Don't Encourage Her

It was the sudden onset of a manic episode that caused me to miss the turn onto Hillsboro Road. But after a short diversion I finally crossed the covered bridge and arrived at the Inn of the Three Sisters in Pittsboro. Just as the threatening clouds decided to stop bluffing, roll up their sleeves and get down to it.

As we pulled into a parking space near the entrance, I gaged the volume of the downpour and having considered this and that, decided to wait it out. After what seemed like a couple of moments, the 11 year-old geezer in the passenger seat asked, "Why do you talk like that?"

I don't need to tell you that her remark wasn't the start of the conversation. I like that about you--that I don't need to explain every little thing. Now that I think of it, why don't you join us one morning at Native Grounds for coffee. It's in the Renaissance District, near Southpoint. The tribe would love to meet you.

I was taken back by the question she asked but I leaned into it. 

"And why, Lucy," I said, "do you continue to ask the same question that I've answered again and again?" 

And yes, I know you're thinking that I shouldn't call her by the name she doesn't like, but sometimes, well, sometimes you just..oh you know what I mean.

"No," she said, "I'm not talking about the stupid way you put sentences together. What I mean is that your manic fits don't have anything to do with thunderstorms."

Well! I mean! I gasped, and I'm sure you can guess why. I mean, just what the hell did she mean 'stupid way of putting sentences together,' and did she really use the term, manic fits? Manic fits! And did I really say out loud that I missed the turn because of a manic episode?

"For the last time, you ankle-biter, I don't have fits! I do experience emotional interruptions to the cognitive circuits, but much like electrical surges. Sometimes the mental clocks begin blinking and need resetting after such a surge but no real harm."

"Unless your mental phone is plugged into a mental outlet and gets mentally fried," she said.

"Lucy Lupe Mankiller!" I said and I meant every last word. I fully intended to stop this charging tween in her tracks and I knew those three words would do it.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she said, letting me know that she'd had enough of the subject for now.

I think this is a good place to stop and reassure you that there is no permanent rift between the Genome and his god-niece. We're forever teammates. We do get our feathers in twist from time to time but it never lasts.

Keep the faith, my friend. This sacred pilgrimage continues for its eighth year and the joy continues with it.

Pine Cone Apocalypse

 I take Princess Amy for a walk on sunny mornings in hopes of lifting her mood and getting the day off on the right path. If you're one of the many who hang out here on the Circular Journey blog site and read everything that I write, then you're familiar with the princess. 

If you're new here, let it suffice to say that Princess Amy is my limbic system and she behaves like the Red Queen in Alice Through the Looking Glass. If you're still lost, then I suggest that you stop reading now and return to your familiar social media habits.

On this morning's walk, I was contemplating the characters in my book--the novel, not the South Carolina travel book. I was thinking specifically of Lupe, the 14-year-old protagonist who causes all the rannygazoo in Crystal Cove.

As I walked underneath the arbor of a pine grove, I was startled when a pine cone fell from its moorings in the canopy at just the precise moment to strike its target on the very top of my head. 

Pine cones are harder than you might expect this one fell from high above and landed with a startling Whack!. I jumped. And if I shouted something like Holy Hell!, it was warranted. Tears came to my eyes.

Immediately after such an attack, the eyes are drawn upward to see where the attack originated and this morning I saw a bird, possibly a grackle, fly from somewhere high in the tree. A new spirit guide I wondered? 

The thought was prompted by my musing on the character Lupe. Her mother is Native American--Lupe prefers the word Indian--and she recognizes spirit guides from the animal kingdom and insists that I have one too, even though I haven't been properly introduced to one.

Hold that thought. I'm in danger of jumping the rails again. Let's get back to the subject by saying that when I brought my gaze back down to earth, I almost stepped on a card lying on the ground. At first, I walked on by but I quickly thought better of it.

You see, the pine cone barrage was a bit out of the usual, and considering the odds that a bird would dislodge the whatsit at just the right time to have it fall through the ether and smack me on the coconut must be staggering. And if you consider the spirit guide angle, it follows that maybe it all happened for a reason and the card, which turned out to be a lottery card, could be the reason.

You understand then why I picked up the card. Unfortunately, it wasn't a winner. Now I was left wondering, Why? Realizing that there was no answer better than the whole thing being nothing more than a random happenstance, I put the mystery aside and what do you think happened then?

You'll never guess so I'll tell you, My thoughts turned to germs. That's right. We're amid a global pandemic as I write this and germs often come to mind. And I was holding a card that had been in someone else's hands. 

There was no trash can in sight and I didn't want to carry this piece of garbage for the rest of my walk. But the ongoing environmental degradation has made me militantly anti-littering. What to do? That became the big question in my mind. What to do with the discarded paper.

I'm interested to know if you agree with my decision, which was this: The damage to the environment and all right-thinking sensibilities had already been done by the person who dropped the card in the first place. If I placed the card on the path exactly where I found it, then I was doing no further damage and I could pick up the card and dispose of it properly on my return. 

I walked back underneath the same tree and placed the card on the ground. Then I straightened and continued my stroll.

"You dropped something," said a voice somewhere off-stage.

That's right. Another hiker was approaching and she'd seen me deliberately place the piece of trash on the ground. Of course, I wanted to say, It's not mine. I'm only returning it to where I found it. 

I didn't want to pick up the trash again and go through the same deliberations I'd considered only a few seconds before. So what I actually said was: "Thank you." 

Then I picked up the card, and smiled at her as she walked past--it was no good, of course, I was wearing a mask. I placed the card in the back pocket of my jeans and forgot about it until I washed the jeans with the card still in the pocket. And there's the moral of the story! One damned thing after another.