SUMMARY: Strap on your seat belts because Mike Dewey's about to take you on ride that'll challenge not only your sense of what's real, but of what's possible. Enjoy the trip.
It's not, in all likelihood, the best of omens when a soaring seagull suddenly decides to empty its bowels through the sunroof of the car you're driving as you're crossing the bridge for a weekend getaway.
Even less so when said seagull hits its target with military precision.
But hey, it happens, so to speak.
It's gotta land somewhere.
Why not on my head?
And if you take step back and simply consider the odds, well, it's staggering, kind of like dropping a clothespin into a milk bottle from 70 stories high.
Did you ever play that game as a kid, at some friend's birthday party?
No, not with seagulls ... with clothespins.
Wow, I certainly am dating myself with references to clothespins and milk bottles, aren't I?
That's OK.
Wait until I start reeling off villains from the original "Batman" TV series or quoting lines from "Dark Shadows," then you'll know we've crossed a dangerous line.
But for now, I'm content to tell you about driving across the Intracoastal Waterway on our way to a brief day/night trip that, by November standards, turned out better than it might.
One of the lessons I've learned over the last dozen years or so -- since we relocated from Northeast Ohio to Southeast North Carolina -- is that it is a wise man who dresses in layers.
So when that seagull deposited its load on my shoulder, it was a simple matter to peel off that blue denim workshirt, leaving a black turtleneck sweater to take over.
Beneath that, I still had in reserve, a Peace Frogs T-shirt, always a fine layer of last resort.
Of course, a lot of what that seagull shared ended up in my hair, but what the heck, I'm due for a trim soon, anyway, so it was no big deal.
YOU TRY, you really do, not to take for granted the fact that any time you want to get back to the beach you can just, well, do it.
There's a certain karmic disharmony involved when you simply pack the car and hit the road without saying something like, "I realize that life might not always be this good."
And then your wife looks at you and you understand, too late, that you've been speaking aloud and that she's got questions in her eyes.
"Oh," I said, "it's nothing, honey. Just enjoying the day."
But the truth is that I believe in paybacks.
The life we've been sharing since the fall of 2000 has been, to a large extent, a series of trips to the beach, parties, concerts, boat rides, fine meals, ballgames and family and friends sharing those same fine things.
And, as a born-and-raised Catholic boy, I naturally feel guilty.
Sure, I know that we're not guaranteed another heartbeat, let alone another hour ... but still, it nags at me, the great hammer poised to smite me.
It will spare my wife, of that I'm sure, since she is pure of heart and mind and spirit, destined for sainthood, had she only converted.
But that's a story for another time.
Assuming there's more time.
My great-niece will be celebrating her first birthday in a week or so.
Faithful readers might recall the delivery room vigil that lasted well past the witching hour and into the next night, one that produced -- is that the right word? -- little Annabelle.
She's such a sweetie, already indoctrinated into all things Notre Dame, though when I teach her the words to the Victory March, I'm only guessing that she's singing, "Cheer, cheer, for old Notre Dame." For all I know, she's saying, "Here, here, let's play a fun game."
Which ND's contest against Pitt most assuredly wasn't. Not to get too into the X's and O's of college football, but last Saturday -- on the beach, with the Atlantic bearing witness -- was a heartbreak waiting to happen.
OF COURSE, we're now 9-0 with a very real chance of playing for the national championship in the New Year.
And, as sure as I've type those words, I know that the Wheel of Karma is spinning and that, well, in the immortal words of John Fogerty, there's a bad moon on the rise.
But that's fine.
It's just a tiny slice of what matters -- seriously, it's just a game, not life and death -- and we all understand that but ... How great would it be if the Fighting Irish actually made it to the promised land and found themselves playing for a title?
That'd be awesome.
But let's get back to the beach for a moment or two, just to make sure we savor those moments of sunset and sunrise and everything in between.
There's an aural phenomenon which I'm sure has a name, but I'm too thick to know what it is.
Ever have a song get caught in your brain and just stay there?
Could be the last tune you caught before you pulled into the parking lot of a seaside hotel ... could be something from a movie you've not watched in months ... could be a tune that just bubbled up out of nowhere and there it is, stuck in your head with no way to get rid of it.
The worst case of that particular syndrome -- whatever its name is -- occurred just after the first time I'd watched "Little Miss Sunshine."
For day upon day upon day upon day, I could not flush "Super Freak," by Rick James, from my inner jukebox.
That insistent bass line that immortal groove ... It was the most maddening thing.
At first, I just tried to ignore it, figuring it was just like all the rest ... but "Super Freak" wouldn't leave me alone. I tried all my old tricks, watching new movies, cranking up the Stones, putting on the headphones and listening to Pink Floyd and Yes and King Crimson.
And, when all else failed, I listened to the Cowsills.
Nothing worked.
You know what finally blasted "Super Freak" from my mind?
When a 12-foot wave smashed me to the ocean floor and threatened to kill me.
"You OK?" my wife asked as I staggered back to our slice of fun on the beach, chairs and umbrellas and coolers.
"Sure," I said, collapsing. "It's all good."
My head was empty.
Which it still is.
Seagulls can use me for target practice, but I don't care.
Tomorrow is another game and I'm ready to win.
Mike Dewey can be emailed at CarolinamikeD@aol.com or snail mailed at 6211 Cardinal Drive, New Bern, NC 28560. You'll find his columns and lots of other great stuff on his Facebook page. Like him and you won't be sorry.
