Ride a Wild Wind

We had borscht for dinner last night. Ms Wonder said it was beet and sweet potato soup but I've lived in the vicinity of this old Russian soul long enough to recognize her MO. It may have had lentils and chickpeas mixed in with the cabbage and other members of the veggie kingdom but that was all subterfuge and misdirection. It was borscht alright. 

I don't blame the borscht for my sleepless night. I was already feeling the familiar sense of impending doom way before dinner. It was a feeling much like that felt by victims of lightning strikes just before the psychedelic brain waves. I haven't made a study of lightning strick victims but I've heard that such a feeling is common and I have no doubt that it's true.

"Something wrong?" asked the Wonder when I entered the boudoir amidst a tidal wave of cats.

"You need to ask, do you?"

"Qigong exam?" she said.

"No, not that," I said, "it's something that Amy Normal was talking about yesterday in Native Grounds. Vampire cats."

"Is that the band that covered that old Bob Dylan song? What is it, rainy day something?"

"No, not a musical group; actual furry cats but living an alternative lifestyle of vampires. Vampire cats! And what she said about them gave me quite a start."

"I wouldn't worry about it," she said. "Amy has a rich, varied, and vivid imagination."

"When you say Amy, are referring to Amy Normal, Native Grounds barista and backup mistress of the greater Durham night, or do you mean the little princess that lives in my head?"

"I'm certain of it," she said, leaving me to guess the answer to my question. "Still, even though we know it's only an Amy thing, it couldn't have been pleasant for you to hear it. Poor baby."

I didn't like that last part--the bit about the baby but I let it go because this Wonder is a master of diversion and subterfuge.

"Oh, I took it in stride," I said, which wasn't exactly the case but one doesn't like to look weak when discussing life's slings and arrows with these Helen of Troy types.

"Wore the coat loosely?" she said.

"Like Peter Rabbit," I said.

"You made your escape?"

"A strategic retreat," I said, "following the example set by Napoleon."

"Ah," she said, "perfect analogy. You refer to Napoleon leaving Moscow."

"How do you mean?" I said, not getting the drift.

"Well," she said. "he had to steal a sleigh, commandeer a team of horses, and then hightail it through the snow-covered countryside in the dark of night with the Russian cavalry on his trail. He couldn't have enjoyed that either, now could he?"

"No, I suppose not," I said wondering where she was going with the Russian motif.

Ms Wonder often speaks the soothing word in season and by the time she finished the history lesson, I was feeling much better.  

Leaving the stable in the company of Wynd Spirt and Quinn, I was singing along with the Andrews Sisters to their signature song, 'Hold Tight.' Princess Amy doesn't have a chance of keeping the mood in the lower registers when singing a song, which is amazingly subtitled, 'Want Some Seafood, Momma?' 

Little wonder that all things seemed to be coming up roses.

As I listened to the tunes, I felt an intense pang of joy but, with a little investigation, determined that it was only hypomania and no need to redecorate the house or change the wardrobe. 

By the time I entered Native Grounds, the blue bird was perched on my shoulder singing, if I remember correctly, an old Italian folk song.

 It's at times like these that I pity the people who don't want to ride a wild wind or to dance with the devil on a Saturday night. All they want is a careful garden that blossoms and withers according to season. But I'm not included in their number. 

No, the Genome is bent in a different direction. I like the storms that sweep away the everyday and get something new started. Makes me feel in touch with something greater than myself. Sooner or later, no matter how chaotic the present moment, Reason will return to her throne and all will be right with the world again.

Sometimes the best thing one can do is hold tight and wait for the gale to peter out. 

Now I know what you're thinking. What's all this got to do with vampire cats? Nothing. But what's it matter? The point is that we can never know where life is headed and we aren't in control of outcomes. Instead of fretting about; better to let be what will be. Que sera sera and all that.

You Know You Should be Glad

"Ms. Wonder," I said, "don't open any cabinet doors today. Doing so may very well spell disaster." I said it with vim if that's the word because it seemed to me that Life was up to her usual practical jokes and was busy piling stuff on the other side of doors so that when an innocent bystander opened one, ka-boom! Buried under a mountain of circumstances. I for one was fed up with circumstances.

"Sorry, Babe," she said, giving me a kiss on the head, "but I don't have time for it this morning. My new boss is in town and we're giving her a luncheon today."

"You can't give me short shrift; is that the term--short shrift?" I said to the back of her back as she left the salle de bains for the dressing room.

"Yes, short shrift, is perfectly correct," she said. "You could also say, quick work, or even kick in the teeth."

"That's it," I said, "you're giving me a kick in the teeth. Where's the old rally round spirit? That's what I'd like to know."

"I'm sorry, sweetie," she said and you notice how she tried to use vocabulary to cover up the lack of compassion? Well, it wasn't working for me. I was taking a line through Napoleon on this one and was prepared to march the troops to Moscow if I had to or sail the fleet to Egypt if that works better for you.

"It doesn't help to say you're sorry when I'm left in the lurch, reeling from the blows, tossed in the storm…"

"Alright," she said, coming to a stop in the middle of a herd of cats, "what's up?"

"That's better," I said. "I'll tell you what's up because I know that deep down inside you're a loving person who wants nothing but happiness for your Genome. I know that you devote your life to helping me get through the day with a smile on my face. I know that when the Red Queen is shouting Run for your life! you're there advising deep breaths…"

"Yeah, yeah, move it along," she said. "I've got ten minutes to be out of here."

"Alright, then," I said and took a moment to marshall the thoughts, "it's like this. I was sitting in Barnes and Noble yesterday morning and I happened to notice a young man at the next table clicking gaily on a keyboard and smiling in a way that said Life is wonderful and what a marvelous time it is to partake of it all ."

I paused to see if she was taking it well. "With me so far?" I said.

"Go on," she said with a wave of the hand.

"Well, the whole thing was inspiring. I wanted to feel that way too. So I opened my tablet and began clicking keys but what to do with those keys, that was the question that presented itself. YouTube I wondered? 

But, no, that was no good. I've overdosed on Jimmy Fallon with Margo Robbie, and the same can be said for Conan O'Brien with Keven Nealon. 

Then I thought about listening to a favorite podcast. No, I do that several times a day already. You see where this is going, Poopsie? The mental horizon was growing dark. Princess Amy was getting restless. Then it came to me, out of the blue as it were. Facebook!"

"Facebook?" she said. "Do you frequent Facebook?

"Well, don't say it like that," I said. "Yes, Facebook. I have lots of friends on Facebook. I have friends that I haven't contacted for much too long. I have friends that I've never contacted. I have friends that I don't even know. I know the names of their children, how they vote, what brand of faith they adhere to. The works. But I wouldn't know them if they walked into Native Grounds and ordered a latte."

"Did that make you feel better?" she said. "Connecting with friends on Facebook?"

"Well, the anticipation of having fun reduced the stress-related cortisols so I'd have to answer, Yes, it did make me feel better in the beginning. By the way," I said in an aside, "did you know that Ava Marie muds her kitchen ceiling in a tiara?"

She didn't answer, at least not verbally, but she did cross her arms and begin tapping a foot. That was sort of an answer I suppose.

"Well, anyway," I said, "there I was sitting in a bookstore trying to think of something to write on my status line and I couldn't think of anything. It was depressing."

"Don't let it get to you," she said," it's just one of those things."

"It is not just one of those things," I said.  "It's one damned thing after another, that's what it is."

"Try laugh yoga," she said and I could make nothing of it. Laugh yoga? The two didn't seem to go together.

"It's a technique of laughing when you don't feel like it and you keep laughing until you do feel like it."

"Fake it till you make it?"

"Something like that?"

"You think it will work?"

"Can't hurt."

"I'll wait until you leave for work, shall I?"

"Sure," she said, "I understand completely."

I didn't begin laughing when she left the house. I waited until I was driving to my morning hangout and stopped at a traffic light. "Ha ha," I said as though reading it from a script. "Ha ha ha." Nothing but silly, if that. 

I looked through the window of the car stopped next to me to make sure I wasn't being watched. "Hee hee hee." No better. Then I thought of, "Ho ho ho," and that felt a little better if only because it reminded me of Santa. I giggled. Then I laughed, just a little. Before I knew what was happening, I was actually laughing, not faking. It felt good. Amazing!, I thought.

"Shall I tell you what you sound like?" said Princess Amy just when I was feeling good about the laugh yoga.

"Oh, shut up," I said, "It's no big deal. It's actually a lot of fun like taking a trip to the moon on gossamer wings. You should try it."

I don't know that she actually tried it. I doubt it. But she did get quiet for a bit. Have you given it a try? I recommend it highly. Much better than hanging out in the Metaverse.

Chaos Theory Part 2

Some time ago I posted an article titled, Keeping the Faith, in which I wrote about opening up to the Universe and finding the right path that leads to a satisfying End of Days.

If you're a regular here on The Circular Journey then you probably remember that posting. If you're only an occasional visitor, then you'll probably want to read that earlier article. You can find it by clicking here, Keeping the Faith, but for the love of great Caesar's ghost don't do it now! Finish this post first.

In decades past, I had unbridled confidence in my abilities to do whatever I decided and I trusted in the Universe to work all things to my benefit. My MO was to accept the absurdities of life and abandon myself to the chaos that makes up most of the present moment. I accepted every visitor who came to my door as recommended by Rumi.

It does require a bit of practice. In the beginning, it feels like what I imagine bungee-cording off the New River bridge must feel like.

Fortunately, I was introduced to this way of life at a time when I had nothing left to lose. I abandoned myself to an unlimited life and was transported into another dimension. It was a way of life filled with blue skies, sunshine, and bluebirds.

But one day as I soared into those blue skies of happiness, I began to think that I was the agent of all my good fortune. I was special; very smart; very astute; not like all the other jamokes in the world.

While praising myself for creating the perfect life, I forgot to watch where I was going, and, like Icarus, I flew too close to the sun. The wax that held my wings together melted and I fell. 

When I say that I fell, I mean that I dropped through every energy level in all the atoms making up my body and didn't stop until I reached the basement. I ended up in a heap on the floor. It wasn't pleasant. My biographers will undoubtedly refer to it as the Great Fall. There's more detail in my bio at the top of this page.

My life had become filled with stormy confusion and violent turmoil and I was lost in the maelstrom. I felt powerless and without hope. Then one day, in all that chaos, I bumped into an opportunity for redemption. I met someone who had once lost everything too but had found a solution and was willing to show me how he had recovered. It was a second chance. A chance to start over.

This new opportunity to recover and rebuild a satisfying, productive life required that I accept the absurdities of life and abandon myself to the chaos of the present moment. Today, I welcome every visitor who comes to my door and I trust in the Universe to take care of my best interests.

My life is once more filled with blue skies, sunshine, and bluebirds. If it sounds like I've returned to where I began it's because that's the picture I'm painting. That's exactly why this blog is called The Circular Journey.

I'm not writing this particular post for your amazement or amusement. I'm writing it because I sometimes need to remind myself that I'm not in control and I'm not the agent or the cause of anything. In fact, the more I try to control the outcome of any part of my life, the bigger the mess I make of it.

My new mentor tells me that each one of us is just a big, complicated mess, and I think she may be onto something. Perhaps we weren't meant to figure life out on our own; perhaps we were meant to have help from others.

Master Wen used to say, I get lost but We find the way. Not his exact words, perhaps, but a reasonable facsimile.

Have you had a similar experience? I'd love to hear your comments. I'd love to hear anything you have to say. Here's wishing you a bit of opportunity-filled chaos. Fierce Qigong.

Keeping The Faith

Something has been bothering me--causing me not a little frustration--for quite a long while. It seems that I've been lost in let's remember. Truth be known, I've gotten my fill of it; more than the recommended dose for the average adult in my opinion.

Billy Joel wrote the song, Keeping The Faith, and in that song I feel that he speaks for me when he says, "...I would not be here now if I never had the hunger. And I'm not ashamed to say the wild boys were my friends... Cause I never felt the desire 'till their music set me on fire and then I was saved... That's why I'm keeping the faith."

 

You see, it's like this: I feel that I'm lost in the enchanted forest at the End Of Days. You realize that I speak metaphorically; there's no enchanted forest in Brunswick County. On the other hand, End of Days seems fitting for the circumstances; I'm feeling older and missing my younger days. So let's take that one literally and get on with it. 

As I was saying, here I am in the enchanted forest with lots of paths to follow, and each path has a barker (think of the barker as an influencer) who is exhorting me to step right out onto this path and manifest my dreams. Open myself to the abundance of the Universe they say. The Law of Attraction will provide me with success and wealth they say no matter how I define those terms (although someone counting 100 dollar bills is shown on the screen while I'm defining success and wealth).

You and I know, however, that we must follow our own personal path and not one that has been made by another. That's right, the quest for the holy grail. Don't worry, I'm not going to bore you with more of that old saw.

And so I've tried this and that, in an attempt to forge my own path. I tried all the usual suspects--meditation, exercise, doing a bit of good to my fellows, expressing gratitude. In other words, I've taken proper steps through proper channels but all in vain. 

I discovered years ago that the future works out in my favor when I become willing to turn my will and my life over to a Higher Power who works marvelous wonders in mysterious ways. Or as I've often heard it said, in ways that passeth all understanding.

Feeling that I had nothing left to lose, I decided to go all in. I decided to let go and stop trying to control life. You can linger too long in your dreams. Sometimes it's best to say goodbye to the oldies and look forward to the future, whatever it may bring because tomorrow ain't as bad as it seems. 

And so with no thought of turning back, I took my problems to one Who has all knowledge and is able to intercede with Life, the Universe, and Everything on my behalf. 

I'm speaking, of course, of Ms. Wonder.

"Poopsie," I said, as she sat down at the breakfast table with the second cup of the steaming brew, "do you know what I want?"

"What do you want?" she said.

"Right," I said, "what I want."

She gave me one of her patented looks. Not pleasant but not unnerving and so I decided to exhort her, like a barker might, by pushing the conversation along. It's a technique we Genomes have developed to grease the wheels of conversation.

"Well," I said. A bit weak I grant you but I had to come up with something quickly.

"Well what?" she said.

"Any ideas?" I said.

"What, if anything, are you talking about?" she said. "And let me warn you that while I may listen to some light drivel over my morning coffee, I will not under any circumstances listen to pure drivel."

This was far from the rally-round-the-flag attitude that I'd hoped for, so I thought I should try a different approach.

"What I mean," I said, "is that I'm developing a plan that will..." 

It occurred to me that this was an excellent point in the conversation to try out that new phrase and so I said:

"...lead me to a happy, fulfilling life here at the End of Days."

"And," she said.

"Well, we all know that before anyone can achieve a goal, one must know what one wants," I said.

She gave me a look that's normally reserved for the child who has just dropped her ice cream cone onto the sidewalk and who knows that she can't pick it up but desperately wants to. You know the look I mean.

"You're asking me if I know what you want?" she said.

"Well, who knows me better than you, Poopsie?" I said and I felt pretty good about it too. Nice talking point I thought.

"Here's what I'm going to do," she said. "I'm going to take my coffee upstairs and schedule a few appointments and then I'm going to do my morning yoga."

"Yes?" I said reasoning that yoga would provide her a good opportunity to meditate on my request.

I expected to hear more but she nodded slightly, gathered her goods, and ascended the staircase with lithesome grace. She always does that. It's all the yoga. Good for the grace.

I didn't get the immediate answer that I'd hoped for but that's the way these prayerful requests sometimes work. We get the answer when need it, not when we want it. I think that's right. Seems that I've heard that somewhere. Now, my task is to keep the faith and wait.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm keeping the faith. Yes I am.

What A Light!

This morning, as I sat counting medications for the cats, my mood was as dark as the sky. The gloomy clouds promised another gray day and I was not happy about it. Princess Amy loved it I'm sure.

But before Amy could start anything, a bright light suddenly burst through the kitchen window. What light breaks through yonder window I thought. And when I say, what light, I mean what a light! 

It appeared in the twinkling of an eye as though the sun, anxious to get the day started, had dispensed with the usual sunrise ceremony and simply leapt above the horizon and turned the volume up to eleven.

But wait, I thought, the kitchen window doesn't face east. I looked up from the pill bottles with not a little anxiety. What if today, I wondered, is the day the Christians talk about--the day of reckoning. Will the trumpet sound? Will the earth shake?

That reminds me of the time the earth did shake. I was in San Francisco for a software convention and my hotel was near the airport. The planes that were cleared for landing had to call the whole thing off and circle round until the landing strip stopped moving about. The dead didn't rise and walk around though. They stayed dead.

But I've jumped that rails. Where was I? Oh yes, what a light!

That startling light coming through the kitchen window was a 10 power reflection of the light from the east and the big yellow school bus stopped at the corner in front of my house was the sun. From now on, I will call that bus, Juliet.

If you ever find yourself in a similar situation, take my advice and don't stare directly at the bus. 

There you have it. That's how my day started and I'm pretty happy about the whole thing. When the day begins with that much excitement, how can the rest of the day be a let-down? 

My plan for the day is to get a new travel article drafted for Carolina Roads Magazine. I'm thinking Southport, NC, will be the subject. I'll let you know tomorrow how it goes. I'll need to be vigilant to prevent Princess Amy from getting her groove back but I'm feeling confident about that and feel no anxiety about it.

When the day starts with a little Shakespeare, it lifts the spirit like the dickens. Here's hoping your day got off to a good beginning. If not, don't forget what the wise woman said--it may have been Ms. Wonder--you can start your day over any time you like and as many times as you like.

What could possibly go wrong?

The Sun Popped Out Like a Startled Rabbit

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

This unfortunate woman was the victim of history's worst practical joke. Told by her companions one day as they were leaving home for a road trip, 'Don't look now...', she did look, of course, don't we all when told not to? And by some odd coincidence, when she did look, she turned into a pillar of salt! I know! Who'd have guessed? I mean, salt of all things!

The reason I mention this here is that a very similar thing happened to me when unable to stop myself after being told by Ms Wonder to let the Straw Valley thing go, I revisited some old email from Robin and found the last missive from her unopened.

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 that I sat frozen with the phone in my hands like one of those peasants, who talk back to a wizard and--presto!--they turn into a pillar of salt.

And so this very morning I found myself walking into the courtyard of Straw Valley with an appointment to review the space with Robin. At the very moment I entered the coffee bar, a willowy woman walked toward me with a warm and winsome smile. It was Robin.

It's at 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 in this encounter, I discovered the middle way.

As soon as Robin began to speak, I realized that this young woman created her own future, a co-creator of the Universe, making things happen by sheer force of will. The conscious observer dissolved and merged with the One bringing absolute balance. 

This woman grants no quarter to the possibility of failure and laughs in the face of the Aunts. We agreed to begin with Sunday morning classes at 10:00 as soon as the new year could get here. I felt that everything was just peachy in the here and now.

I emerged from the void when 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 Indy newspaper is the rag where everything worth knowing is broadcast to all of Durham.

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.

My gazelle had come home.

The sun has blessed the earth for many go-arounds since that first day at Straw Valley. Not all those days have been so happy. But recently those blessings seem to have been reborn through the transformative power of bright, blue skies and benevolent sunshine. 

I feel that the lost gazelle has come home once more. Fierce Qigong, ya'll!

You Would Do the Same

It has been well said of the Genome, by those who know him best, 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. It's living a life filled with Fierce Qigong that makes it possible I think, don't you?

 If you're new here, then you aren't familiar with the term. Fierce Qigong, in words of my own construction, is my lifetime aversion to eating pine needles. I suppose that needs some explanation too but it's a longish story and we don't have time to go into it now. We will one day soon. I promise.

For the nonce, let's get to the subject du jour. 

Waking this morning to another day, minus the lark and the snail, I wasted no time in brewing a cup of Jah's Blessing, dark roast. Having refreshed the tissues with that first cup, I was disappointed to find the heart still down.

Once again, for the newcomers, the lark and snail reference comes from Pipa's Song by Browning. I must make a note to write an introduction for the newcomer.  Otherwise, I'll never finish this post due to all the behind-the-curtain stage directions.

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 Wilmington and traveled to Crystal Cove, near the spot where the Tennessee River merges with Lake Chickamauga not far from the Scenic City of the Mid-South, or as I've often heard it called, Chattanooga.

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

And to that, I would add, it's the home of my favorite cousin, Gwyndolen, 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 across Yaphank Bridge and passed the marina.

"Why do you avoid Crystal Cove so fervidly? It seems like a perfectly pleasing place to me."

"Perfectly pleasing?" I said. "You would call it perfectly pleasing?" 

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 does so much to soften the pain of slings and arrows, making each day another one in paradise, deserves a 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 truck-load-full of inviting outdoor activities--and you might reasonably think that life is ideal in this quiet little village."

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?"

"Well, you have me in deep waters there, Wonder. It's something I heard once and it made a big impression on me. 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."

"Are they supposed to make sense?" I asked. "Quotes I mean? Everyone quotes Shakespeare and his lines are mere nonsense. I'm sure they were nonsense even on the day he wrote them. Something to please the peasantry, nothing more."

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

I was distracted for a second or two at this point in the conversation, having to twiddle the steering wheel a bit to avoid a passing logging truck heading for the pulpwood landing no doubt.

"I'm not just supposed to be a writer," I said after taking a deep breath, lifting my chin, and then gazing down with half-closed eyes. It's something I've seen David Niven do in those monochrome movies from the 40's. It always seems to give him the upper hand and I like to get the upper hand when engaged in tit-for-tats with the Wonder of the Russian steppes.

"I am a writer," I said and I said it with no little energy because I meant to put a stake in the sand to say that I would not back down from my position.

"And besides, you can't deny that Shakespeare was in the habit of shoving down just any old anything that came to mind in those plays of his."

She looked at me with large eyes and...what's the phrase? Begins with an 'I' doesn't it? Incredulous. That's it. She gave me an incredulous stare.

She opened her mouth as though to say something but nothing came out, so I continued to speak, 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 first 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 fell silent. Her eyes softened. 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 jamoke," she said. "You're right about Balboa, But it's a big ocean and it's 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 Crystal Cove?

"It's not the Cove that I avoid. It's the village nearby. And the reason is the local constable, one Vicky Mason, has sworn to sign me up for an extended stay in the Hamilton 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 suspects, without corroborating evidence mind you, and so she sneaks around watching everything I do with the hope of catching me bending."

"I can't imagine why she doesn't let the dead past rest in peace," I continued. "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 on several occasions, that it was not my fault."

"What do you mean, not your fault?" asked the Wonder.

"More than once," I said, "I've pointed out that there was little time to consider options. I had no other choice, really. Burning the place down was the only way to hide the evidence." 

I waited for her response. I'm still waiting.