No Regrets

“I've lived a full life," I told Ms. Wonder as we shared a quiet breakfast coffee. "And I tried to live each day in a way to avoid regret."

I didn't plan to say it; it just came out. Ever notice how often we say things we didn't plan to say? Perhaps not. It may be a Genome thing. So many things I do are influenced by the Genome DNA.

Wonder took a break from her Brunswick Community College program long enough to sip her latte. "What did you say about regrets?" she asked.

"A day without regret is a perfect day," I said.

"I suppose so," she said. "I don't think I have any big regrets--do you?" she asked.

"Regrets?" I said. "I have a few. But then again, few worth mentioning. As a young man, I hoped to travel cross-country to San Francisco. That city was a mecca for young people in those long-ago days."

"Why San Francisco?" she asked.

"It was a troubled time in our country, but the allure of that one city promised a new and better world." I paused a moment, reminiscing about the comfort those promises once brought me.

"I haven't heard about that trip," she said.

"I didn't go," I said. "It's hard to say why. When I share that dream with others, I often say I didn't want to travel alone. It's a perfectly understandable reason but I'm not sure it's the real one."

I continued to think about regret and the few that haunt me. Most of them are not truly troubling, but they do nag at me. Perhaps it's the thought that some of my dreams are no longer possible--another kind of loss that comes with age.

One of my biggest dreams is to make the all-American road trip. This journey involves driving from the East Coast to the West Coast and back again, taking a different route for each leg of the trip.

I was ready and willing to do it for most of my adult life and yet, believe it or not, I kept waiting for the 'right time'. In the end, I waited for a lifetime. I don't think I could make that trip now.

"Sounds like too much time in a car," said Irv. I probably should have mentioned that after breakfast, I drove into Wilmanwood and met Island Irv at Caffe' Luna.

"I love exploring the country by road. You can learn about how people enjoy their coffee and what they do in their spare time—little details like that. Everyone has an interesting life, and America is full of fascinating places."

He didn't say anything. Instead, he shrugged his shoulders and smiled as if to say, It takes all kinds.

"The love for travel across the country is a significant part of the American spirit. Consider the covered wagons that journeyed from east to west in the 19th century. Today, there are numerous books, songs, and movies that celebrate road trips, with many more using the journey as a backdrop for their stories."

"Like Thelma and Louise," he said.

"Exactly," I said, "and Little Miss Sunshine and .It Happened One Night, and Blues Brothers."

“Blues Brothers  isn’t really about a road trip,” he said.

"Trust me," I said.

"I'm not so sure," he said.

"Let it go," I said. "it's like Die Hard is a Christmas movie and it’s not a Christmas movie. Blues Brothers is like Die Hard.” 

"What?" he said.

"Too-may-toe, too-mah-toe," I said.

He said nothing but he gave me a look that I've never seen before. I'll need to consult my book on non-verbal communication for the interpretation.

"Think of all the books," I said. "Books like On the Road by Jack Kerouac, and Travels With Charley, by John Steinbeck, and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, by Robert Pirsig."

"Are you sure Pirsig is the right name?" he asked. "Doesn't sound right." We eventually got it sorted out but only with the help of a second coffee.

If you regularly follow my thoughts on The Circular Journey, you're familiar with my strong urge to travel. But, as I get older, I question my ability to meet the physical demands. Will my vehicle be able to keep up? I ask myself.

When I refer to 'vehicle,' I mean both my body and Wynd Horse--I think of that car as more than a means of transportation. I question whether I want to make a long trip in any other vehicle.

Having said all that, I'm no closer to knowing how to deal with this particular regret. Fortunately, Ms. Wonder will fulfill her obligation to make the world a better place at the end of the year and we’ve planned an extended road trip together.

Our intention is to cruise up the Eastern Seaboard all the way to Quebec City. The plan has become my dream trip, one intended to mitigate the regret over not driving to San Francisco. You see, regret is something that feels like a loss to me and I've had my fill of losing.

Oh, well, not everyone should be expected to enjoy sitting in a car for hours on end. And you may be one of them. If you must make a long drive this year, I hope you will have a surprisingly good time. On the other hand, if you're a veteran roadster, then I wish you an unexpected happy surprise outing.

If Life doesn't have a road trip in store for you this year, I wish you a year of living with no regrets. A year without regret is a year in which every day is a perfect day.

Plans For the New Year

The question of how long an author should be allowed to document the adventures of specific characters is one that has often intrigued thoughtful individuals. My intention to continue this practice into the new year has brought the question back into focus in literary discussions.

It has been twelve years since I began writing about Ms. Wonder, the Genome, and Princess Amy. However, some people apparently consider my blog a nuisance and believe it should come to an end.

"Wonder," I called as I entered the sanctum that she calls her office. Right away, you're probably thinking, 'No not again. Genome when will you ever learn that interrupting her work day is never a strategy that ends well.'

But what else could I do? I was up to my neck in slings and arrows--not a good metaphor, I know, but I'm struggling here. There's a big decision to be made and the woman is my rock.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but a crisis is brewing. My critics are calling for an end to The Circular Journey. They say, and I quote, 'Enough is enough.' My editors agree, insisting I spend my time on something profitable. They see these chronicles multiplying like rabbits in the coming years, and the prospect fills them with dread."

She didn't roll her eyes. She didn't sigh. She turned to look at me with a concerned expression. 

"First of all," she said. "There's much more to consider. Writing your stories brings you joy and it helps keep you away from Brunswick Beer and Cider..."

"Except for lunch," I interjected.

"Yes, except for lunch," she admitted. "Given that, I'd say the situation is still open to debate."

It wasn't the strong argument I'd hoped for, but, as the saying goes, 'Any port in a storm.' I decided to work with it.

"Despite the confusion and heated debates," I said, "one clear fact stands out: as the new year begins, so does our thirteenth year of business as usual."

"Has it been that long?" she asked.

"And I want to stress, Wonder, that I strongly believe anything worth doing, is worth doing thoroughly. In this regard, I'm much like Shakespeare."

"Hmmm," she said, "I'm not sure about the Shakespeare reference but I get your point." 

"My critics think that multiple stories with recurring characters have a limited shelf life," I said, "but I disagree strongly."

"Your comparisons," she said, "metaphors, similes, whatever, need work."

I'm sure her comments deserved my careful consideration and I will get to them eventually, but I pressed on.

"It's possible, I suppose, to read 'Coastal Camelot,' my most popular post, as a standalone effort and still feel satisfied. But I know there are individuals of a curious spirit who won't be content until they explore the entire blog, reading all ten of its most popular posts."

"No doubt," she said.

"The blog can't be fully appreciated with any less effort. Only by reading those ten will certain references become clear instead of mystifying and obscure."

"Of course," she said turning to face the computer screen again.

Now, my friend, after hearing my side of the debate, I ask you to consider the opening lines from 'Coastal Camelot':

 

The morning opened with a show so grand and majestic that it made me question Mr. Priddy’s sixth-grade lesson about the Earth’s rotation causing the sunrise. Gazing at this glorious start to the day, I couldn't help but think that only a goddess driving her divine sun chariot could create such a spectacle.

Not bad, right? How could anyone think it boring or redundant? And check out these lines from the post I call, 'Life is Good': 

I arrived early this morning, riding the shirtsleeves of the sun, who had awakened bright-eyed, rolled up his sleeves and gotten straight to the point. Not a bad opening for a yellow dwarf-star.

And not a bad opening from a serial blog, right? And at the risk of overdoing it, let's sample this paragraph from 'Keep On the Sunny Side': 

Sunshine stole across the mews from the general direction of the Atlantic Ocean, not that it was remarkable in any way. I mean, I'm damned if I know how it's done--smoke and mirrors, probably...  

I make these missives available to you, dear reader, at no charge, and the method of finding them is simple. All you have to do is return to the main page of this blog, and scroll down until you see the Blog Archives in the right-hand column. Then begin clicking away to your heart's content. 

Do it now is my suggestion. Make it a daily habit. I recommend beginning your morning by reading one or even two if you're feeling froggy. I guarantee that doing so will bring sunshine, blue skies, and birdsong into your inner world--and perhaps even your outer world too.

Genome In The Wintertime

Are you a fan of P. G. Wodehouse? Most people are it seems. I'm certainly fond of his work. Inspiring is the word I'd use to describe it. 

Wodehouse lived through some of the more challenging times of the 20th Century. World War I, social unrest in Europe, World War II, and worldwide financial struggles. It was a troubling time. It could be described as living in Nosferatu's cellar.

How could one cope with all that chaos? How can someone maintain their sanity when it seems everyone around them is losing theirs? Wodehouse found his escape in his stories.

Wodehouse wrote light comedy to brighten things up and to create a happy place in a dark world. His stories have helped me to remain sane--relatively--as sane as I can be. 

I haven't lived through times as difficult as Wodehouse, but I've lived through the most difficult times of my life. I've learned from the Wodehouse style and I try to follow his example. By writing The Circular Journey, I create my own happy place in a darkening world.

In my writing, I depict Wilmawood as a near perfect garden, not actually perfect but naturally beautiful and sastifying to the spirit. The people who live there are not perfect--they're fully human, and like all humans, have their flaws. They make mistakes and succumb to temptation, but they haven't tasted the apples of the Garden of Eden.

My writing thrives during days of bright sunshine, blue skies, and birdsong. So it's no wonder that I am most creative during the sunnier, warmer seasons--springtime and summer. Longer days filled with sunshine are essential to my sense of eternal youth and happiness. Unfortunately, we're up to our chins in winter now. 

Although mid-winter days offer barely nine hours of sunshine, we can take some comfort in the fact that Earth is moving around the sun at 67,000 miles per hour. At that pace, the spring equinox will be here before we realize it, bringing longer days. By late June, we can enjoy up to fifteen hours of daylight.

The calendar reminds that we're not there yet. To truly appreciate the winter season, one must pay close attention. It's important to learn the language of birdsong and attend a squirrel circus when the show is in town. I attend to these requirements as often as possible.

Every ray of sunshine holds the promise of infinite possibilities. Winter winds cleanse the mind and spirit just as spring rain showers cleanse the air. That's my story, and I will stoutly deny any other interpretation.

My philosophy, which I'm sure you're anxious to hear, is that we arrive at life’s ultimate destination too soon and the few days we're given are chock full of absurdities and chaos. Might as well embrace all that nonsense and find ways to enjoy the journey. 

I apologize to those of you who came here looking for lifestyle updates rather than philosophical reflections. It's a weakness that I sometimes surrender to--not often--but more often than I succumb to poetry. I appreciate your indulgence during this brief interruption in the narative. I felt it had to be done. Let's get back on track, shall we? 

The long nights of winter are upon us and those nights don't lend themselves to revelry--not at my age. I prefer to stroll through Brunswick Forest on sunny days when the wind is calm and quiet. Not exactly a disco party but it works for me.

There's a touch of magic in the blue skies reflecting off the lagoons and the gentle ocean breeze sweeps away dark thoughts, if I only allow it.

A great stress reliever for me is to take some time to re-energize to dance with the mockingbirds and express gratitude to the trees for simply being there. I do it almost every morning.

Oh, I mustn't forget the ducks in the lagoon. There's always something calming about a duck. No matter what problems may be afflicting the world around us, ducks remain aloof from them and simply go on being ducks.

Eureka! I think to myself when standing on the promontory overlooking the lagoon. It's an expression that's probably out of place, but I like it. I'm not sure why I like it so much. Maybe it's because the word captures a sense of euphoria, or maybe it's the thought of Archimedes running through the streets naked upon discovering the principle of displacement.

Whatever the reason, I feel the urge to shout it when I stand beneath those blue skies, the sun shining on my face and the ducks reflected in the still waters of the lagoon--Eureka! Of course, I keep my clothes on--I haven't tasted the apples of the Garden.

And who do I have to thank for this feeling of euphoria? Mr. P.G. Wodehouse that's who. By creating his happy place in his books, he also created a happy spot for me. He taught me how to cultivate my own peaceful and happy little garden. It's a place that I can feel safe and content, no matter what's happening around me. 

In my own way, with my humble skills, I strive to bring a smile to the faces of my public here on The Circular Journey. My wish for you, my cherished public, is a winter filled with bright and cheerful days free from the limitations of yesterday. 

A Perfect Beginning

The Earth travels around the sun at a whopping 67,000 miles per hour, and it's not slowing down. With the days rushing by, who has time to squander on "just another day?" The days of the calendar are limited. That's why I felt a sense of urgency when I entered Ms. Wonder's sanctum--for I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.

"Wonder," I said. "The glad new year has gotten off to a great start, don't you think?"

"Not bad," she said, leaving me wishing she'd be more attentive. I realized she was on the clock--focused on her job. But still...you know what I mean.

"Not bad?" I said. "I might go as far as to call it a perfect beginning. We were up before the sun, whispers in the air, as the poet would have it, and we've completed four of the nine steps already."

"Nine steps? Are you talking about the article I asked you to read in Vanity Fair?" 

"Vanity Fair if it suits you," I said. "It might have been Vanity Fair or it could have been one of those forever ads that pop up on YouTube from time to time."

"Forever ads?" she said.

"Yeah, the ones that go on and on, page after page, promising to share the secrets to a happy life. You know the ones I mean."

"Have we completed three of the steps already?" Her words were in the correct order, but she didn't ask the question with any real interest. She seemed engrossed in something on her computer screen.

"Four," I said. "The first step was to Wake Up, which we did without effort. And then the day came..."

"What are you talking about? Ooooh," she said, "it's a poem, isn't it? I don't have time for poetry this morning, so don't try me. And waking up doesn't sound like a step to bring about change. It's not like there's another viable option."

"I disagree, Wonder. I believe waking up is a brilliant first step. You open your eyes to a new day and immediately feel a sense of accomplishment. What could be better?"

"Fine," she said. "Go with it if it makes you happy."

"The second step in the list is Morning Walk, and I think you'll agree we did that."

"Hmmm, mmm," she said, clearly not paying attention.

"The third step," I said, "is Breakfast, which we've finished. After that comes Meditation, followed by Lunch, and then Exercise. We haven't gotten to those yet, but number seven on the list is Socialize, and I took care of that on my trip to the grocery store."

"Grocery shopping doesn't count as socializing," she said.

"No," I said. "But making a new friend does."

She turned to look at me with a quizzical expression.

"Is quizzical a word?" I asked.

"Not one commonly used," she said. "It typically implies showing amusement at someone's silly behavior."

"I was thinking it described a puzzled look."

"Why are we having this conversation?" she asked.

 "I was wondering how to describe the look you just gave me."

"Oh, in that case, you used the right word."

"Alright, now that's out of the way, it's time for the big reveal.  Wonder, I've had one of those serendipitous experiences."

"Oh, well, why didn't you say that in the first place? Spill it and keep in mind--I can only spare three minutes for this."

"As I walked past the dairy case in the Food Lion, I noticed an elderly lady having a heated conversation with her shopping cart."

"You don't see that every day."

"Right?" I said. "I've learned to pay close attention to such rare events because something interesting often happens. This was one of those occasions. The lady had a certain look about her. She seemed the type whose favorite cookie is oatmeal raisin and who might be called Ethel by her friends."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because she wore her hair in a style that hasn't been seen since the first half of the last century. She reminded me of a great-aunt who answered to the name mentioned. My aunt and her sister Molly lived in Shady Grove and watched Days of Our Lives every afternoon."

"Alright, I get it. What was she discussing with her cart?"

"She explained that the cart seemed to have a mind of its own. It's not true, of course. Neuroscience defines the Theory of Mind as the ability to understand mental states in others. While I have no doubt that her cart's mental state differs from hers, most neuroscientists would argue that a shopping cart does not possess a mind."

"I can relate," she said. "Even now, listening to you tell this story, I'm quizzical about mental states and minds."

It always lifts my spirits to know that I've caught her interest. There's nothing I enjoy more than giving her something to think about. So, with renewed vigor, I pressed on.

"I asked Ethel if the wheels squeaked too, and she explained that no, while she could abide the cart moving in directions she didn't intend, squeaky wheels would be crossing the line."

"Hmmm," said Wonder and turned back to her computer. 

We Genomes are quick to take a hint, and we don't need to be told twice. We live by the adage that Life comes fast and hard, and it pays to be ready for anything. If the three minutes are up, meet them at the door laughing and invite them in. I read that somewhere.

I decided to drive into Wilmawood and see what was happening at Bodega Coffee Cafe. Something exciting is always brewing there. And remember, the Earth is traveling around the sun at 67,000 miles an hour, so there's no time to waste.

Shoot For The Moon

"Shoot for the moon. If you miss, you'll land among the stars."

~~ Norman Vincent Peale

On New Year's Day, I explained to Ms. Wonder my fascination with quantum theory and why I chose to be a science writer. 

I use the word 'explained' loosely because as she listened to me, she was also completing her year-end performance review--a challenging task even for a wonder-worker.

"Emergent properties are not seen in individual community members," I said. "They arise when those individuals interact in cooperative, supportive ways."

"The jargon is too technical," she said. "Bring it down a notch or two."

"The technical name for emergent behaviors is 'surprises.'” I said.

"That's good," she said. "Call them surprises. I like that."

"A group of starlings flying in synchronized formation is an example of a surprise," I said.

"I'll say," she said. "I wonder how they do that."

"It's simple, really," I said. "Each bird in the flock merely mimics the behavior of its nearest neighbors. A small act that leads to wondrous behavior."

She didn't respond. Instead, she seemed to ponder something in her review. The silence became awkward and I decided to say something--anything.

"I wonder what a group of starlings is called," I said speaking more to myself than to her.

"A group of starlings flying in formation is called a murmuration," she said.

"A murmuration? Really? Why not simply call it a murmur? A murmur of starlings sounds much nicer. After all, we don't call a group of crows as murderation."

More silence as she continued to stare at the review with a crinkled brow. Crinkled is the technical term I believe.

"Would Hulu produce a television series called 'Murderation in the Building'?" I said. "I think not. Silly idea."

She hit the enter key on her keyboard and then turned to look at me, her expression more relaxed but tinged with a little concern around the edges. It's a familiar look--one she wears when she thinks I'm flying with a bent whangee.

“Now I see why you associate squirrels in the backyard with emergent behavior," she said. "Surprises! Not long ago, we had half a dozen, and their silly antics inspired you to blog about them.” 

“What you call 'silly antics',” I said, “is what we science writers call disordered behavior.”

“Yes, but what do murmurs of starlings," she said, “have to do with squirrel behavior?”

“The squirrels demonstrate that organized systems move toward entropy and increasingly disorganized behavior. You see, they moved into our backyard due to abundant resources and limited competition.”

“Uhmm-unh,” she said, “but it lacked any real luster. Made me think of those notes at the beginning of a melody before the start of the first bar. What are those notes called? The name escapes me now, but you know what I mean.”

“Those favorable factors allowed them the freedom to reproduce at physical capacity and the number of squirrels grew exponentially."

“So what you're saying is,” she said. “our squirrel neighbors are enjoying an orgy of fruit and nuts, as well as staying out until the wee hours—sex, drugs, and rock&roll, about sums it up, I think.”

Many possible responses came to mind, and I paused to reflect on a few of the juiciest. Eventually, I decided to stick to the subject of quantum theory, thinking prudence to be the better part of something I heard once in Mr. Kier's advanced English class back in Edgewood.

“Chaos theory,” I said, "you probably remember me mentioning, tells us that small changes in a system’s initial conditions can trigger drastic changes over time—It’s called the butterfly effect.”

“Yes, I know about the butterfly effect," she said, "but what I’d like to know is why the hurricane shows up in Texas. What’s Texas got to do with it anyway?”

“Never mind Texas,” I said, "It's irrelevant. Molecular chaos tells us that confined molecules in a state of partial disorder must inevitably move toward complete disorder as the molecules collide.”

“Alright,” she said, taking a deep breath. "I give up. Let's get this over with. Continue, please."

There was a hint of resignation in her voice, and although I don't enjoy being a nuisance, I do crave her full attention. After all, she's gifted with superior cognitive ability and when she let's go, she becomes a force to be reckoned with.

“So you see,” I said, “it all boils down to this...”

“That-a-boy,” she said, “Spill it all. I'm holding my breath.”

I admit that the part about holding her breath got right by me, but I was bucked to the point of effervescence so I pressed on.

“A few squirrel families arrived in our yard and enjoyed abundant food and freedom from predators. Sitting atop the fence, day after day, leisurely enjoying a feast of fruit and nuts—they were soon noticed by other squirrels.”

“Crows too,” she said. “The crows sat in the tall dead tree and announced the feast to all of Waterford. It was like free Dunkin’ coffee and doughnuts.”

Once again, that Dunkin' motif was like a spitball coming across the plate in my first at-bat in the majors. I stepped away from the batter's box and let it go by.

The 'components' of the squirrel population," I said, "began to bump into each other. The more excited they became, the more disorder in the population until reaching total chaos.”

Her eyes had grown bigger as I moved closer to the punchline and by the time I stopped talking, she was out of her chair.

“The result was inevitable,” she said with no little enthusiasm. “Quantum determinism is realized, and where we once had seven quiet little tree monkeys playing in our backyard, we now have twenty interacting in total chaos.”

“In other words,” I said, “Surprises have emerged!”

"Genome," she said. "I think you're onto something good with this science writer idea. I have only one suggestion for improvement."

"What's that?" I said.

"Why not become a Science Writer instead of settling for being a science writer? You know," she said, "shoot for the moon."

"Capital idea!" I shouted, and I'm sure my feeling was similar to that of Archimedes when he ran through the streets yelling, "Yureka!"

And so, dear readers, I wish you a very Happy New Year! I hope you continue to follow The Circular Journey through the year. Who knows you might discover your own inner Science Writer.