The Remedy

I deftly rolled to the left and dislodged a pod of sleeping cats, making it possible to retrieve the phone from the bedside table. It was six o'clock.

"Good evening, Ms. Wonder," I said.

"Good morning," she said.

This surprised me. Thinking back, I was sure that I had taken a nap right after dinner.

"Are you sure," I said. "It seems dark outside."

"The skies are overcast this morning. It's supposed to rain all day."

This disappointed me. What's the point of the mild winters in the mid-Atlantic states if every day is dark and gray? How does one maintain a stiff upper lip and a calm mind when it's cloudy all the time?

"Poopsie, I think we've had enough cloud cover for one month, don't you? I don't like the way I feel when the sun refuses to shine. I think even the bluebird cries in her beer at Mattie B's."

"It may be seasonal affective disorder," she said. "Many people suffer from it in winter, especially now during the most depressing days of the year."

"I don't see what's more depressing about this time of year over any other," I said. "I keep a calendar of depressing days and I've found that I'm pretty much affectively disordered throughout the whole damn year."

"You may not be aware of the formula for determining the most depressing day of the year," she said. "It uses factors for weather plus the amount of debt you've accumulated and multiplies that by the days since Christmas raised to the power of the days since you've failed your first New Year resolution. "

"Poopsie," I said.

"That value is divided by the product of your motivational level multiplied by the critical level of your need to take action," she continued. "The result gives you the exact date of the most depressing day of the year."

Don't you find it annoying when someone is dumping more information than you can bear and then fails to abate the nuisance when you try to change the subject? Well, I do and it occurred to me that I don't have to allow it.

"Well, let me tell you something that you may not be aware of," I said. "I majored in math at MTSU and, although I did not excel in my studies, I know that anyone who works out a formula like that cannot help but experience a disordered seasonal affect."

"Effect is the correct word," she said, "meaning result or consequence. Affect conveys the idea of an influence or control over something."

"Thank you, Poopsie," I said. "Something you bumped up against in the last few days?"

"Yep," she said, "but you must admit the words are easily confused."

"It's just too much, Ms. Wonder," I said, getting back to the point, "too much to deal with this morning. You're sure it's morning are you?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to hit the reset button and go back to bed."

"I thought you might feel that way. You will find one of my pick-me-ups on the table in the insulated mug."

I looked and by a strange coincidence, she was right. "Ah, thank you," I said.

"Not at all," she said.

I bunged the tissue restorer down the hatch and waited for the usual unpleasantness to pass. As expected, the top of the skull ricocheted off the ceiling, the eyeballs popped out and rolled around the floor, with Eddy and Abbie chasing after. 

Once retrieved and replaced properly, I felt that I could face the day. I'm not sure of the exact ingredients of her special concoction but I'm sure there's Blenheim's Ginger Ale in the mix.

I took a deep breath. "I am powerful," I said to no one in particular. I took a second breath. "Life is good." I took a third breath. "I am enough for today."

"Ms. Wonder," I said, "life comes hard and fast but today I am ready for anything."

"That's great," she said, "I knew you'd feel better and that's why I don't hesitate to point out that you have 6 messages waiting for you on your phone. I heard the alerts."

Normally, this news would give me the bum's rush but with the recent tissue restorer doing its best, I felt that I could handle anything that Life cared to bung my way.

"Fierce Qi Gong, Poopsie!" I said.

"Fierce Qi Gong," she said.

Share The Joy

"I will have more joy if you are there to share it; and the more of us there to share, the greater will be the joy of all."

-- Thomas Merton, Seeds of Contemplation

I posted this article several years ago when I was road-tripping far more than I have in the last year--for obvious reasons I hope. I ran across it today and realized that it had more meaning for me today than ever before. So I'm re-committing, if that's a word, and wanted to invite you once more to journey with me. Here's the original post:

Are you familiar with the film, "Finding It," which deals with sacred pilgrimage? If not then I recommend you find it. Wait a minute, you say. Why am I talking about an old movie when I'm inviting you to share the joy? Fair question. It's like this.

The setting of the movie is the most famous spiritual trek in Europe, Camino de Santiago de Compostella. As all good stories should, this one uses the outer journey to mirror the inner. It's a beautiful film and I recommend it highly. 

All roads eventually lead to the same destination 

Each time I hear or read or view something about pilgrimage, I remember that we all live our lives on the road to Compostella, or to Mecca, or to Graceland. It's not the destination but the journey that really matters, which is something I don't need to tell you.

This morning I'm planning my upcoming pilgrimage to the holy sites of my own personal mythology. The journey will take me to the Summer-lands of the South where I will meet the spirits of my ancestors at 3300 Beloved Path in Perdido Bay, Florida.

Then I will visit the Gray Havens of the West to restore the tissues and refresh the spirit with lots of chicory coffee and beignets--Laissez bon temp roulez. When the sun rises on the first day of the new period, I will head North to the Court of the King where I will pay my respect to Elvis and give thanks for the riches in my life. 

Always follow the sun 

Finally, I will travel East toward the rising sun, make a brief detour into the Land of the Spirits, my hometown, and then back to my current home. And happy to be here as always.

I don't know how long the journey will take. Probably the rest of my life. But I do know that I will write about it here on Circular Journey, of course. My audience would expect, or rather allow, nothing less. 

All that I write will be metaphorically true, although I may enhance the telling of it to make it more interesting. As the Wee Little Men in the books of Terry Pratchett are fond of saying, "Dragons and elves always make a story more interesting."

The fun is greater when it's shared 

The quest is for me and I realize that only I can make it. However, I'm reminded, as I prepare for the journey, of something I read recently:

"I will have more joy if you are there to share it; and the more of us there to share, the greater will be the joy of all."

-- Thomas Merton, "Seeds of Contemplation"

That's why I'm inviting you--to share the joy. I will do my best to make it entertaining. Princess Amy will see that it's interesting and exciting. If you decide to come along, you will find yourself on a pilgrimage of your own. I'm sure of it. Come on then. Share the joy.

You'll Be the First

It has been well said of the Genome, by those who know him well--that if there is one quality that distinguishes him more than any other, it is that he keeps the upper lip stiff and makes the best of things. In words of my own construction--I don't eat pine needles. (It's a longish story and we don't have time to go into it now.)

Waking this morning to another day, minus the lark and the snail, I rushed out for the cup of dark roast. Having refreshed the tissues with that first cup of needful, and hit the road with the windows down and SiriusXM turned up to 11. Still, I was disappointed to find the heart still down.

Down among the wines and spirits, as I've so often heard Ms. Wonder describe it. And not only the heart but the head too. I was suffering from a distinct apprehension for an inclement future. And I'll tell you why I was suffering from a distinct A for an inclement F. Ms. Wonder and I had left the old metropolis of Durham and traveled to Crystal Cove, on the Crescent Coast near Wilmington.

I've received numerous tweets asking why, given the option, I avoid the Cove. After all, as one follower describes it, "It's a picturesque village, surrounded by manicured fields, apple orchards, and with a willow-fringed river running through it."

And to that I would add, it is the home of my favorite cousin, Gwendolen, and my most amazing god-niece, Lucy Lupe Lightfoot Mankiller, the company of both never tiring. And so you ask again, Why? It's the question Ms. Wonder asked as we drove the bridge leading to the River Walk and our meeting with the Inner Circle.

"Why do you dislike the Crystal Cove? It seems a perfectly pleasing place to me."

"Perfectly pleasing?" I said. "Perfectly pleasing is it?" You may notice a touch of annoyance, possibly some indignation, in my reply. I noticed it and, having done so, I thought better of it. This Wonder, who has done so much for me, deserves the softer touch and so I modified the tone.

"Yes," I said. "You no doubt look around the premises at all the luxuries--manicured landscaping, river frontage, a plethora of inviting outdoor activities--and you might reasonably think that life is ideal in Crystal Cove."

I paused for a few seconds. Not sure why. It may be that I'd forgotten where I was headed with that line of dialog. Or perhaps after mentioning a few items in the pro category, I was reluctant to begin listing the cons.

"However," I said, "Though every prospect pleases...."

"What about it?" she said. "Though every prospect pleases--what?"

"Oh, well, I'm not sure. It's something I heard once and it impressed me considerably. I like to throw it into conversation every now and then to add a little whatsit."

"I wish you wouldn't," she said. "Every time you throw quotes around, I waste time trying to make sense of them, and it's annoying."

"Are they supposed to make sense?" I asked. "Quotes I mean? Everyone quotes Shakespeare and his lines were nonsense when he wrote them."

"What! I can't believe you just said that. And you're supposed to be a writer too."

"I'm not just supposed to be a writer. I am a writer," I said with no little energy. "And you can't deny that Shakespeare was in the habit of shoving anything that came to mind into those plays."

She looked at me with large eyes and...no. What is it? Incredulous. That's it. She gave me an incredulous stare.

She opened her mouth to say something but the words didn't come and so I continued, not that I had anything more to add really, I just wanted to fill up the empty space.

"You might also consider the poet, Keats," I said. He speaks of stout Cortez staring at the Pacific and all his men looking at each other with a wild surmise, blah, blah, blah."

"So?" she said.

"Well, it wasn't Cortez, was it? Balboa was the bird that first stared at the Pacific."

She immediately fell silent. Her eyes were soft. I could tell that she was musing over my words. It made me feel better immediately. It always makes me feel better to think that she's considering my words.

"Alright, you big stiff," she said. "You're right about Balboa, But it's a big ocean and it is open to being stared at, so I see no reason why Cortez may not have given it a goggle too. Now, that's out of the way, answer my first question. Why do you avoid Wilmington?

"It's not Wilmington that I avoid. It's the Cove. And the reason is the local gendarmerie, one Vicky Mason, who has sworn to sign me up for an extended stay in the Brunswick County caboose."

"Really? For what exactly?" she asked.

"It's something to do with an unfortunate accident that occurred just before last year's winter solstice. She has hard suspicions, but no matching evidence, and so she sneaks around watching everything I do with an eye to catching me bending."

"Why she can't let the dead past lie I can't imagine. Just because I was in town when the fishing guides dormitory burned, what of it? It's not like I haven't explained to her that it was not my fault. More than once, I've pointed out that I didn't have a lot of time to consider options. I simply had no other choice. Burning the place down was the only way I think for hiding the evidence. Get over it, Vickie!"

I waited to hear Ms Wonder's response. I'm still waiting. I'll let you know.