A Tide In Affairs

I woke this morning to that old familiar feeling that I was about to explode. You're surely familiar with it. Your legs feel restless, eager to be up and moving. 

You feel that no matter what comes of it, you need to get out on the road and go somewhere; it doesn't matter where. Instead of caffeine, your thoughts turn to cruising down Ocean Highway with Whitney Houston singing I Will Always Love You. 

Lifetime Achievement Award

Beignet Lafayette

Do you remember... of course you do, we're not goldfish after all... that Dolly Parton wrote and first recorded that song? If you're also aware that Dolly Parton is the avatar of Shady Grove, my ancestral home, you might suspect that the old familiar feeling comes around like this only because the Ghost of Shady Grove wants to be remembered. 

The ghost I speak of isn't the spirit of someone long past. It is instead the spirit of all that was perfect in a small boy's life, now lost forever to the passage of time. The specter isn't to be feared unless an overwhelming homesickness and near-panic caused by thoughts of love lost forever are a concern. 

Facing the ghost requires a steeled resolve, if that's the term. And resolve, whether steeled, jellied, or crocheted, has recently been in short supply for the Genome. However, upon waking and remembering something Ms. Wonder once said, I decided to gather what little resolve I had and face the specter. The gag I mentioned goes something like this (I paraphrase, of course): 

There is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. 

With the still-green memory of the first time I faced the ghost at the tender age of 5, I took the tide at the flood and, with a burst of resolve, threw back the duvet and sat up in bed to face the rainbow and claim the pot of gold. 

Oh, I'm sorry. I think I'm mixing metaphors, or whatever it is people do sometimes when facing difficulty. What I'm trying to say is that the spirit was indeed willing, but the flesh was weak. That one isn't one of Wonder's; I just heard it somewhere.

Sitting upright, as though ready to face the day, I wasn't surprised to find no pot of gold and no ghost. The anxiety I felt stemmed from the fact that Beignet, the unprecedented Cat of the Year winner for 7 years running, was not in bed next to me. I felt sorely incomplete and eager to be out on the open road, singing I Will Always Love You at full blast. 

Still, the small, quiet voice of reason reminded me of advice from my once-and-future martial arts master, Wen, the Eternally Surprised, who taught me that it's always wise to accept whatever life throws your way. 

"Don't make a drama of it," he said. "Make a musical comedy instead."

He never actually explained the methods one might use to turn a Hollywood drama into a Broadway musical, but I gathered it required sucking it up and getting on with it. Blogging is the only musical comedy I'm familiar with, and, as you know, I'm constantly looking for the bright spots in my days to share with you in The Circular Journey.

And so that brings us to the present moment, where I sit at Egret Cafe and Dance Bar, writing this post. I feel better now after crossing the Memorial Bridge and seeing Wilma's Downtown Business District spread along the Cape Fear River. Always inspiring and just a little exciting, with who knows what wonderful new opportunities waiting there?

By the time I motored into the Castle Street District, everything had been transformed. The birds that once seemed to be in an unending argument were singing as though spring were around the corner rather than fall, which, as we all know, is undoubtedly the case.

Though things came within a hair of falling apart this morning, the flame of fierce qigong never died, and I was able to extricate myself from the looney bin without a stain on my character. Almost no stain. Very little stain. No stains that won't come out in the wash.

What was the turning point? It's no secret. Music, blue skies, birdsong, and remembering what Beignet taught me about taking the tide at the flood. That's right. I first heard the phrase from Ms. Wonder's lips, but no matter who claims the copyright, Beignet always comes to mind when I think of it. So thanks, Ben. I needed that.

And so, my friends, there you have another little episode in the closing quarter of the 2026 season of The Circular Journey. The details of the episode, which my biographers will probably call Down the Waterspout at Midnight, may not be perfectly clear to you, only because they aren't clear to me. 

Memories play a larger role in my salvation than I mention on these pages. Sometimes memories are all we have to rely on, but that's all I'm going to say about it for now. I'll wrap up by saying that it's good to be home again. It is so true what they say: there's no place like it.

Roll the credits!