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Balance of Power

You have no idea how difficult it can be to get an accurate squirrel population count in my backyard. I was in the lanai trying to be unnoticed and being as still as Lot's wife after her friends played that practical joke on her. I was counting the little goofballs as they rocketed around the lawn and up, over, and through the fence. I was getting counts ranging from seven to eleven. Once I counted twelve.


Ms. Wonder is concerned that we're experiencing an infestation. I think that by feeding them twice daily, we've encouraged residents in larger squirrel cities, to relocate to our more relaxed coastal communities. The problem is, we don't have the infrastructure to support the growth.

Birds were in great abundance this morning too. It's late October and the annual east coast bird migration is only beginning to taper off. I've counted 100 different species in our neighborhood this fall and many of them aren't native to the area. Just as I was about to open the lanai door, a Bluejay began making a racket. It was his signature call.

"Skreeee, skreeee, skreeee!" shouted the Jay.

The animals scattered, some of them falling over themselves trying to get to the safety of the forest. Between the calls from the Jay, I became aware of another call, a sort of high-pitched whistle, coming from much higher, and farther away. 

Hawk! I thought. I quickly checked the Merlin app on my phone. It was a Red-Shouldered Hawk.

I scanned the sky above me but saw nothing. Back into the house and out the front door into the open. The hawk was at least two hundred feet above the edge of our little community,  drifting in great, lazy circles that brought it slowly toward my house.

Breakfast, I thought to myself and I was thinking of his breakfast, not mine. The hawk would be over my house in the next minute or two and I was considering what to do to make my yard seem undesirable to a hawk when a crow crossed my vision flying at rooftop level and heading in the general direction of the trees that border our little village.

"You go girl," I said to the crow thinking she was planning to give the hawk a dose of grief for invading her home turf. But you be careful, I thought. "There's only one of you and you don't have his razor-sharp, bone-crushing talons."

Before I finished the thought, another crow appeared flying in the same direction as the first. Then a second, a third, until there were six crows, all heading to the same part of the forest.

I knew what they were planning, of course, and you do too. They were going to review their attack plans, synchronize their watches, and perform their duty.

About 15 minutes later, the hawk was directly over the houses that line the cul-de-sac in front of my house. In another 10 minutes, he would be directly over my backyard.

That's when I heard it. The collective chatter of a murder of crows. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that 'murder' is the correct name for a group of crows. Regular followers of The Circular Journey know these things. If you're a newcomer to the blog, then welcome. It's good to have you here.

One of the crows, probably near the crow flying in the point position, made a different sound. Hard to describe it. I don't pretend to be an expert on crow battle tactics, but I expect she was providing the leader with intelligence updates on recent developments in the hawk's position, orientation, and tactical response to the crow advance. Don't you agree?

Whatever information she was relaying, I'm sure it was something like, "There's only six of us, Ma'am. That hawk is spoiling for a fight, and he has bone-crushing, razor-sharp talons."

"Caaagghh," said the leader, and to me it seemed she was saying, "I'm not asking you, Lieutenant. Damn the talons! Full speed ahead!"

I could hear the other crows encouraging each other with caws of support.

"The Old Girl will get us through. The Old Girl ain't afraid of nothin'!" they said.
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I pumped a fist toward the sky. "Wait 'til you see the whites of his eyes," I cried, "and then give him hell!"

It wasn't much but I wanted to show my support and appreciation of their efforts. I suppose I was a cheerleader of sorts.

Although thinking of myself as a pacificist, I could support the crow attack without reserve because I knew the hawk wouldn't be hurt in the attack. Physically, I mean. His ego would be bruised quite severely and he might possibly need therapy to get over it. But he'd be alright.

What I witnessed was something that I like to call a 'balance of power'. It's something that Mother Nature stumbled across years ago and it's one of her best discoveries, if you want my opinion.

I think it would benefit the humans among us if they used the concept in forming their governments. Think of it. Different branches of government serving as watchdogs over the other branches.

And so there you have it; the beginning of my Sunday morning. As I drove out of the neighborhood, I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a hawk twisting, turning, diving, and generally trying to get away from a murder of crows intent on giving him hell.

On my way to meet the Island Irv at Cafe Luna, I felt like all was right with the world. The squirrels and birds in my backyard were safe for another day and I had a story to tell the islander over coffee.

Life Is A Highway

We don’t know where we're goin’ but we sure know where we’ve been. We're hanging onto the promises in songs of yesterday. We've made up our mind. We ain't wasting no more time. Here we go again. *1



Sometimes I'm not comfortable in my own skin. I feel the need to get away, to be somewhere else. I don't know where. It doesn't really matter as long as it's somewhere I'm not. But then that's the problem, isn't it? No matter where I go, there I am. 


Riding along in my automobile, Ms. Wonder next to me at the wheel, cruisin' and playin' the radio, with no particular place to go. *2


As long as I'm moving down the road, it's enough. Well, nearly enough. It's best when I have the windows down and the radio turned up to eleven. Oh, and the sunshine doesn't necessarily need to shine but, if it is shining, then it's just better that's all. It's anxiety that spurs me to drive away--away from wherever I am--and that anxiety is filled with dark storm clouds, so having a bright sky overhead helps.


As the man said, let the golden age begin. I put my hands on the wheel, let the window down and with the ocean breeze on my skin, the weight of the world drifts away.  *3


I spend a lot of time driving around in my car. It's not the safest thing I could do. I don't have to tell you that. Driving a car is risky in any event and sometimes here in ugly-angry-macho-land, the risk escalates because so many daredevils are on the road. Is it ugly-angry-macho-land everywhere now? 


That's why I have to get away. I'm goin' up the country to someplace I've never been before. I try to leave all the fussin' and fightin' behind me. Of course, the fussin' and fightin' is inside my head. *4


It doesn't really matter where we go--Ms. Wonder and I. It only matters that we move forward. There's something about the feeling of moving toward the horizon that is promising, liberating, and encouraging. It just makes me feel better--less anxious.


The sound of my wheels on the road slapping out a tempo, keeping perfect rhythm with the song on the radio puts me in the zone. And so I just keep moving down the highway. Driving my life away, looking for a sunny day, and a better way for me. *5



Driving to the music can sometimes transform my mood completely. I always get caught up in the lyrics and begin to sing along. My mood sometimes climbs so high, that I feel like I am the front-guy, or front-gal. I don't just sing along with Elton, I become Elton.


When it all comes together, I'm so laid back, hypnotized by the funky sounds coming out of my radio, pedestrians see me bobbin my head as I check out the rapper and the rhyme that he said. *6


Some people just don't get it. They think I'm foolish for all the foolish things I do. But what does it mean to be foolish? After all, they say Eve tempted Adam with an apple, but man I ain't going for that! *7


Some people suggest meditation, or exercise, or therapy. One person suggested that I go to more meetings. They may all be right and I'll try. Really I will. Until then, I'm on the road again. 


We're the best of friends, me, Ms. Wonder, Wynd Horse, and Quinn. Going places we've never been and seeing things we may never see again. And I just can't wait to get on the road again. *8


I don't worry myself over the whole rigamarole. I may be on a road to nowhere but I don't care. When I'm on that road, I'm feeling okay and that, for me, is a road to paradise. *9


Hey, barista, pour me another cup of coffee. Pop it down, jack me up, shoot me out, flyin' down the highway. *5


Here we go again. Going down the only road we’ve ever known. We've made up our minds. Ain't wasting no more time. Here we go again. *1


Wonder and I have so many places to go and so much to see. It's a wide, wild, wonderful world we're driving through, Billy Bob. And although we may be on a road to nowhere, it's the road to paradise for us. And here we go again, now, always and forever. 


We'll drive til we drop and, baby..., we ain't never looking back. *10


Thank you to every songwriter and musical artist for your passion and dedication to making music and song. I sometimes feel that I would not be here today if not for you. The lyrics in this blog post are just a few of the many that sustain me daily. The songs and artists are noted below. The lyrics used in the post are not exact quotes.


*1 Here I Go Again, Whitesnake

*2 No Particular Place to Go, Chuck Berry

*3 The Golden Age, Beck

*4 Going Up The Country, Canned Heat

*5 Driving My Life Away, Eddie Rabbit

*6 The Boomin System, L L Cool J

*7 Pink Cadilac, Natalie Cole

*8 On The Road Again, Willie Nelson

*9 Road to Nowhere, Talking Heads

*10 Born To Run, Bruce Springsteen





The Card Game

I was troubled yesterday by the thought that my blog posts aren't as uplifting as they once were and far less inspirational than I remembered.

I apologize for that. I appreciate your attention and support more than you can possibly realize and I do my best to bring goodness and light into my life by first bringing it into yours.



My troubling thoughts spilled into troubling dreams. You see, I often dream about the obstacles and absurdities that I encounter in life, and many times the dreams bring some new understanding or some helpful enlightenment. 

I call those dream revelations, Hello Kittens. I'll explain why later, perhaps in another post. But for now, let's just go with it. This morning's dream woke me at 4:45.

Hello, Kitten, said that familiar voice in my head.

I walked into Egret Cafe, in the dream. It was Sunday morning and, just like most Sunday mornings, I was to meet Island Irv there for our weekly recap of the social and economic goings-on of the Port City.

Sunday mornings are usually slow in the coffee shops of the Castle Street Arts District. Most patrons want to sit quietly and let caffeine flush the cobwebs from their minds and restore them to something resembling human. But it's never boring. 

Walking through the gathering of the Twee who filled the seating area, I nodded to three regulars, all women of a certain age. They were playing a game of cards. 

"What a nice shirt," said one of the relics. Let's call her Barbie Espresso, which is the drink she always orders.

"Thank you," I said. "I like it too; my favorite shirt."

"You always wear the nicest shirts," she said. "Why don't you join us. We need a fourth hand.'

You will understand, I'm sure, that all I really wanted was to meet up with the Islander and enjoy our usual deconstruction of the week's news. But what could I say after the nice compliment? I sat and picked up the cards in front of me. Oat Latte leaned over and looked at the cards in my hand.

"Oooh!" she said and then looking at her hand for comparison, she said, "Let's be partners." 

"You'll need to ante up to get in the game, Hon," said Barbie.

"I'll need a new set of cards," I said. "Oat Latte has seen my hand."

"It doesn't matter," said Medicine Ball, the third member, "we don't know how to play anyway."

"The ante is fitty cent," said Oat, pronouncing it like the name of the rapper. "But it has to be an actual half-dollar coin."

The last remark got a laugh around the table but I didn't join in. I was feeling more and more like I'd made a mistake by accepting their invitation.

"Yeah," said Barbie, "and we'd prefer a Flowing Hair Liberty dated 1794 or 1795."

The laugh was much bigger this time. I felt the need to respond and I worked up something like a laugh but it had no real pep. 

"Well, I never see half dollars anymore," I said, "and I'm certain I don't have one of those in my pocket."

"Honey," said Oat, placing her hand on my shoulder, "if we thought you had one of those in your pocket, we'd be your new best friends."

Once more there was laughter all around and this time I felt compelled to join in. It was painful.

"Don't worry about the ante," said Oat Latte. "I think we can accept a little sweat equity in place of hard cash, right girls?"

"Equity?" I said. "How does that work?"

"Here it comes," said Medicine Ball. "Are you ready?"

I looked around the table as Princess Amy began to stir in my head. Amy was saying, "Uh-oh, this isn't good."

Medicine leaned forward across the table. The cafe had become silent as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. She looked hard into my eyes and said, "I wouldn't put that shirt on the bottom of my cockatoo's cage."

Laughter exploded from the three women like a Biblical pestilence. The effect was felt around the room. Dogs barked. Babies cried. A loud pop sounded behind the counter and the cafe was filled with the aroma of burned coffee grounds.

"Cheer up, dear," said Oat picking up the undealt deck of cards. "That was your sweat equity. How many cards do you want?"

"Good morning," said Island Irv coming on the scene. "Good to see you, Genome. He seemed to ignore the three women when he said, "Let's order coffee."

Suddenly, I realized why he didn't acknowledge the women. They had disappeared. It was all a dream and I woke.

"Hello, Kitten," said the familiar voice in my head.

I'm told that dreams such as these are sent to teach and guide us. To help us become our best selves and help to reach our destiny. If that's true, then I say again, Who the hell is Kitten?





Another Motion Picture Masterpiece

Many thanks to everyone who left comments about my visit to Southport and the set of The Waterfront, the new Netflix television series. It's good to know that so many of you share my love of behind-the-scenes cinemagic.


I was back on the same set of The Waterfront this morning but much to my dismay, no one was there. What! Even though my sources, who are never wrong btw, my sources say filming will take place today--but nada. I don't know what to tell you. I promise to get updates soon and post them here on The Circular Journey.

But all is not lost. I strive never to let my public down. You are much too important to me. My sources made me aware that another film project is underway in Southport. You may have heard the name, Capsized?

And so, with my brain working like a finely tuned large language model artificial intelligence chatbot, I left the familiar Southport yacht basin and headed down the barricaded Brunswick Street to Morningstar Marina, the set for Capsized.

The last time I was on the set of The Waterfront, I asked Vee about the signs declaring the place a restricted area. She's the production assistant who taught me about hanging around a film crew, and she told me, "That's just to scare away civilians."

And so this morning as I walked down the barricaded Brunswick Street toward the Morningstar, the thought that I wasn't just another random civilian allowed me to become a little full of myself. And it felt good. 

Closer to the actual marina, I could see what appeared to be the entire crew assembled on the deck overlooking the bay. I recognized it as the party that kicks off the first day of filming on any set. It was exciting. I was pumped!

Consequently, when I arrived I walked onto the set like I was walking aboard my yacht. My beret was strategically dipped above one eye, which made all the difference in presentation.

I suppose this is the place where I might write, What could possibly go wrong? Or I might tease you with, Hilarity ensues.

I might have written something like that but the words would have misrepresented the heavy-hearted feeling that filled me when a security guard blocked my way and asked me,

"Didn't you see the signs that say, closed set; authorized personnel only?"

Well, what could I say? What was there to say except maybe, "Oh, ah," and that's what I said.

All the magic happens behind the curtain.

You know that I'm addicted to the magic of film production, and the thought of being turned away, like Adam and Eve from the Garden, reminded me that at times like these, what's called for is a higher power. I pulled my magic 8-ball out of my pack and consulted it about my prospects for success. 

I turned the ball over, and the answer floated up out of the darkness. Time will tell, it read. I was more disappointed if that's even possible. It's this kind of nonsense, I thought, that makes people seriously doubt the reliability of magic balls and whatnot.

But the mood soon passed because the atmosphere on set was festive and the excitement was contagious. I hung around the general area trying to put together an alternate plan for salvaging something from the day.

As I walked around the dock, kicking sticks and leaves into the water, I was approached by someone coming from the direction of the kick-off party.

"Hi," he said. "You're not part of the production team are you?"

"How does everyone know that?" I asked. "Is it that obvious?"

"Yeah," he said, "it's easy to tell you're a civilian. Would you like to help me with my lines?"

I didn't like that crack about being a civilian and I thought of several juicy comebacks but decided it was best if I wanted to hang around a while longer, to be helpful in any way I could. 

"I suppose so," I said.

And so he told me all about his part in the upcoming scene. He was an extra and would play an employee of the rental agency. He would be casting off the mooring lines to allow the houseboat to leave the dock. 

Beau, that's his name, told me the storyline includes a dysfunctional family that rents a houseboat for a vacation on the Carolina coast. That's the first scene to be filmed today. 

He didn't tell me the entire story but when I hear the words, dysfunctional family, I suspect the father has a problem with platinum blondes and bathtub gin. It's a common problem I believe. In my younger days in Shady Grove, I heard it referred to as a problem with "dames and hootch."

In the upcoming scene, the family would be preparing to launch their vacation by launching the houseboat. What could go wrong? Hilarity ensues.

Beau and two other extras would provide a believable facsimile of a boat rental crew. He had only two lines to rehearse. He was to tell the other workers to "Cast off the lines," and when the ropes had been untied and stowed, he would say, "Good job, boys."

Not exactly Hamlet but you wouldn't have guessed it from the way he went on about it. I'll bet I heard his lines at least a dozen times before the Second Assistant Director sent for him to join the other extras in the staging area. He forgot to thank me but who could complain, he was really pumped! 

"Knock 'em dead," I said as he walked toward the boats.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he said.

"Well, you've got me there. It's something I've heard said in similar situations and I thought it would be a great exit line for you."

He shook his head and gave me a look that implied I was a total waste, taking up space that could be used for better purposes. But I shook it off. I was going to have a great day despite inflated egos and unreliable magic. I took a deep breath and got a lungful of ambient excitement. I was pumped!

I always strive to spread goodness and light to the deserving and undeserving alike. And so, thinking I could improve relations with Beau, I called to him as he walked away. 

"Beau," I said, "you might want to speak up a bit, your voice is a little soft and elocution is what you want on camera."

I don't know how I thought of the elocution gag. It just floated up like a message from a magic 8-ball. Still, I thought it a good bit of fruit cake and congratulated myself for thinking of it.

Listening to Beau during rehearsal, I'd gotten the idea that the action pretty much centered around him untying the boat. He'd given me the impression that the other actors did little more than fill in when he happened to be off-stage. But from what I could tell, watching the action from a distance, things on set jogged along quite nicely without much help from him.

"That's it boys!" said Beau--not in the script, of course--and his loud remark walked all over whatever it was the stars were saying to each other as they boarded the houseboat.

"Cut!" yelled the director.

Immediately, an outburst of dialogue erupted between the stage manager and the director. I couldn't make it all out but it had something to do with Beau being off his mark. The stage manager placed his hands on Beau's shoulders and moved him around a bit.

Again, the action began. I was too far away to hear the calls to "Rolling" and "Action."

The previous scene was repeated and everything seemed to be alright until another stormy exchange between the stage manager and director. This time it was about Beau's lines. It seems his volume control was set too high, as I suspected. 

"Cut!" yelled the director and several crew members repeated the call.

Not exactly Hamlet.

 Normal activity resumed and I could see Beau and the other two extras gabbing on the dock. The director walked out to give Beau some direction and Beau seemed to take it big. He was pumped but not in a good way!

He seemed to think he was judged unfairly and took out his frustration on a crab crate which he kicked off the dock and into the water. It was plain the atmosphere had hotted up and there was a goodish deal of je-ne-sais-quoi on the set.

The directory apparently decided it would be helpful to give the production crew a short break. Beau came over to my table. He looked steamed. Not actually leaking at the seams but not far from it.

"What'd the director say?" I asked.

"Never mind what he said." The whole thing's your fault."

"What's my fault?"

"Me not working out. He told me I'd be paid for a full day but that it would be better if I didn't eat with the crew and best if I leave the set now."
 
"Too bad," I said. "Well, tomorrow's another day."

"Do you think it's funny?" he demanded but then he stomped away without waiting for a reply. I couldn’t help but wonder what his problem was. It wasn’t like he was going to win an Oscar nomination for "Good job, boys."

I began gathering up my things and just as I was about to leave, I heard a voice behind me.

"Hey, you."

I turned to see the first assistant director standing there, her brow furrowed, looking me up and down.

"You've been hanging around here all morning," she said. "Are you an extra?"

I blinked. "Me? No, I'm not an actor."

"Neither was he." She said.

Vee, my personal production assistant, came to mind and I thought, I'm not just another civilian. I passed as an extra in the mind of an assistant director.

Well? Vee said in the movie playing in my mind. Wanna be an extra?

Actually, Vee, I thought, I'm already an Extra with a capital 'E'. I have a team in Waterford who need me more than you guys.

See you tomorrow then?

"Let's see what the 8-ball has to say about it," I said aloud giving the ball a shake.

Count on it, is what the magic ball said. And, everything considered, I'd say it had been a big day for being pumped from start to finish.

Let's Get On With It

The Circular Journey is Mostly true stories of joy, enlightenment, and just one damned thing after another.

Having written this blog for over twelve years, I feel that I'm uniquely qualified to present, explain, and apologize for, if any of that is needed or requested, exactly what the blog is about.


However, I know that your time is important and I don't want to waste it. Let me declare upfront that this post is written mostly for:
 
    1) my personal satisfaction
    2) to share with followers of the blog
    3) to share with my personal friends
    4) to share with social media friends
    5) to share what it's about with new readers

If you're a regular here, then you already know anything I might think to add. If you are new and have questions, please leave a comment.

The Circular Journey has found an audience of several thousand followers. Those followers log in from more than 50 different countries that circle the globe. This blog ranks #3 on the first page of more than 14 pages of hits from a Google search using the keywords, "circular journey". (Oct. 16, 2004 3:30PM EDT)

The blog details listed in the paragraph above may not impress you but they impress me every time I think of it. And I'm proud to say it's all organic--I have never promoted nor paid Google to promote The Circular Journey in the twelve years it's been active.

But that's enough of my self-congratulations. Let's look at what others have to say about the blog. I've taken the liberty of editing some of the comments but only for length and clarity.

A different way of understanding circular journey:

A Circular Journey allows the reader many different experiences with a single pass. Circular journeys are actually made up of many individual journeys that allow for maximum flexibility. You can enjoy the full experience, or if you wish, the partial experience, on your own schedule, taking breaks along the way without missing anything.
                                                                                                        ~~ Indian Rail Enquiry

For the record, I find the paragraph above to be a completely accurate description of The Circular Journey blog as much as the Circular Journey provided by Indian Rail.


Praise for The Circular Journey

I love your brain. Every bit of it. But especially the bits that write gems like this. OMG, Genome, you are a brilliant brilliant man. 

In your retirement years, you may consider sending your writings to Hollywood. The witty way you 'see the world' and your writing reminds me of the work of Nora Ephron.

Enjoy your journey, and may every corner you turn have a pleasant surprise.
~~Cathryn J. on "Share The Joy"

My favorite blog entry OF ALL TIME!! I have sent the link to several friends.                ~~Manimee on "Match Made in Heaven"

This might be my favorite post, although I am sorry to hear of the pain underlying it. I can reassure you this much at least: your audience exists. Unlike (hopefully) Abbie's mouse.

My favorite line is, "I don't do well in the aftermath, do you?" I actually answered aloud, "Me either!"
~~Karen B. on "It Was Raining Cats"

I love this story. Truth is in it.              

I hope to make it to Mardi Gras next year and I don't feel I would appreciate it so much without having read this post. 
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