We Need a Vacation

"For the last several months I've been chivied by the sewer harpies in the relentless manner of Patrizia's terrier, Snowball," I said to Ms. Wonder. 

"Let me see if I remember that story. You were riding your bike in the manner of look, Mom, no hands. Is that the story?"

"That's right," I said pleased that she remembered. "I was negotiating the sharp curve on the road that ran by Aunt Maggie's house."

"It didn't turn out well, as I remember," she said.

"Is that how you'd describe it?" I said, "The full account includes something about skidding off the road and falling to earth amid the briars and brambles of a passing blackberry patch."

"Yeah, it's quite a funny story when you take the time to tell it in full," she said.

"I didn't enjoy it,"  I said.

"That story," she said, "makes me think of..."

"No," I said holding up a hand in the internationally recognized signal that means, Go no further. "If you're thinking of something to do with Napoleon or Catherine of Russia, or if there's a mention of sea biscuits,  I don't want to hear it."

"But why?" she said.

"No relevance," I said.

"How do you mean, no relevance?" she said. "Napoleon couldn't have been happy with the way things turned out for him."

She gazed at me with a twinkle in her eye indicating that she was having fun ribbing me. I returned her's with a gaze of my own to indicate that the ribbing stopped here.

"Alright," she said. "I'm teasing but it's well-intended. I only want to cheer you up. I know that sewer harpies are no laughing matter. Have you talked to Dr. Beach about it?"

"I haven't as yet," I said, "and she's not a doctor; she's a therapist. I do speak to Feldspar about it, and it sometimes seems to help, but it's a temporary palliative and not real progress."

"Remind me who Feldspar is," she said.

"Not this time," I said. "Feldspar is part of an alternate dimension and I'm not sure you're ready to hear about him."

"Well," she said, "I know that feldspar is made up of a group of alumino-silicate minerals and is the most abundant mineral making up the earth's crust."

"Are you sure about that?" I said.

"Of course," she said, "is that what you're thinking of?"

"You do know everything, don't you?" I said.

"Akashic Records," she said as though it explained everything.

"I'll ask him about that the next time I see him," I said.

"Ask who?"

"Feldspar, my spirit guide. He's a yard gnome. I thought you knew that."

She removed her glasses and rested her head in her hands, her eyes covered. I've read about the move, of course, but this was the first time I'd witnessed it.

"We need a vacation," she said. 

"We're going to Litchfield on the 19th," I said.

"Not soon enough," she said. "We need a vacation now."

Another Day In Paradise

Castle Street basked in the glow of a golden spring morning. The storm that, two hours before, had raged through the parks, along the riverwalk, and into the downtown business district, was only a memory now. In the aftermath, the air was cool and sweet, and the damp earth released a healing fragrance. 

The city, bathed in the clear light of an early summer morning, was an earthly paradise. The skies were blue, the river shone, squirrels raced about the parks with carefree abandon, and as far as the eye could see pedestrians tootled along behind happy, carefree dogs. 

Fortunately for those pedestrians and their dogs, the ideal towards which the Wilmington city planners strive is to provide a public house for each individual archetype in the city. You can’t throw a half-brick in any direction downtown without hitting a pub, a cafe, a bodega, or a kiosk, and many of them are dog-friendly.

Scattered thunderstorms might be raging elsewhere, but inside Native Grounds Cafe, there was the peace that passeth all understanding, that perfect unruffled peace that comes only to those who have done absolutely nothing to deserve it. 

Consoled by the still, dry atmosphere inside the cafe and refreshed by the steaming contents of a china cup that read, I’d rather be surfing, I had achieved a Zen-like repose. 

I took a deep breath and leaned back against the cushions and the mingled voices around me began to quiet the sounds of the retreating storm. The sound of water coursing through downspouts had replaced the drone of soft gentle rain on the roof.

Island Irv, who was telling me all about his recent trip to the Sunshine State, is not the type to routinely leap from chairs, but suddenly and without warning, he managed a maneuver that almost made it look like a leap. 

Let me make it perfectly clear for those of you who may be new to these pages that the mothers of Shady Grove train their sons well. Once we've grasped the fact that all exhibitions of emotion are nothing more than rannygazoo, without substance or staying power, we maintain our poise even in the presence of thunderstorms and earthquakes. 

Although conscious of a certain uneasiness when Irv shot ceilingward, I was determined to remain calm. Intending to stay in full control, I took a deep breath and, unfortunately, I exhaled so sharply that a man at the next table who was eating a carrot-and-walnut muffin stabbed himself in the chin with his fork. 

I didn’t like the look that crossed his face, but then I didn't care much for it even before his chin began bleeding. His hands were clenched in fists of rage, as I believe the old saying goes. 

I doubt that he'd had a Shady Grove upbringing but even if he had, it was obvious that mother was forgotten for the nonce, and even great-aunts, those supreme enforcers of proper behavior, were not remembered. 

I realized that a word in time might provide healing balm and I searched the memory banks for some gag or saw that would soothe the savage beast and prevent a total brannigan. No need for him to punch the weasel, I reasoned.

“How's the weather on your end of the coast?" I said. "Exceptionally clement I hope."

Not one of my better gags but I had precious little time to come up with something. We will never know if the words would have brought calm because the man left the cafe without finishing his cappuccino and was last seen heading up Castle Street toward 8th Avenue.

"What about you?" I said to Irv.

"Oh, me?" he said. "I didn't realize my coffee was so hot. I burned my tongue."

"Is that all?" I said. "I thought you'd forgotten to text your wife or something equally as rotten."

"It hurt," he said.

And I'm sure it did hurt. It just seemed to be so very much animation for so little cause. But that's life on the Carolina coast for you. One never knows when the next storm is going to pop up and come sashaying around to see what it can get into.

All in all, I suppose it's what's to be expected from another day in paradise.

Happy summer, my friends. Thank you for supporting The Circular Journey with your time and attention. Don't forget to leave a comment.

PS -- I borrowed that comment about throwing a half-brick from P.G. Wodehouse, who the author of Proverbs must have had in mind when he wrote "a word fitly spoken and in due season is like apples of gold in settings of silver." 

My Rock and My Strength

"What is that out there?" asked the friendly facilities agent as I was walking past the Brunswick Forest welcome center.

"Where?" I asked because, in the several minutes preceding his question, I'd been up to my chin in the Japanese art of shinrin-yoku, or forest bathing as it's sometimes called by those who are allergic to the Japanese language.

I like to begin my day this way because it reminds me to be still, be quiet, and remember who I am. Sometimes I forget who I am and when I do, I miss the reason I go for a walk in the first place and that's the real zombie apocalypse.

I suppose I should explain that shinrin-yoku isn't about soaking in a bubble bath in the forest until discovering the principle of displacement, as was the case with Archimedes. No, the practice is simply spending time with the trees and actually paying attention to them and to everything in the natural world.

There, I've done it again. Jumped the rails and only three paragraphs into the post. Let's get back on track.

"Where?" I asked.

"Out there near the lagoon," he said pointing out there toward the lagoon.

"Oh," I said in a way to suggest that the answer was a simple one, "that's a big rock that the landscape crew placed near the lagoon as a design element."

"A rock?" he said. "I thought it might be a dog. You seemed to be talking to it."

Now, you might expect me to find the question annoying but much to the contrary, I was actually glad that he brought the subject up. Otherwise, the world would make no sense, there would be no justice, and life would be just a tangled ball of chaos.

The fact of the matter is that more and more lately, I've had a hard time resisting the urge to mess with people, especially when they behave like Neanderthals. And when I say mess with people, I mean mess with their heads. You know what I mean; beat their brains out with a brick.

But I don't do that, of course. I'm working on becoming a bodhisattva. If that's new to you, look it up, please. There's a fine line between too much and just enough explication. I'm sure you agree, especially if you've followed this blog for more than a day or two.

"That's right," I said. "I was talking to it. I was practicing the Japanese art of shinrin-yoku, sometimes called forest meditation."

You noticed right away that I cleverly substituted the word meditation for bathing, and I'm sure you know the reason why--one less thing to explain, right?

"And that means that you talk to rocks?" he said.

"And trees," I said.

"What else do you talk to?" he said.

"Birds, squirrels, people and cats who sleep with the stars, sewer harpies, and sometimes I talk to the cryptid that lives in the lagoon. Oh, and I should add that I begin each day by talking to someone that you might recognize as God."

"Should I ask what a cryptid is?" he asked.

"I'd rather you didn't," I said.

"I'm happy to hear that you talk to God," he said. "Keep doing that. Talk to God a lot."

"Absolutely," I said, "God is of the essence when you expect to encounter sewer harpies because everyone is happier when they have someone to look down on and someone to look up to. Especially if they resent both."

Hearing this, his face took on a rather confused expression; one that I would expect to see on a man who while chasing rainbows suddenly had one turn and bite him in the leg.

I added that bit about God to put him at ease. Randomly accessed people don't particularly enjoy the company of mentally ill people unless those people have a relationship with God. Then all is cool. And I like to put people at ease. It must be the bodhisattva in me.

Cirque des Écureuils

I was back home from my morning outing in Brunswick Forest, and enjoying a cup of the steaming as I sat on the lanai enjoying the squirrel circus in my backyard.

The show has expanded since we last spoke. It now includes about 7 squirrels, 4 doves, 2 crows, an assortment of songbirds, and a mallard duck. I know! Makes me remember Our Gang of yesteryear. Perhaps I'll call it the Squirrel Soliel and charge admission to the kids on the street.

"You seem..." said a voice from backstage.

"Aiiieee!" I said, shooting into the air about four inches and spilling my coffee. With my attention intensely focused on the act currently occupying the big top, I was not prepared for disembodied voices from outside my head.

"Sorry," said Ms. Wonder for it was she who had silently streamed into my presence.

"Is something troubling you," she said. "You seem unusually agitated this morning."

"It's nothing much," I said. "Just one damned thing after another is all."

"But just one thing at the moment?" she said.

"Nothing major," I said, "I'm just wondering about something that happened on my walk this morning."

"Do tell," she said.

"OK," I said. "Underneath one of the pines in the open savannah..."

"Longleaf pines," she said.

"Someone had collected several pine cones and placed them in the grass. Don't ask," I said, "because I have no idea."

She sipped her own cuppa without responding. I felt it was safe to continue, so I did.

"It seemed bad feng shui," I said, "so I picked up a handful and tossed it back onto the pine straw near the base of the tree."

She nodded. I continued.

"I immediately noticed that my forearms were covered in a fine, brown dust, similar in color to the pine cones and so I assumed that the little specs on my arms came from."

"Makes sense," she said.

"But when I got back to my car and began cleaning the dust off my arms, I realized that the stuff was all over my shirt too. It seemed far too much to have come from pine cones."

I waited for her comment but it was another bust. No reply.

"And so I began to wonder if something was blowing around in the air. I remembered a movie about some interstellar dust that fell on a small community in the Everglades--a cloud of dust that was actually spores bringing alien life to Earth."

"And?" she said.

"And I began wondering if I'm pregnant."

"I see," she said, "and so you think you may possibly be the agent responsible for altering life on Earth as we know it forever. And you're going to let one little thing ruin your day?"

"Well, when you put it like that it really doesn't seem like a big deal," I said.

At that moment, she must have gotten a text message from her employer because she quickly left the lanai and she hasn't yet returned. Perhaps I should make an appointment with my primary physician just to be safe.

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!

---------------------------------------------------------

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