Mockingbird and Bluejay

The day opened with promises of blue skies and cheerful bluebirds, all day long. How does that song go? "Blue skies smiling at me. Nothing but blue skies do I see. Never saw the sun shining so bright. Never saw things going so right."

It reminded me of something P.G. Wodehouse wrote about glorious mornings and how they flatter mountaintops. I can’t recall the exact words—pretty highbrow stuff—but I couldn’t have put it better myself. Of course, one must always budget for the weather, so the key is to enjoy yourself when you can. You never know when some cocky politician will come along and mess things up.

Armed with birdseed, I headed outside to greet the day—and the birds, who were already busy greeting it themselves.

Mimi, a perky Mockingbird, is my morning companion. She alights on the fence near enough for me to touch, then fixes me with her inquisitive eye. I place the feed atop the fence rail, and she follows me as I move along. She nibbles here and there but seems more interested in watching me.

I chat with her as we go, and she tilts her head, side to side as if wondering why I don’t have a song like hers. Maybe she’s studying my voice, planning to mock me later. Who knows what runs through a bird’s mind?

Eventually, Chester, a jaunty, self-important, and perpetually suspicious Blue Jay—spots us. Chester fancies himself the head of wildlife security and takes it upon himself to monitor all forest activity. He seems to think Mimi is up to something, though what he suspects, I can’t imagine, but security types like Chester don’t need probable cause.

As soon as he sees us, he sounds the alarm, screeching as if the house is on fire. Mimi flees, along with every other bird within earshot. Chester puffs up with pride and perches victoriously on the fence, basking in his success.

It’s better for him to feel satisfied; otherwise, he calls an emergency 'Council of Birds,' which leads to high-decibel accusations and wildly bizarre conspiracy theories. 

The council inevitably disperses once the birds realize Chester’s crisis is just more of his self-important bluster. Unfortunately, birds seem to have short memories because the charade replays every morning like clockwork.

The backyard comes alive again once I finish my chores. Mimi returns, along with Chester (still smug), the squirrel circus, and the Mourning Dove choir—the Sisters of the Order of Brunswick. The doves rarely partake in the goodies, presumably fasting to set an example for the ever-rowdy squirrels.

By evening, as the sun dips below the treetops and casts a golden glow on the backyard, Chester can be seen perched atop the old dead tree at the forest’s edge, surveying his “secured” and "safe" domain. The early evening quiet is unremarkable, but Chester takes pride in it. I imagine him puffing out his chest and muttering, “Better safe than sorry.”

You might think I have an overactive imagination, but if you were here to experience the day with me, I have no doubt you'd agree with my assessment. Bird psychology is just as easy to understand as human psychology. If it looks like a self-important Blue Jay and sounds like a self-important Blue Jay... etc., etc.

Mood Indigo

Art has a unique way of revealing the extraordinary beauty hidden within the ordinary. That belief drives the creative journey of abstract photographer Ms. Wonder.

Her photographs capture the fleeting beauty of shimmering reflections, transforming ordinary surfaces into a canvas of abstract artistry. 

Her latest achievement, selected for the 'Mood Indigo' exhibition at Sunset River Gallery, is a testament to her remarkable ability to transform the mundane into the magnificent."

The Vision Behind the Lens

Wonder explains that Georgia O'Keeffe's influence has taught here that:

 

“When we take time to really notice the everyday, seemingly mundane, we can find a new way of seeing—a way in which the ordinary becomes extraordinary.” 

One of her favorite methods is to capture intimate, detailed images of ships that brave the elements to cross vast oceans. The weathered hulls, with their layer of colors, bear the marks of countless journeys. The abstract forms created by wind, waves, and time come alive in her photographs, inviting viewers to appreciate the beauty that often goes unseen.

The Journey to 'Mood Indigo'

The 'Mood Indigo' exhibition showcases artworks that explore the depth and emotion of the color indigo. Sunset River Gallery, renowned for its exceptional collection of regional art, issued a Call for Art and received far more submissions than could be accommodated for this themed show. Ms. Wonder’s “Celestial Sky Bursts” was among the select few chosen, a recognition that left her both honored and thrilled.

The journey to this moment was as meticulous as her photographic process. First came the image selection: choosing a piece that not only resonated with the theme but also showcased her signature style. 

Her curated photograph, "Celestial Sky Bursts," is a striking example of her artistry. As part of the submission process, she crafted a compelling paragraph to accompany her work:

"Celestial Sky Bursts" invites you to lose yourself in the rich depths of indigo, a color that evokes the infinite wonder of the cosmos. Vertical bursts of white and red streak upward, like distant starfire breaking through the quiet darkness. A notable red line slices the bottom, evoking a planet's surface or the boundary of a faraway world. It’s a moment of stillness and wonder, where the universe speaks in bursts of light."

Preparation and Presentation

Once “Celestial Sky Bursts” was accepted, the countdown to the exhibition began. Art drop-off day on January 30th was marked by careful preparation, ensuring the piece arrived ready to dazzle. Then came the opening night celebration on February 1st, a festive wine reception where artists, collectors, and art enthusiasts gathered to celebrate the new show.

Standing beside her photograph in the gallery, Ms. Wonder reflected on the journey. From capturing the initial image on the Cape Fear River to seeing it displayed alongside other remarkable works, this moment was a culmination of her dedication to the craft and her belief in the power of art to transform the way we see the world.

A New Way of Seeing

Ms. Wonder’s work is deeply inspired by the legacy of Georgia O’Keeffe, whose paintings encouraged viewers to slow down and appreciate the beauty in small, often overlooked details. Through her photography, Ms. Wonder invites us to do the same.

As she puts it, “When I stop trying to understand abstract art and simply allow myself to pay attention, my inner critic fades away, and everything becomes as it should be.” This belief is the philosophy at the heart of her practice and resonates in every image she creates.

Looking Ahead

The 'Mood Indigo' exhibition is just the beginning of an exciting year for Ms. Wonder and her artistic journey. With four additional photographs currently on display at Sunset River Gallery and plans for future projects, she’s poised to continue inspiring viewers to find beauty in the everyday. 

Ms. Wonder’s art is a testament to her belief that beauty truly is all around us—if we take the time to see it.

My Wonder Worker

My morning began in a haze. Depression and vertigo worked together to twist me into a tailspin. Round and round, down and down. And in that first waking moment, I heard a mysterious voice say, "Drink me."

You surely remember the voices I wrote about in a previous post. If not, don't sweat it--it's enough to know that I sometimes hear absurd, nonsensical things when I first open my eyes. 

I didn't have time to muse on the mystery of the voice because of an early appointment in Wilmawood. But my mind churned with memories of the siren call of "drink me." It made me think of Alice's Wonderland potion and you know how that turned out for her. It also reminded me of my old habits and bad behavior--they were caused by brews far less magical than Alice's.

As I finished dressing, Ms. Wonder appeared. Her presence is always a peculiar mix of calm and chaos. "You’re in a state," she observed with the air of someone diagnosing a clock that refused to tick.

"Why does life have to be so difficult, Wonder?" I asked. "Why does everything need to be...what's the word? Physicists have a word for it--means being broken down or taken apart to be  understood?"

"Deconstructed," she replied, already halfway back to the kitchen. "But you’re overthinking again," she called. "Just use what works and forget the rest."

"Ah," I said, already feeling a little more hopeful. "The old one-day-at-a-time approach," I said, more to myself than to her.

"Why not?" she called once more.

Why not, indeed I wondered.

As she rattled around in the kitchen, I considered the association of magic with drinks—the kind that promises solace or courage in a bottle. In my younger days, I’d followed those promises like Dorothy down the yellow brick road, only to find fool’s gold at the end. 

It wasn’t the drink itself but the illusion it held—the idea that it could fix things. Now, here I was, waiting for Ms. Wonder’s own elixir. Would it be the real "drink me" potion--the one that replaced magic with meaning?

I heard the faint hum of a familiar tune—but one I couldn't identify—coming my way from the kitchen. A brief flicker at the doorway told me Wonder was back with me. When she materialized, she carried a tray with a glass of liquid glowing with a warm, golden hue.

"Drink this," she said, her tone equal parts bedside manner and royal decree. "It’s my own invention. The ginger gives it color. The turmeric makes it anti-inflammatory. The cayenne pepper gives it a bite. I’ve been told it’s invigorating after a late evening."

"But I haven’t had a late evening," I protested.

"No, and I’ve never treated circumstances like yours, so I have no reviews to share." She shrugged and said, "Now, drink."

I would have chugged anything that promised relief from the mood I was in. I gulped it down and suddenly felt as if someone had set off a cherry bomb inside my head. But as the warmth spread, the room stopped spinning, and the fog began to lift. The sun grew brighter, birds chirped louder, and hope returned once again.

Ms. Wonder leaned against the highboy, watching me with a knowing smile. "Feeling better?"

"I’ll say. What is this stuff?"

She waved a hand. "Just a mix of things that work. Take it, leave it, or deconstruct it if you prefer."

I laughed for the first time since rolling out of bed. "You are a wonder, Poopsie. There's none like you. You know that, right?"

She gave me a wink, shimmered like a heat wave, and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. I sat there, savoring the afterglow. It wasn’t magic, not in the fairy-tale sense. It was something better--a reminder that sometimes, all we need is a little push—or a fiery drink—to see things in a new light.

As I gathered my things and prepared to face the day, I couldn’t help but think: perhaps the true "drink me" potion is what Wonder suggested--finding what works and letting go of everything else. Why not, indeed.

Artificially Intelligent

If you regularly visit The Circular Journey, you know I'm pursuing a career as a science writer on SubStack. Science writing will not replace this blog--I will continue to do both. I will never abandon you, and I will not stop writing about my daily life--it's too amazing for that.

While reviewing research articles in preparation for the science writing project, I came across a fascinating fact of reptile biology that has eluded me for fifteen years. 

I was surprised to learn that chameleons have weatherproof tongues, a discovery made by researchers at the University of South Florida nearly fifteen years ago. I'm embarrassed to be so far behind in my knowledge of reptile biology!

If you're wondering, and why wouldn't you be, what it means to have a weatherproof tongue, I'll tell you. According to the researchers, the chameleon tongue does not move slowly in cold weather.

That's right. The tongue is a muscle, and muscles generally slow down at low temperatures. I didn't know that. I'm aware that I move more slowly when I'm cold, but I thought it happened because I simply don't want to move when cold. But, no! It's an evolutionary advantage, apparently.

being the maths nerd that I am, the article made me wonder just how cold is cold enough to slow a tongue. 

Being of scientific mind, I wonder how many other animals possess weatherproof tongues. Surely, there are many. The article should have included that information—I assume it didn't, but I only read the abstract, not the entire article.

Maybe I need to read the full paper because, now I think about it, why do chameleons need that special ability? Don't lizards live in warm climates? I may be more unaware of the lives of lizards than I imagined.

But let's focus on what I do know; my tongue is weatherproof, and I have a weatherproof mind. The old gray matter functions at its sharpest when the air is crisp enough to see your breath. I'm much like a rock troll in that regard.

You probably expect me, after reading about the researcher's discovery, to feel compelled to practice maths on it. You know me so well. I decided to write an equation (a simplified one) that could be used to determine how quickly a small animal might lose heat in freezing weather. My skills are rusty but here's what I came up with:

dT/dt = -k(T - T_a) - h(T - T_g)

After solving the formula for our recent freezing weather and uncharacteristic snowfall, I determined that in about twenty minutes, a squirrel sitting atop the fence in our backyard would be as cold as a penguin's belly button. I wonder if artificial intelligence would have done better?

Don't expect more posts like this one. I only wanted to provide a sample of what you'll find on my SubStack page. I'll announce when it goes live.

Until then, stay safe and warm. Winter is full of surprises this year. I wonder if artificial intelligence and large language models have anything to do with that?

Welcome to the brave new world of 2025. Thank you for being hee. Leave your questions or suggestions in the comments. 

How We Met

Welcome back to The Circular Journey, a blog as soothing as the popular bird songs of the 1980s, as satisfying as a peanut butter and apple-slice sandwich, and as pleasing overall as a shopping mall chair massage.

I was awakened last Sunday morning by one who's been with me for as long as I can remember. One in whom I can depend. One who will never leave or forsake me--tinnitus--that loud, unwavering ringing in my ear. It will be with me until the end of time.

The Wonder and I had come to Holden Beach, arriving at low tide. She wished to add to her collection of fossilized sea biscuits. If you're unfamiliar with those forty-million-year-old relics, never mind, not germane.

"How did you two meet?" asked the Cafe Ahora barista who had locked her keys in her jeep and with no one else in the coffee shop, had nothing else to do except talk to us. 

“Well, that’s a rather long story,” I replied, leaning back in my chair, as though preparing to launch into an epic.

“I’m sure it is,” she said, her wide-eyed gaze sparkling with interest.

And so, without hesitation, I took a deep breath, exhaled as theatrically as I could muster, and began.

“It was the year Bluebottle won the Lafayette championship,” I said, with a wistful air.

“Bluebottle?” she interrupted, tilting her head.

“A racehorse, " said the Wonder.

“That’s right,” I said. “It all happened in Lafayette, Louisiana, so it had to have been sometime in the 1980s.”

“Those were exciting times,” said Ms. Wonder knowingly, as though she had personally experienced every neon-drenched moment of the decade. It was an impressive thought for someone who was a mere whisp of a girl back then.

“Exciting times,” I agreed.

I paused as if carefully assembling the tale in my mind. I wasn't, of course. The pause gave me time to think of what came next--I was making it up as I went along. Suddenly, I remembered a line I'd heard in a sitcom.

"The sea was angry that day, my friend," I declared, feeling it was just the thing to grab attention. I wasn't thinking only of the barista but Wonder, too. After all, she'd heard it all before, and it seemed only right to mix in a few new details she's never heard.

“What does the sea have to do with it?” asked the barista, with a furrowed brow. I didn't like the change of expression.

“It’s just a line from Seinfeld that I've always liked. George Costanza said it. He was a marine biologist and it seemed to work for him.”

“I’m pretty sure George wasn’t a marine biologist,” said Ms. Wonder, with the confidence reserved for people who've spent too much time binging ’90s sitcoms.

“No, you’re right—he wasn’t,” I said, with a forced chuckle, hoping to keep it light. “But he said he was, to impress a girl."

Then, addressing the barista again, I said, "It’s a thing men do sometimes. You know--lie.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “To impress a girl?”

“Exactly. A noble tradition as old as time,” I assured her, though it was difficult to stifle the grin.

“I’m confused,” admitted the barista, tilting her head like a bird considering a shiny object.

A storyteller’s greatest fear isn’t being questioned about the details—it’s losing their audience. And while one person doesn’t make a crowd, the principle is the same.

“What I’m trying to say,” I clarified, “is that the story of how we met doesn’t paint me in the most flattering light. I was simply trying to dress it up a little, make it more interesting.”

“I have no doubt I’ll be impressed,” she said. “So, how about you tell it without the embellishments?”

Well, after that, how could I hold back?

“It was a dark and stormy night,” I began before her exasperated look stopped me mid-sentence.

“Fine, fine,” I said, throwing up my hands. “Here’s the unvarnished truth...”

When I finished, the barista had a wistful look in her eye. She was probably wondering if she'd ever be part of a love story like that of Ms. Wonder and me. And she wasn't the only one impressed.

"Thank you, for all those sweet words," Ms. Wonder said. I’m happy we work together so well on our creative visions. You’re not just my life partner, you're my best..."

"Hold it right there, Wonder," I said, like a traffic cop holding up a hand to stop runaway traffic. "You're about to say 'best friend,' and nothing good ever comes of that. Too much pressure. The stakes are absurdly high."

"I was going to say, collaborator," she replied. "I treasure our time together and look forward to many more years."

"You're the treasure," I said, striking a tone suitable for a romantic epic.

"No, you are," said the Wonder, quickly picking up on my intention.

"No, Wonder, you are," I insisted leaning in to add topspin to the effect, "and I'll always be here for you." 

"Well, alright," she said. "If you insist, I'm the treasure."

"That's m'baby!" I said. It was a nice finish, I thought. How about you? Do you approve? Not too overdone, I hope?