The Circular Journey

Hot Fun in the Summertime

"Hallelujah!" I said when the barista asked about my mood this morning.

"Wow," she said, "what's going on in your world?"

"There's just no other word to describe the feeling I have when I realize that the official beginning of summer is upon us," I said.

"But summer doesn't begin until June 21st," she said, and I realized I was in conversation with a traditionalist. What to do about it was the question I asked myself. I decided to use tact, diplomacy, and the velvet glove to avoid any cross-threading.

After all, I choose to celebrate the beginning of summer, not argue the case in the court of public opinion.

"Right you are," I said. "What I should have said is that the official beginning of summer is imminent."

"Yeah," she said in a lackluster, indifferent sort of way. "I'm not a big fan of summer. Too hot. I prefer spring and fall."

"Hmmm," I said, wondering if I'd chosen the wrong cafe for my morning in-caffeination. I couldn't help but feel that I lost some of the wind in my sails that blew me into the cafe in the first place. But fortunately, at that moment I had an idea for another ploy to save the day.

"I'll bet you feel better about it soon," I said. "One of these mornings, you're going to rise up singing. You'll spread your wings and you'll take to the sky." ~~ Ira & George Gershwin

"Not likely," she said.

"But summer's here," I said, "and the time is right for dancing in the street." ~~ Marvin Gaye / Martha and the Vandellas

"Why are you so big on summer?" she said. "I know you don't dance in the street."

"No, I don't dance in the street," I said, "but I do dance in my mind and besides, in the summertime, when the weather is high, you can stretch right up and touch the sky." ~~ Mungo Jerry

"Here's your capp," she said, "Nice words," she added, "but unreal too, don't you think?"

"Well," I said, "all I know is that here comes the sun and I say it's alright." ~~ The Beatles

I began walking toward the door and looking back at her, I said, "While it's still free, I'm going to soak up the sun before it goes out on me." ~~ Sheryl Crow

Outside in the sunshine, walking toward Wynd Horse and thinking about the music waiting for me on the road to Ocean Isle, I began singing, "I'm walking on sunshine, and oh, don't it feel good." ~~ Katrina and the Waves

Do I love the summer? Let me count the ways!

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Hot Fun in the Summertime ~~ Sly and the Family Stone

Cats Are the Answer

The following post was written deep in the COVID-19 pandemic. When I re-read it now it makes me a bit uncomfortable remembering those days. I've considered removing it but it seems that we, all of us, are quick to forget what those days in the pandemic were like.

I get it. The memories and not pleasant and the thought of facing more such events is scary. Maybe that's why I leave it here; to keep me--us--from forgetting.

Well, here we are again. Another bright, beautiful day in the Bull City. That's not to say that nothing's changed. The virus is here, of course, and it seems that everything has changed. Would you have believed, just a few weeks ago, that life could change so quickly?

Here in Durham, as in most cities around the country, people my age are asked to stay indoors and not take up valuable public space that could be better used for better purposes. A couple weeks ago, if asked how I'd react to that, I would have replied...

"You'll not see the Genome lying around the house when there's opportunity to be had underneath the wide, wild, wind-blown blue."

My ancestors got the hell out of Tuscany after Florence burned but we haven't forgotten the good life--nope, not a bit. And yet... here I am watching videos of Arnold Schwarzenegger telling everyone to stay inside. And he isn't simply recommending that we stay in for our best health.

Arnold says that our former life is gone. He says, "That's over. No more. No more restaurants, no more coffee shops. No more. It's over."

Oh, my sainted aunt!

Maybe for you, Arnold, but not for this son of man. I have the blood of the Florentine Gherardinis running through these veins. I have the genes of the Jarls of Denmark encoded in this DNA. I have the heart of Rhys ap Tewdwr of Wales burning in this breast. I have the spirit of the Rain Crows of North Carolina sustaining me. I'll never give up.

That attitude helped me defeat drug addiction. That attitude keeps me grounded through the emotional quakes and tsunamis of manic depression. And that attitude will keep me safe and sane through the current trial or tribulation or whatever it is. I get those two confused.

Yes, I will survive and life will go on and it will go on for you too if you know what's good for you. You have your own set of ancestral gifts. I realize that you may have some anxiety and whatnot. Understandable, of course. Quite natural. But you don't need to let it get the better of you.

I have the solution.

Get yourself a cat. If you already have one, get another. They work their magic best in pairs. If you already have two, get another. I once had six cats and I was immensely better for it. I have three now and they make it enjoyable to remain at home even when I'm home for more than the recommended dose for the average adult.

Of course, they sleep until 2:00 in the afternoon and I'm forced to find other ways to be entertained, like writing blog posts for example. I haven't posted anything on this blog in months and the cats have just about had it with me. They motivate me!

Now, I know what you're thinking, and you can't be blamed for that, but consider this...it could be a lot worse.

A Nice Day For It

It was a cool morning in early May. A rain shower had passed through the city in the pre-dawn hours. Mist still hung over the Cape Fear River but the sun was beginning to spread a soft light over downtown.

If you're going to get hit by a bus in Wilmington's Castle Street District, you want to go with WAVE number 11 because, when the impact boosts you above the pedestrian traffic, you can count on having a clear view of Memorial Bridge from almost anywhere along the route.

I wasn't planning on being hit by a bus yesterday morning, I was simply getting to Cafe Luna a little early to marshall my thoughts before Lupe and Claudia arrived. I planned to recruit them into my personal support group to help with building the new life that I've written so much about.

As I approached the rendevous spot, I discovered that a new thrift shop had opened across the street and I stopped in to look for a vintage 1990's Hawai'ian shirt, preferably from Cooke Street in Honolulu.

The search was a bust but I did find a little knick-knack. Not something I generally care for. I avoid tchokies and their ilk like I avoid steamed shrimp. But for some reason this one attracted me strangely. Back out on the street, I stopped to admire the little thing in the morning light.

I fumbled it while taking it out of my pocket, a technique that I've mastered of late, and it tumbled off the curb and onto the street. I maneuvered around the few early morning pedestrians and paused to look down Castle Street to make sure there were no buses headed my way.

When I looked back, I noticed a dark shadow growing out of the storm drain. The mind reeled. I stepped closer to get a better look and the shadow became a feathered arm of sorts that grabbed the what-not and pulled it back into the sewer.

I looked around me to see if anyone else witnessed this glitch in 21st Century reality. No one seemed to be aware. I moved closer to the curb and was about to step into the street when something grabed me by the collar and pulled me back to safety.

At that very moment, the WAVE number 11 whooshed by.

I was in shock. No other explanation comes close to describing my reaction. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before although recent experiences seem to have been leading up to it. I immediately felt that someone or something had pushed the reset button and that I was back to square 1 as far as my new life was concerned.

"Hey, boss," said a familiar voice that had walked into the act from stage left. She was wearing a 50's beehive hairstyle in a pastel lavender. I was feeling very shaky before she arrived and now seeing her I was positively goose flesh.

"Lupe," I said, "did you see that?"

"I saw you stumble at the curb," she said. "Lucky for you that all-pro Carolina Panthers tackle came by when he did. You really must be more careful, Genome."

"Lupe, I saw an arm come out of the sewer; an arm covered in feathers."

"I'm cutting school to meet you this morning," she said. "I'm going to need a note."

"Are you listening to me?" I said. I was having some trouble breathing by this time.

"I heard you, Genome. You've got to deal with this manic episode. Try taking three deep breathes."

"All I'm doing is deep breathing. I'm beginning to hyperventilate."

"Well, try doing something else then."

"If you have something to suggest, I'd love to hear it," I said.

"I don't know," she said. "How about sticking your finger into an electrical outlet? I've heard that shrinks have a lot of success with that."

"Lupe!," I said. "Get serious. I'm having a hard time here and I need you to pay attention to me."

"So," she said, "to be perfectly clear, you want me to listen to your story, maybe even record it on my phone, so that I can play it back for the big guys in white coats and become personally responsible for having you committed to the looney bin."

A deep silence filled the next few moments as her words sank in.

"Coffee?" I said.

"Let's," she said.

The sunshine and ocean breeze had finally cleared the clouds out of the sky. The day was becoming warmer and it promised to be one that would allow some recovery from the drama generated by the passing of the WAVE number 11.

Still, had I been struck by the bus, I doubt the view of the bridge would have been worth the trouble and I expect that it would have made little difference to me that it was a fine day for it.

Stranger Than Fiction

Circus life under the big-top world; we all need the clowns to make us smile.
Through space and time, always another show; wonderin' where I am, lost without you.

Faithfully by Journey

"Wonder," I said stepping into her sanctum, "I'm reborn."

"What, if anything, are you going on about?" she said taking her gaze off her computer screen and looking directly into my eyes. It's always a bit of a shock to be suddenly struck by those emerald greens of hers. It's not unlike the experience of having the sun pop out from behind the clouds when you're least expecting it. I took the impact full on. After reeling and rocking around her office for a bit, I finally steadied myself and was able to respond.

"I'm talking about my new life. All the signs point to success, Poopsie. Driving home from The Teeters I was listening to Faithfully, that song by Journey."

"I know the one," she said, "Circus life under the big-top world, but what about it?"

The comment got right by me. Circus life I wondered? The big-top world? What if anything did she mean by it? The only thing I recognized from the song was the title, Faithfully. But I'm familiar with the better half of the sketch and her tactics, and was not to be so easily deterred in my life-changing goals.

"I heard the song like never before," I said. "It was speaking directly to me, telling me that I will have everything I need to recreate my life as long as I am true to myself. And pay close attention, Poopsie, because here comes the clincher--faithfully."

I may have exaggerated somewhat. But the spirit of my comment was truthful and accurate. Exaggerated to be sure but still truthful.

"You seem to be a tad manic," she said. "Do you need to tell me something? I'll give you five minutes but only if you make more sense than you're making now."

"You know that Will Ferrell film, Stranger Than Fiction? In that movie, his character discovers the life he's living is being written, in real-time, by a fiction writer."

"I'm with you so far," she said, "and I commend you on becoming clear and succinct."

"My plan is to become the main character in a book, or rather in The Circular Journey, which is written by me of course. That in itself isn't a new idea but what is new is that my story will describe a path to lead me to the life I desire; a new life of purpose and fulfillment. "

"Finally!" she said. "You've decided to open the gate and step out onto the yellow brick road, haven't you?"

"That's the plan," I said. "This new path will lead me to the Emerald City, but unlike Dorothy, I'll never want to go back to Kansas again."

"Alright," she said, "I can see that you're committed to your new plan and to be completely honest, I think it's a sweet idea and if you include the cats in your new life, then I support you."

"Wonder," I said, and I'm not ashamed to say that there was a bit of throat-lumpiness in my voice when I said it, "There is none like you, none."

"But let me be clear," she said, "I don't want to hear anything about sewer harpies and soul vessels. I'll continue to accept Princess Amy but that's as far as I'm willing to go."

She raised an eyebrow and with a little smile, she gave me a metaphorical pat on the head that makes me feel that she's pleased with something I've said or done.

"Deal?" she said.

"Not just a deal, Wonder, it's an Atchafalaya Deal."

"Wha'do you mean? What's Atchafalaya got to do with it?"

"Oh, well, you have me there; nothing really I suppose. I've just always liked the word and it's fun to use now and then."

"One more suggestion," she said. "I think you should get Lupe and Claudia involved in working out the details."

"Just as you say," I replied.

"And why don't you include Princess Amy while you're at it," she said.

"Consider it done," I said but I immediately felt the ending could have used something with more zing like "Make it so, Data. Engage!

I'll try to do better next time. Building a new life takes time, much like making friends takes time. I know that because I often hear versions of the same from Ms. Wonder.

And don't forget dear reader that you're an important part of my journey. I will not be successful if you aren't involved. Check back often for updates on my progress.

Atchafalaya!

It's a Good Day to Die

Do you ever think about the day you'll die? Me too. Not a subject that we think about every day but probably something we should devote some time to prepare.

Taking personal inventory is the way I've heard it described by my spiritual advisors. And after considering this and that and whatnot, I've come to the conclusion that the key to being prepared to die is to live without regret.

I'm not talking about the current popular idea of not giving a damn. That attitude only adds to the problem. I'm talking about living life in a way that gives no reason for regret. I've been taught that the key is in making amends as soon as possible when I slip up.

But enough of that. What I really want to talk about is my wishes for the day I die. Stay with me. It's not at all what you think.

I like to imagine that the moment I die will be perfect. What I mean by perfect is that in that moment I'll have nothing to regret and I'll be perfectly content.

I don't want to die in bed. I'd rather be mobile and moving when the time comes. I think nighttime would be best. If I meet Death in the daytime, especially on a bright, clear day with lots of birdsong in the air, I might be tempted to resist her and struggle to hold on. I don't want to fight Death; I hope to go willingly.

I can imagine walking along an old stone bridge--like the memorial bridges built after the Great War. The full moon will be reflecting off the river. I might hear soft footsteps behind me and when I look round, I see Death coming to meet me.

"Nice night," she'll say.

"My night," I'll say.

"Mind if I walk with you a bit?" she'll ask.

"Please do," I'll say. And I hope that I'll be able to honestly say, "You're lovelier than I imagined you'd be, and younger."

"Nice of you to say," she'll reply.

We'll walk together in silence for a while, across the river in the moonlight.

"I know that I'm dying," I'll say to prevent any awkwardness or embarrassment for her.

"I figured," she'll say.

"I'm just out for a walk in the moonlight," I'll say. "I always wondered if I'd have regrets when my time came. I thought the best memories of my life would be playing in my mind. But instead, my mind is calm and I'm just one with the night, one with the river."

I look at her expecting a reply but she doesn't answer and we walk on in silence. In the middle of the bridge, I stop and stare at the full moon. I remember Abbie, the cat who taught me to fully appreciate moonlight. Cat's taught me so very much about appreciating life.

After a few seconds of meditation, I realize that there is nothing left to dream and nothing more to desire. It's a good day to die. When I look at Death again, I see the moon's reflection in her eyes and I realize that my home is no longer in this world by the river but with her wherever she takes me.

"Are you ready?" she'll ask.

"I'm ready," I'll say.

She'll put her arms around me and hold me tight. It's much more comforting than I ever thought it could be. It feels safe and loving. It feels like home.

From somewhere above the bridge, I watch her write my name in the dust which is all that's left on the spot where I stood. It reminds me of the days I used to write my cats' names in the sand on my morning walks through Brunswick Forest.

And so then I'm with everyone who has gone on before me. My life is complete.