs. She wouldn’t stop. I’d have to say, “Please, KoKo, this is getting awkward.” Still, I don’t remember the last time someone hugged me like that.

Yeah, I miss her.

Ugh. Feelings again.

This evening after more reading, I went for a run, which turned into more of a walk. Maybe it helped work some things out. It’s hard to tell. I took a nap this afternoon, but currently I’m so tired I don’t know what I’m feeling. Periodically throughout the day I’ve noticed my tight muscles because life, my allergies because I’m off antihistamines for the weekend, a requirement for the allergist I’m seeing Monday. I tend to ignore these things, little aches and annoyances. I’m good at soldiering through. But today I’ve caught myself taking a deep breath now and then, trying to take in and contain, rather than push away, whatever is going on inside me.

To be clear, I don’t think feelings can be contained, at least at will. I have this tight muscle in my abdomen. I’m always thinking that if I could let go emotionally, it would let go physically. (It’s a theory.) So I stretch and I breathe deep, and I feel all my feelings for an afternoon, but it’s still there, hanging out until it’s ready to leave. That’s what I mean by contain, letting something hang out. I look at everything going on in my life–all the circumstances, challenges, feelings–and wonder, Am I large enough to hold all of this, to be patient, to not rush events and emotions out my proverbial door?

At home after my walk, I plopped down in our driveway with my astronomy book and a star-gazing app on my phone. For thirty minutes I stared up at the sky and was generally pissed off at the streetlights that made it difficult to see anything. Still, slowly I found my way around the heavens. There was The Big Dipper, Polaris (The North Star) and the Little Dipper, The Northern Cross. I even found “my” Arcturus! The book said it can take a year to get really comfortable with what’s going on in the heavens, so I’m telling myself to be patient, not just with my learning about the sky, but also with my learning about myself. For surely I too am a universe–vast–with plenty of mysteries and more than enough space to contain them, to contain all that can happen and be felt in a day, in a lifetime.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We always have more support than we realize.

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Like the Rose (Blog #430)

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I just took the above picture with Oscar, one of the two cats I’m taking care of this week and my current favorite because he didn’t throw up six times in the middle of the night–well, seven if you count the incident on the stairs–like his brother did. No kidding, I cleaned up three messes before I went to bed, then woke up this morning to four more, the most notable of which was smack-dab in the middle of the dining room table. Not exactly what you want to see just before your first meal of the day.

Inconsiderate, I know.

Later while scrubbing a vomit spot on a rug in the living room, I thought, I don’t blame you for having a sensitive stomach, Riley. (That’s the other cat’s name, Riley.) But for crying out loud, you little shit, you could at least have the decency to throw up in a trash can or an otherwise designated location. (That’s what I do.) What, you think you own this whole house, that you can just stroll from room to room VOMITING anywhere you gosh-darn please, that I’m just here to pick up after you and your hairballs?!

I know, I know–that’s exactly why I’m here.

Other than cleaning up after the cat, I haven’t done much today. Rather, I’ve taken it easy, as much as I have in the longest time. During breakfast I watched a standup comedian on Netflix, then I walked to a friend’s house to feed their dogs. They’d left a note that said I could raid their fridge, so I did, especially once I saw that it was mostly full of beer. (Diet starts tomorrow.) For well over an hour, I sat on their porch–eating, drinking, sun bathing. My mind kept saying, “Hurry up, you’ve got things to do, Marcus.” But then I’d answer, “No, actually, I don’t have ANYTHING to do. Now go fetch me another Heineken.”

Of course, I had to get it myself.

This evening I read the script for an off-broadway play that a writer friend recommended. Then I lay down to take a nap but ended up watching a movie instead. Now I’m obviously blogging. Yesterday I was worried I’d have to blog on my phone because the charging cord for my laptop had a short in it. But then after a full evening of fretting about the matter, I managed to fix the cord today after breakfast.

Phew. Another crisis averted.

It occurred to me this afternoon that life doesn’t completely suck. I’ve thought this before, but thought it a lot today while I was sitting on my friend’s porch, even while I was walking from one home to the other. At one point I literally stopped and smelled some roses. Later I thought, Those roses are content to simply be, okay whether or not someone notices their beauty, okay whether or not someone puts their nose in their business. Why can’t I be like the rose? So often I’m concerned with wanting to be (wanting to grow) somewhere I’m not, wanting to be noticed, wanting someone’s nose–uh–in my business. Thankfully, today has been different. (At least most of it has.) Like the rose, I’ve been content to be right here, right now, perfectly satisfied with life as it is, never questioning the world’s beauty, or even my own.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"The heart sings for its own reasons."

Do Something Unexpected (Blog #424)

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It’s ten in the evening, and Bonnie and I are driving back from Nashville. Well, she’s driving, I’m riding. We got a slow start this afternoon, largely because I wanted to stop downtown and get my picture taken by the famous angel-wings mural, then stop again at McKay’s, a warehouse-sized bookstore outside of town. So we’re just now coming into Little Rock, which means we should be home close to midnight. And whereas I’m wired with coffee and could blog when I get home, I have to be up early tomorrow, so I’m trying to knock this out now.

When Bonnie and got downtown today, there was a long line of people waiting to have their pictures taken with the mural. So we waited. Here’s a picture of the whole sitch. (That means situation, Mom.)

While waiting in line, I was sort of eavesdropping on the people around us, sort of checking myself out in the shop windows, trying out poses for the angel wings–arms spread out like I’m flying, hands on hips like a sorority girl, legs crossed like I don’t give a fuck–you know, possibilities. This went on for a while, everyone talking–Oh my god, it was so nice to meet you!–then Bonnie and I rounded a corner and saw a Rolling Stones lips-and-tongue sculpture like the one we saw a couple days ago. (It must be a thing.) Well, since I’d naughtily sat on the first tongue, I immediately thought, I’ve GOT to sit on this one. I could start a–what’s the word?–tradition.

Ooh-la-la.

So I casually inch closer to this big pair of lips, while Bonnie’s getting the camera out and scooting closer to me in order to crop out the other people who are standing around and not taking advantage of such a great photo opportunity. Then I quietly put my hands on my knees and push my butt toward the giant tongue, like I might for a spanking. (Don’t worry, Mom, I’m not into spankings.) Y’all, up until now, everyone is yak-yak-yaking. But as soon as my butt touches that tongue, everyone shuts up. Then I open my mouth, like “oh my gosh,” or “my, that feels nice,” Bonnie takes the picture, and everyone starts talking again. Later Bonnie said, “You effectively silenced the whole crowd.” Mission accomplished.

Look at the top of the blog for this morning’s photo, below for the one that “started it all.”

The drive home has gone well. I read for a while, first in a book about stand-up comedy (which I finished), then in a book about writing (which I just picked up today at McKay’s). Then it got dark, and Bonnie and I listened to a podcast called Really Dirty Words, about–you guessed it–really dirty words and their histories. I realize this might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but it was right up my alley. Today Bonnie and I Iearned about the origins of the c-word and the other f-word, one a derogatory term for women, the other a derogatory term for homosexuals. Both have fascinating stories, like the fact that the c-word was once associated with status, power, and influence, and the fact that the other f-word is now being “taken back” by many in the gay community. (You can’t insult me with a name I call myself). My big takeaway was that what’s unacceptable in speech to one person is often more-than-acceptable to another and that intent can make a big difference.

Here’s something I forgot to mention yesterday. A couple nights ago, we all went out for Bonnie’s birthday. First, we ate at a rooftop bar (very cool, very Nashville), then we went to see a 90s cover band. Y’all, talk about a retro-fabulous time. These guys sang the music I grew up on. I sent my sister a video of the group singing “Don’t Go Chasing Waterfalls” by TLC, and she replied, “Fun. Also–because we old.” So that felt good. Anyway, in between the rooftop bar and the concert, our group piled onto an elevator with a couple strangers, and I pulled out my camera and said, “Elevator selfie! Everyone in who wants in.”

And just like that, we all crammed together, and it was this beautiful, exciting moment–so exciting I cut half my own face out of the picture. But it was SO MUCH MORE FUN than your normal elevator ride. One of the strangers even asked if I could text her the photo, and I hope even now she’s showing her friends, saying, “You won’t believe what happened to us the other day on an elevator.”

Any mundane thing can be turned into something joyous.

Today while waiting in line with Bonnie, we noticed that almost everyone was doing THE SAME THING at the angel-wing mural. They just stood there and smiled. But once I heard a magician say that if you want to reconnect with wonder and awe, which you only find in the present moment, you have to break up your routines. You have to do something unexpected. For me, this looks like squatting in front of a mural instead of standing, or sticking my rear-end on a humongous tongue, or taking an elevator selfie with strangers. Granted, these are small acts, but this life-long planner is finding that there’s often more joy to be found in small acts of the spontaneous than in big acts of the perfunctory. I’m trying to remember this, that any mundane thing–an elevator ride!–can be turned into something joyous, that “really dirty words” and even life itself aren’t inherently good or bad or boring or fun, that these are things we decide–we decide–in each present moment.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We think of hope as something pristine, but hope is haggard like we are.

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All Things Great and Small (Blog #415)

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Tonight I’m afraid to write. I can’t say why. I’ve been sitting here for forty-five minutes browsing the internet, the whole time thinking, I have nothing to say. I didn’t do shit this afternoon. I read a book and drank a cup of coffee. How am I supposed to blog about that? This isn’t the first time I’ve thought something like this. Tonight’s blog is #415 (in a row), and I honestly have no idea how I’ve managed to “fill the page” time and time again, since the details of my day-to-day life aren’t that exciting. Like I said, today I read a book and drank a cup of coffee.

Woo-who.

The book I’m currently reading is called I Contain Multitudes: The Microbes Within Us and a Grander View of Life by Ed Yong and is about all the Little Critters that live on, in, and around us. I’m a hundred pages into the book and am riveted. According to the author, there are more germs living in and on one human body than there are stars in the galaxy, although “germs” is apparently not the best term to use, since it implies bad and nasty. As it turns out, the vast majority of bacteria in the world are either harmless or beneficial. Many help break down our foods and fight off disease. Quite literally forming communities in our mouths, guts, and private areas, these bacteria can influence our moods, weight, and even our personalities. (There’s a bacteria that, in order to survive, turns some insects into lesbians! Well, at least it allows female wasps to clone themselves and therefore have no need for males, which is sort of like being a lesbian.)

Since each of us is home to so many different species of microbes, Yong contends that any one of us, rather than being “an I,” is really “a we.” Here’s how he says it: “When we eat, so do they. When we travel, they come along. When we die, they consume us. Every one of us is a zoo in our own right–a colony enclosed in a single body. A multi-species collective. An entire world.”

Isn’t that beautiful?

Since being introduced to this book recently (it was a gift), I’ve started thinking of myself as a collective, an ecosystem, a rainforest, if you will. Granted, I’ve never been to a rainforest (other than Rainforest Cafe), but I can imagine–tigers feed off their prey just as lush trees feed off decaying plants, all in a complex system of give and take, life and death. Likewise, I’m teeming with a whole universe of lifeforms, and together we’re engaged in a great balancing act. For years I’ve struggled with sinus infections but have recently seen improvements by introducing a single strand of bacteria (l. sakei) into my nostrils. (This apparently works because l. sakei keeps other bacteria “in check.”) It sounds weird, I know, but now it makes more sense than ever. It’s like the scales were tipped in the wrong direction “up there,” and I just needed one heavy hitter to help even things out.

Way to go, fellas.

What’s amazing to me is that one little bacteria (the one that started the infections) has been able to cause me so much misery and that one little bacteria (the one that ended the infections) has been able to cause me so much joy. L. sakei isn’t a panacea for all my health problems, but it truly has changed the landscape of this rainforest. So often we think of ourselves as powerless or without influence, but my God, if one little bacteria can do that–wreak havoc or bring joy–how much more can I do? How much more can you do? I think about my therapist, how knowing her has completely transformed me for the better. Four years into our work together, there’s not a relationship in my life that hasn’t improved because of her, even the relationship I have with myself (and all my microbes). It’s funny, right? I had no idea the day I met her just how much my world would change.

Now our world is more magical.

Earlier I said, “Nothing happened today. I read a book and drank a cup of coffee.” What I meant to say was, “Everything happened today. This morning my entire rainforest came to life, and this afternoon we drank a cup of coffee, and a million microbial and chemical reactions made it possible. At the same time we read a book and may never see ourselves the same again because of it. Now our world is more magical, a mysterious place where everything somehow works together, where nothing and no one is without influence, where all things great and small can make a difference.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Pressure, it seems, is necessary to positive internal change. After all, lumps of coal don't shine on their own.

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Nothing Short of Mystical (Blog #383)

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The last twenty-four hours have been fabulous. Yesterday evening all the other journalists arrived, and Lookout Point, a bed-and-breakfast located on Hamilton Lake here in Hot Springs, hosted a reception for us. Y’all, there was cheese, wine, locally made craft beer, and even cupcakes from a company called Fat Bottomed Girls–which I will soon be if I don’t stop eating all this food. And get this–on top of the food, they took us on a boat ride around the lake. Talk about the royal treatment. Today some folks from Texas who joined one of our tours asked, “How does one become a travel writer?” I honestly had no idea how to answer. The first thing that came to mind was, God has to like you a lot.

But really, thank you, Lord.

After the reception, we went to dinner at Rolando’s, a Latin restaurant that’s also located in Fort Smith. If you’ve ever eaten there, you know the food is always delicious, and last night was no exception. And not only was the food great, but so was the conversation. (At one point we talked about goat yoga. It’s apparently a thing.) This is what I love about writers–everyone was fun, kind, and curious–good question askers, good listeners.

Before going back to the hotel, I stopped into the Ohio Club for one last beer, and I’m glad I did. There was a guy playing live music, acoustic stuff, and he had a beautiful voice–natural, raw, just gritty enough. Close to him was a couple who had just gotten married. I struck up a conversation with the bride, and they’d come down from Connecticut, just the two of them, to elope. They’d never been here before but got married in a chapel, and the Ohio Club and the singer ended up being their reception. They both seemed so happy. Just before I left, the singer sang “Into the Mystic” by Van Morrison, which happens to be one of my favorite songs. I don’t know, I just felt fortunate to have wandered in at just the right time to experience it all. It was a perfect, mystical moment.

This morning–believe it or not–I was awake and mostly functional at five-thirty. I’m not kidding. I had to meet the group at six-thirty, so I wanted to meditate, shower, and drink a cup of coffee first. So I did it–I got up before the sunrise. (Now give me a t-shirt to mark the occasion, and let’s hope it never happens again.) Anyway, our first stop today was The Pancake Shop, a local favorite. Y’all, it felt like home–their pancakes tasted just like Grandpa’s used to. I even slathered butter and peanut butter on them and topped the whole mess off with two eggs over-medium just like Grandpa taught me. One of my new friends, an oatmeal-with-blueberries eater from Florida, was mortified. He said, “Think of all the calories.” Pouring on more syrup, I said, “This is the south. We don’t know what calories are.”

I ate–every–single–delicious–bite.

After breakfast we went to the top of a lookout tower and started a several-hour tour of the city with a park ranger, Tom. Here’s a picture of several of us with Tom on the elevator ride up the tower.

At the top of the tower, I learned all sorts of things. Hot Springs, it appears, is partly (but not completely) a National Forest. Here’s a picture from the tower, and the National Forest part (I think) is basically the lower half of the photo. If you’re familiar with Hot Springs, the Arlington Hotel is located in the middle of the photo, just to the right. It’s not the tallest building, but the L-shaped one. The shadow of the tower (which looks like a penis) is pointing at the Arlington. To the left of the center of the photo is another tall L-shaped building (which I’ll talk about later), and that’s the Arkansas Career Training Institute.

Although we drove to the top of the lookout mountain, we hiked down. This is something several of us, including myself, were not prepared to do, meaning we were wearing dress shoes and not sneakers. Plus, for whatever reason, my legs were shaking. Like, even when I was standing still, they were vibrating from my heels to my hips. This happens sometimes on a smaller scale when my legs are tired, but I’m not sure what was up today. When it comes to my health and physical body, I’m learning to ask fewer questions and simply go with it.

For the next few hours, we learned about the hot springs, how (over a long period of time) rainfall works its way through the earth, is heated up, and forced back to the surface (by the pressure of other water in the system) where it comes out at a temperature of about 140 degrees. Then we toured the local bathhouses, or what used to be the bathhouses, as many of them have closed and become other things. One of the bathhouses, the Fordyce, is a museum now, but was apparently the most opulent business of its kind during the hey-day of hot-spring bathing. (People used to travel here from all over the country literally by doctor’s orders to heal such things as polio, syphilis, and other ailments that you can’t actually cure with hot water. At that time, a round of “treatments” that lasted three weeks cost eighteen dollars.)

Here’s a picture of one of my favorite parts of the Fordyce, the only area with a floor not covered in tile–the gymnasium. Check out all the old workout equipment. When it was originally purchased, all of it–total–cost $1,500.

After the tour of the bathhouses, we ate lunch at Superior Bathhouse Brewery, an old bathhouse (the Superior) that’s been turned into a craft-beer-making joint. They’ve been open for five years, and it’s the only brewery in the world that uses thermal (hot springs) water to brew beer. How cool is that? Right here in Arkansas. Plus, they serve a pretty mean lunch, probably the healthiest thing I’ve eaten on this tour of the south so far. (My oatmeal-eating friend would be proud.)

Here’s a picture of me and two other journalists with Rose, the owner of Superior Bathhouse Brewery.

When lunch was over, I was given several hours of free time to roam or relax. Wanting to find out more about the second L-shaped building I mentioned earlier, I struck up a conversation with some locals, who told me that although the building was a vocational school, the lobby was open to the public. So off I went, up the hill toward the building, then into the lobby. Y’all, what happened next was perhaps the best part of my trip to Hot Springs so far (well, other than the peanut butter pancakes and craft beer). A man in a wheelchair, Lance, gave me a tour of the building, explaining that it is now a vocational school specifically for people with disabilities, but that it was originally the first Army-Navy Hospital in the nation. At 198,000 square feet, it’s 9 stories tall and used to have 500 rooms for patients.

Here’s a picture from the outside. The highest point used to be a water tower, but it’s no longer in service.

In addition to showing me the lobby (and the recreation area on the sixth floor), Lance showed me a small museum on the second floor–a single room filled with old medical and dental equipment from the 1930s. Y’all, there were surgery tools, dental implants, and rectal thermometers. There was even a human skeleton. I was absolutely riveted.

And creeped out.

Now I’m back in my room at The Waters and have about an hour before dinner. I’m ready for a nap, but I don’t think I’m going to get one. Instead, I’m just using the time to work on the blog so I can sleep tonight. I don’t have anything too profound to conclude with, but I’m so fascinated by the way that life brings people together, how our stories and songs connect and intertwine, if only for these brief moments, if only over lunch or a craft beer. To me, these unexpected meetings with strangers who smile at us and give us the grand tour are nothing short of miraculous, nothing short of mystical.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No one is immune from life’s challenges.

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A Day Such As This (Blog #378)

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Y’all, this travel-writing life is the way to go. Seriously, it’s the deal. Except for the getting up early part, I’m loving it. That being said, it’s go-go-go, even by my standards. This morning I got up at seven-forty-five, and it’s been non-stop ever since. (It’s ten-thirty now.) The day started at the National Civil Rights Museum, located at the Lorraine Motel, the place where Martin Luther King was assassinated in 1968. It’s honestly one of the most striking and well-done museums I’ve ever been to. Powerful. Then it was off to lunch, and–my word–there was so much food. I’ve only been here two days, and I’ve already undone all the “good” those two flu viruses did for my waistline last month. Like, I’ve probably gained ten pounds. I can’t believe I’ve got a week of this constant indulgence to go–I’m gonna HAVE to start ordering salads.

Surely I can find a modicum of self-control SOMEWHERE in my suitcase.

After lunch our group split up, and I went with several lovely people to the botanical gardens. This is one of the things I am LOVING about this trip–we’re doing all sorts of things that I love but would never think to do on my own, or at least would never make time for. We were only at the gardens for an hour and fifteen minutes, but it was so beautiful and relaxing. Our guide referred to it as “forest bathing.”

After the gardens, we went to the Memphis Zoo for an hour. Again, it was a whirlwind tour, but–like at the gardens–we were on a golf cart and had a private tour guide. This is why I say this is the only way to travel–less walking, more shade, and tons of good information. Like, at the zoo we learned about a species of penguins who despise cold weather, as well as some monkeys with rainbow-colored bottoms. When I asked why nature would make such a thing, our guide said, “They follow each other a lot, so their rears need to be easy to spot. Plus–who wouldn’t want one?”

I mean, I know I would.

Y’all, at the zoo I was like a total kid. I literally gasped out loud when I saw the elephants, polar bear, and giraffes. Seriously–for all the bullshit that life creates, it also creates some AMAZING creatures (ourselves included). Maybe we just get used to seeing certain amazing creatures and take them for granted. But when I saw the giant pandas and the hippopotamus, I was simply stunned. What a phenomenal world we live in.

When we left the zoo, we went straight to the Peabody Hotel for the daily duck walk. If you don’t know, the Peabody is famous for their ducks, these five mallards that march down a red carpet and into a fountain each morning, and march right back out in the evening. People go nuts for this shit, myself included. I shot a live video of the big affair, if you’d like to check it out. On one hand, it’s kind of ridiculous, but then again, it’s fabulous.

When the duck walk was over, our group got a private tour of the duck “mansion” on top of the hotel–by the Duck Master himself. No kidding, that’s an actual job and job title. (Remember this the next time someone tells you that you can’t make a living doing whatever it is you want to do.) Here’s a picture of some of our group and the Duck Master in one of the Peabody elevators.

Here are the ducks and their master on the rooftop.

Having a couple hours to kill, some of us went to a museum, and the rest of us, including me, toured the hotel and got VIP tickets to a party on the rooftop. (VIP meant that we got two free drinks and access to extra food.) And whereas the party went on until eleven, we left just before seven-thirty to go to dinner (and eat even more). I could go on and on about the food (and gorgeous waiter), but I digress. Suffice it to say that the atmosphere was stunning (in addition to the waiter, the restaurant used to be a silent movie theater), and the food was even better.

More than anything today, I’ve enjoyed the company of the other writers. Everyone I’ve met is so kind, and it’s like we’re an immediate tribe, all these independent and freelance writers, everyone trying to make it on their own. We get each other. So far everyone I’ve talked to ask questions and listens. They’re interested and interesting. One guy used to coach swimming and tennis, and another lends his voice to a character in a popular anime series. (Anime is Japanese animation, Mom.) A husband and wife couple who own a magazine in Florida also used to teach cotillion.

People are fascinating (even if they DON’T have rainbow-colored bottoms).

Okay, now it’s just after eleven, and I HAVE to wind down. Tomorrow morning we are supposed to be out of our rooms just after seven, since we’re driving to a different part of the state (I think)–and I still need to pack. For these reasons, I’ve been telling myself all day that I’d keep tonight’s post short, which I haven’t. Still, I may need to keep it un-profound, as that might require more time than I currently have. But surely it’s profound enough to simply acknowledge and enjoy a great day, a day full of fascination and wonder, a day full of beauty from sunup to sundown, a day such as this or any other.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We may never be done, but that doesn't mean we'll never be complete. And surely we are complete right here, right now, and surely there is space enough for the full moon, for you and for me, and all our possibilities.

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A Whirling Planet Full of Wonder (Blog #367)

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Last weekend while I was in Tulsa, my friend Frank gave me a 2009 High School Musical calendar (I have a relatively mild crush on Zac Efron), and when I got home I hung the calendar above my bed. It’s opened to Zac’s picture, of course. There are actually a few pictures of Zac for the month of February, one really big then a few smaller ones–like a collage. One of the smaller pictures has “some girl” staring at Zac all googly-eyed, and my friend Kara said I should paste a picture of my face over hers, like, staring at Zac “longingly.” For a moment, I actually considered it. I’m almost forty years old.

Since my door is normally closed, my dad just saw the calendar for the first time tonight. It was so cute. He said, “Is that a picture of you?”

“Uh, no–thank you–that’s Zac Efron.”

“Well you’re better looking that he is!”

Y’all, I realize parents are supposed to say stuff like this to their children, but it seriously made my day–well, more like it made my five seconds, since then my dad immediately said, “I don’t have my glasses on.” I haven’t been able to get these two phrases out of my head all night–“You’re better looking than he is,” and “I don’t have my glasses on.”

Talk about blowing up the balloon of my ego then letting all the air out.

Parents.

Last night I did a Facebook Live video (my first ever) to celebrate the one-year anniversary of my blog (the blog you’re reading right now). First, to anyone who tuned in live or watched later–thank you! It was really fun, and getting to interact with several of you and read your comments truly made my day.

For anyone who missed the live video that’s interested, here’s a copy of it (22 minutes). Toward the end I read yesterday’s one-year anniversary post. Also, when I tested it for this post, I had to “hover over” the bottom of the video to un-mute it after hitting play.

After wrapping up last night’s video, I attended a swing dance in Fayetteville. One of the people I danced with last night, another guy, said he’d only been dancing a couple of months. He had the biggest smile on his face all night. Later I told someone else that I remember feeling that way when I first started dancing, that I was a little jealous of beginners because they are “all joy” and not focused on whether they’re doing something right or wrong. They’re not comparing themselves to others. Not that being a “seasoned dancer” means you can’t have fun. Last night I had as much fun as I’ve ever had, mostly–I think–because I’ve gotten more comfortable in my skin this last year. It’s not as if I don’t notice who dances “better” or “worse” than I do–I just don’t care as much anymore. I’d rather have fun.

With the exception of a two-hour get-together with my friend Kara, I spent the entirety of today reading a book called Here Is Real Magic (A Magician’s Search for Wonder in the Modern World) by Nate Staniforth. A memoir, the book is largely about the fact that as we grow older and fill ourselves with facts and figures (knowledge), we lose touch with the beautiful, awe-inspiring, wonderful world around us. Nate, a magician, says this is the magician’s job, not to trick or deceive people, but to help bring them into the present moment and remind them of the mystery of life. As spectators we’re curious how magicians perform their tricks, but, as Nate says, not all questions have to have answers.

To read a beautiful quote by Roald Dahl and the introduction to Nate’s book, click the preview button below.

Y’all, the book really is glorious–a lovely story wonderfully told. I don’t say this about many authors, but Nate is an excellent writer–I read the entire book today, cover to cover, and for all my reading, that rarely happens. Two days, maybe. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about this wonder thing today. A friend of mine posted some videos of us dancing last night, and I’ve been watching them over and over. Part of me, the critical part, notices what I don’t like–my posture, the way I shape my arms, the fact that I’ve been sick lately and was completely out of breath after one dance. But I keep telling myself that in that moment, I was like that beginner dancer having fun–a smile on my face, content to simply be alive and (quite literally) kicking.

I’ve had a fascination with the planets lately, and driving home from my get-together with Kara today, I got this picture of the planet earth. It was like I was looking at it from outer space, this big ball with billions of people with their feet glued all over its surface. They say there’s no up or down in outer space, but if there were, clearly the people in the northern hemisphere would be facing “up” and the people in the southern hemisphere would be facing “down.” Thanks to gravity, no one feels like they are “right-side up” or “upside down,” but my point is still the same–WOW, what a world we live in.

What a beautiful world indeed.

Since working through a lot of my personal shit this last year, I’ve actually been having thoughts like these more and more. I’ll be driving along and think, My God, that mountain is gorgeous, or even, Look at that lightbulb–what a great thing–what did people do before lightbulbs? I guess children have these thoughts all the time. For them, the entire world and everything in it is new, bright, and beautiful. When someone gives them a compliment, they don’t have to question if it’s true–they know that they too are beautiful. Beautiful–full of beauty–this is how I’m slowly coming to see the world and all that is in it, including myself. And what a beautiful world indeed, a whirling planet full of wonder, where up is down and down is up and people can dance together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s no such thing as a small action. There’s no such thing as small progress.

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