My New Reality

Today's post will address a truly weighty subject: my official, wholehearted, truly blissful surrender in the lifelong, often-baffling fight to understand the true nature of reality. Let me explain why, hopefully over a strong cup of coffee that, as far as I know, might just be a delightful figment of my own imagination.

From an early age, I realized that the world isn't exactly as it seems. My first clue came when I was just five years old, during a vivid "vision" of Atlantis. I refer to it as a "vision," but it felt more like a waking dream, filled with dancing dolphins and ships with painted sails. You might expect a five-year-old to forget about it, but it left a lasting impression on my young mind, much like a stubborn sticker.

That was the same idyllic summer my great-aunt Nanny, a woman who inherited her esoteric wisdom from her Celtic ancestors, taught me to see faeries. And let me tell you, it wasn't difficult. The little rascals weren't exactly hiding. They were there, bold as brass, flitting among the azaleas – tiny, gossamer-winged beings, probably discussing the merits of pollen versus nectar. 

After years of fantasizing and delving into any subject that promised an explanation for the "unseen" world, I finally encountered science. Eureka! I thought. I felt much like Archimedes must have felt when he sank into the bathtub and water overflowed onto the floor. Not something I'd normally consider a groundbreaking achievement, but I suppose it could possibly have led to bubble baths.

For many years, science, with its comforting laws and predictable reactions, provided me with a delightful framework for understanding the world around me, making it feel as comfortable and predictable as a Sunday morning coffee at Luna Cafe. Then, just when I thought it was safe to leave the house again and go outside again, I encountered quantum mechanics.

Suddenly, I was presented with the possibility of an explanation for the unseen reality. It seemed to be the final frontier, the shimmering, elusive key to unlocking the universe's deepest secrets. It promised answers! It promised clarity! It promised... well, it promised a lot.

That promise, dear readers, was a false one. It didn't happen. In a sort of cosmic coup de grâce, a final drape thrown over the birdcage of my mind, Ms. Wonder decided to become an abstract photographer. Her artistic calling, and as one who has seen her in action, I can assure you, it is a calling. The woman can not let an ocean-going vessel dock at the port of Wilmington in peace.

"What's that got to do with hidden reality?" you may ask. It's a fair question, and one I've wrestled with myself. But consider this, hot off the press, right there in her artist's bio, she states, with an air of profound, unquestionable certainty: 

"Through my photography, I offer glimpses of an unseen world, that exists in plain sight. My photography goes beyond the obvious and makes visible what is otherwise hidden."

For the sake of my sanity—and probably yours too, since listening to me ramble on about quantum foam, lost continents, and dancing faeries can be quite exhausting—I've decided to embrace my imaginary world as the only reality that truly matters. 

Why struggle with complex cosmic truths, which would make a lesser man take up interpretive dance, when a perfectly comfortable delusion, custom-tailored to my personal whims and desires, is so much more appealing? It's a far less taxing way to live, and frankly, makes for much better blog material.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I just glimpsed something small and curious flitting past the window. It may be a new species of dust bunny, or else, and you may find this hard to accept, it could possibly have been a squirrel in a tutu. Living with an abstract photographer, the mysteries, it seems, never cease, even in a world of one's own making.

Cats, Cameras, and Mockingbirds

Ah, the Carolina coast! A place where life is easy, breezes are gentle, and the spirit of Jimmy Buffett seems to drift through the salty air like a catchy tune. You'd think, wouldn't you, that living this idyllic life would provide an endless flow of fascinating stories for a blog? And you'd be right. There's always something brewing.

But in my little corner of the internet, The Circular Journey isn't just about documenting every wave and sunset. My goal, you see, is to mix things up and share pieces of life that genuinely make me smile, and hopefully, make you smile too. 

After all, a blog that sings only one note, no matter how lovely, risks becoming as monotonous as a broken record. I learned that lesson the hard way, but the story involves too much caffeine and oversharing about my morning routine. We'll save that one for a later post.

The Perilous Path of Picking a Topic

I've since cultivated a refined list of about seven topics that keep my interest piqued and allow me to, as I like to say, "spread goodness and light." The trick, however, isn't just having the topics, but knowing when to unleash them. My choice of subject depends on the event that sparks the idea, the phase of the moon, or whatever my subconscious decides to obsess over while I'm trying to sleep.

Currently, my brain is doing a rather vigorous two-step between cats and Wilmawood. Yes, I'm thinking about cats—because honestly, is there any topic more universally adored, more inherently fascinating, than our furry, purring overlords? I think not. 

But then there's Wilmawood, our very own Hollywood East, the film industry that adds a certain glitz and glamour to our fair city. And so, here I sit, quite stuck, needing to choose one and let the other ride the bench for a bit.

A Dream, a Cat, and a Question Mark

I'm stuck on the horns of ...what is it? Begins with a 'D' but forget that for now. Let me explain the dilemma. My dream this morning was about Eddy, the tiny ebony kitten we rescued from under our deck just days before the construction crew arrived to transform it into a screened porch. 

It was perfect timing, really—any later and Eddy would have been living in a construction zone, which is no place for a dignified feline. I keep thinking about the dream, but my thoughts include more than Eddy's outdoor escapades.

Wilmawood Woes and Alligator Glee

On the film industry side of the house, I've been feeling a bit of a chill in the air. Filming has been unusually slow this year. "The Runarounds" wrapped production in early April, and frankly, the scene's been quieter than a library during finals week. You'd think in a place dubbed "Hollywood East," we'd have more action than a few scattered production trucks and the occasional sighting of someone who might be famous.

And so, I think you can see why I say, when it comes to blogging inspiration, I'm drifting aimlessly on the breeze, like a dandelion thistle.

The Wisdom of Mimi, the Mockingbird

Desperate times, as they say, call for a meditative stroll. So, I ventured out into nature, taking my customary walk around Brunswick Forest. It's a reliable wellspring of inspiration for me, thanks to Mimi, the Mockingbird. That tiny brain of hers is packed with an astonishing amount of wisdom. She has a habit of serenading the morning with popular hits from yesteryear. This morning, her chosen anthem was The Rascals' "Did You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind?".

"Well, yes, Mimi," I muttered, looking up at her tiny form. "That's precisely what I'm trying to do now. I don't need a reminder; I need a suggestion!"

It truly is amazing what profound truths you can glean from nature. It's how our ancestors, those intrepid souls, managed to survive all those volcanoes, saber-toothed tigers, and other natural disasters, so we could eventually live the carefree life Jimmy Buffett sang about. 

Eventually, Mimi (bless her musically inclined heart) found a truly inspiring song. It was getting into late morning, and the temperatures were definitely rising when she launched into Buster Poindexter's "Hot Hot Hot." I took it as my cue to seek the cooling breezes.

The Balm of Cooling Breezes

And so, here I sit, in the window of Luna Cafe, with an iced Americano, waiting for further inspiration to strike. I do apologize for not having one of my usual "pippens" (those delightful little blog treats) to entertain you today. But, occasionally, the creative well runs dry, and all we can do is wait. 

I'll continue to focus on the Wilmawood angle for tomorrow's post, as it appears more promising than my current fleeting thoughts about outdoor cats. If I don't come across a truly brilliant idea soon, I'll be left with little more to write about than our upcoming move to Montevideo, Uruguay. And honestly, who wants to read about packing boxes when there's potential cinematic drama to explore?

Welcome to The Journey

Good morning, and welcome back to The Early Show that I like to call The Circular Journey, because if you pay close enough attention, that's what life is! 

I have a great episode for you this morning, full of philosophical musings and amusing anecdotes, delivered in soothing, creaky, dulcet tones. I don't actually know what 'dulcet tones' are, but I heard someone say it and was so impressed that I just had to use the line somewhere, and so there it is. The rest of this paragraph is questionable, too, if you want the truth, and who doesn't? But it sounds promising and uplifting, doesn't it? That's got to be worth something.

Despite all that, I do welcome you and I'm happy you're here. To show you how much I appreciate your attention, I'm up at this early hour, with amazing and amusing words to write—that much is certainly true, and I'm hoping to give you something to smile about. That's the mission of The Circular Journey: to spread goodness and light. Let's get started.

Here in our little corner of the internet, I like to set expectations—or perhaps I should say that I want to lower them considerably. Here at The Journey, you'll encounter many characters, some of them—not all—exist only in my imagination, but they feel more real than many of the solid people I meet at the grocery store. 

There's Princess Amy, my imaginary companion who appears whenever I need someone to deliver perfectly timed sarcasm or point out the obvious flaws in my reasoning. She's the voice of practical wisdom I probably should have been born with but wasn't, so I invented her instead.

You'll also meet The Voice—not the television show with spinning chairs, but the mysterious phenomenon that speaks to me in those drowsy moments between sleep and consciousness. The Voice delivers profound messages like "Life is on the moon" and "Hello, I'm Claudia from Sweden," which I dutifully record in The Journey because, as the saying goes, 'We're only as sick as our secrets.'

Then there's Island Irv, my coffee companion at Cafe Luna, who serves as both friend and unwitting straight man to my daily observations about the peculiar nature of existence in coastal North Carolina. Irv is as real as you or I and my best friend on the coast. We solve the world's problems over lattes, though our solutions rarely extend beyond the front door of Luna.

Our cast of characters wouldn't be complete without Wynd Horse, my trusty vehicle that bears witness to adventures ranging from optimistic beach trips that end in grocery store hypothermia to philosophical journeys through downtown lots.

The topics we explore here are as varied as they are ridiculous. One day, I might ponder the existential implications of weather forecasts that promise beach bliss but deliver atmospheric betrayal. Another day, we might imagine the conversations of birds, squirrels, dogs, and even trees. I justify it all by claiming that animals can be understood by their behavior in the moment, and trees by their "nature."

If that isn't strange enough for you, then consider the fact that I actually believe it. It isn't actually insanity, you know, it's a thing. It really is, and I'm going to write about it on The Circular Journey. Be sure to check back often so you can be the first to hear about it.

We discuss mood disorders on this blog with the kind of humor that only comes from living with them, not mocking the struggle, but finding the absurd comedy in how our brains occasionally decide to throw elaborate tantrums or deliver midnight inspirations that make perfect sense until morning arrives.

You'll read about mornings when I wake up feeling inexplicably fine with nothing on my mind, which somehow becomes the foundation for entire philosophical expeditions. You'll discover how a simple trip for coffee can become a meditation on dignity, weather patterns, and the cosmic sense of humor that seems to govern weekend plans.

The beauty of The Circular Journey is that it truly is circular—we start somewhere, wander through various territories of thought and experience, and somehow end up back where we began, but with a few extra laughs and perhaps a slightly different perspective on the beautiful absurdity of daily life.

Whether you're here for the imaginary conversations, the meteorological mishaps, the philosophical musings, or simply because you appreciate the art of finding humor in the mundane, welcome aboard. The Circular Journey doesn't promise to take you anywhere specific, but it guarantees you'll have some interesting company along the way.

So grab your coffee, settle in, and prepare to explore the wonderfully weird landscape of a mind that finds comedy in climate control, wisdom in half-asleep voices, and adventure in the simple act of getting through another day with curiosity intact and humor engaged.

After all, if we're going to navigate this beautifully ridiculous existence, we might as well have a laugh.

Journey's End? Never!

Ms. Wonder, Ms. Scarlett, and Charlie 

Hit the Road

There's something magical about watching your favorite people embark on an adventure that's been brewing in their hearts for months. When Ms. Wonder announced she was ready to photograph the SS United States in Mobile, Alabama, Ms. Scarlett confessed she'd been dreaming of exploring Jacksonville, Florida. The stars were aligned for the perfect road trip.

And what road trip would be complete without Charlie, that compact bundle of terrier enthusiasm who treats every car ride as if it were personally gift-wrapped just for him? 

The Vision Behind the Journey

Ms. Wonder's passion for her "Ships of the Cape Fear" series has always been about finding poetry in the industrial sublime. She sees these ocean-going vessels as "monuments to human ingenuity" – mechanical poetry written in steel and engineering precision. 

The SS United States represented something special: the largest ship built entirely in America, holder of the trans-Atlantic speed record, now resting in honored retirement in the port of Mobile.

"They're like colossal timepieces," she had explained before leaving, her eyes taking on that faraway look I know so well. "Each gear, lever, and bolt work together at a level of harmony and scale that's beautiful. It's abstract art born of industry."

Always the perfect adventure companion, Ms. Scarlett balanced her own wanderlust with unwavering support for Ms. Wonder's artistic mission. This is what true friendship looks like – two people pursuing separate dreams on the same journey. 

Charlie's Road Trip Philosophy

Charlie approached this expedition with his characteristic enthusiasm. His attitude in regard to Ms. Scarlett's travel plans is always, "If you're going, I'm going."

Charlie's road trip philosophy is beautifully simple: treat each day as an adventure, approach every new experience with tail-wagging optimism, and never miss an opportunity to make friends – even if they outweigh you six to one. 

Jacksonville: Where Dreams Meet Reality

The photos tell the story. That stunning morning shot of Jacksonville's skyline, with the iconic blue Main Street Bridge spanning the St. Johns River, captures exactly why this city captured Ms. Scarlett's imagination. 

There's something about the way the urban landscape meets the water, the interplay of industrial architecture and natural beauty that speaks to the soul.

Perhaps even more telling is their discovery of the Tiki Java Cuban coffee bar – a perfect little slice of tropical charm tucked into Jacksonville's heart.  

The SS United States: Mechanical Poetry in Steel

I can envision Ms. Wonder in her element at the Maritime Museum, viewing the SS United States; she would have seen not just a retired ocean liner, but a masterpiece of American engineering and design. 

Coming Home Today 

As I write this, knowing they're making their way back to North Carolina, I can't help but smile thinking about the stories they'll share. 

They can't get here too soon for me. Welcome home, adventurers. The Cape Fear has been waiting for you, and so have I.

Ferris Bueller's Latte Off

Although it might seem this post is the result of having mushrooms for breakfast, I'm certain the recent summer solstice is responsible. I'm not denying sampling mushrooms—a mere whisper of Reishi, Chaga, and Turkey Tail. Still, I'm sure the magic that occurred at Luna Coffee Cafe last Sunday morning was nothing more than a natural spike in absurdity.

I arrived at the cafe not long after the sun fully exposed a delightful morning. The moment I stepped inside, I felt that certain kind of magic that whispers, 'This is going to be a special day, the kind of whisper that seems to raise a caffeinated eyebrow in your direction and wink.

Normally, I'd be met by Island Irv, my perennial Sunday morning companion and fellow observer of the absurd. But today? No Irv. Just his empty chair and a faint trace of sandalwood and sardonic wisdom lingering in the air.

For a moment, I was tempted to take this as an omen of opportunity. New friends! New whatevers! I told myself bravely, settling in with a modest sense of adventure and a small Americano made with oat milk and aspirations. I'm off the lattes for a while—too much warm milk.

That's when I noticed Ferris Bueller flickering on the old VHS machine. The universe, in its sly way, had placed me in a cinematic parallel dimension. At the precise moment I walked in, Ferris and Cameron were in the garage, facing the moment of Ferrari reckoning—that climax where fate, physics, and bad parenting converge spectacularly.

And for a few glorious moments, it all lined up perfectly. I had a warm cup in hand, a cozy seat by the window, and the kind of sunlight that flatters even the most unforgiving of complexions.

"This is a great scene," someone said from barely off-stage.

I looked to my left and saw a man holding a steaming cup, wearing the expression of a merry jester at a Renaissance fair.

"The best scene in the movie," I agreed, "and that's saying a lot because this movie is one great scene after another."

That's when another oat milk latte appeared on the table in front of me. I was sure it belonged to someone else and looked around to flag down the barista. Before I could explain the mix-up, a very large dog materialized at the table. Apparently, he appreciated a well-made oat milk latte and quickly lapped it up, leaving an incriminating frothy mustache on his snout.

That's when things really began to get exciting.

The dog barked. The espresso splashed. The dog's leash wrapped around someone's leg, and suddenly the entire quadrant of the café began moving like the parade through downtown Chicago in the Ferris Bueller movie.

In the commotion, I ducked out to the restroom—Luna's beloved but beleaguered one-person-only facility. The door was closed. The lock displayed "Vacant." I knocked lightly. No response. I knocked again. Still nothing. I tried the handle. Locked. A philosophical quandary arose: does 'Vacant' describe a state of being or just a prank suggestion?

After several moments of Hamlet-like indecision, the door finally opened and someone emerged, giving me the sheepish nod universally recognized as "sorry, the lock lies."

By the time I returned to my table, the Americano had gone lukewarm, and the spilled latte on the table had congealed into a disappointed frown. That's when a stranger across the table tried to start a conversation about cryptocurrency. I countered with a vague nod and an exaggerated sip of my lukewarm coffee, which only invited further engagement. 

Eventually, I surrendered the idea of being the Ferris Bueller of Luna Café. I was more of a Cameron—well-meaning, slightly overwhelmed, and with a voice no one seems to hear until it cracks under the weight of unspoken anxiety. 

As I slipped toward the door—dodging another dog, stepping around a fresh spill, and passing a barista trying to fix the espresso machine with a pleading gaze—I realized something important:

A perfect day isn't necessarily one where everything goes right. It's the kind of day where everything goes just wrong enough to be memorable.

Sure, I didn't crash a 1961 250 GT Ferrari Spyder through a glass wall. But I did survive an oat milk tsunami, decode a stubborn bathroom lock, and witness a brief but spectacular scene of blueberry scone injustice.

And somewhere in the background of my mind, Ferris Bueller offered his eternal reminder: "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."