The Circular Journey

Lucy Lucille Lupe

Chadsford Hall lay drowsing in the sunshine. Heat mist shimmered above the smooth lawns and the timbered terraces. The air was heavy with the lulling drone of insects. It was the most gracious hour of a summer afternoon, midway between lunch and tea when Nature kicks her shoes off and puts her feet up.

I was enjoying the shade of the cypress grove, near the rhododendrons, opposite the camelia glade. While sipping the contents of a tall, tinkly glass, and reviewing the latest acting-up of the social quality in the pages of The Independent, I was startled to hear a voice coming from a rhododendron that had until now remained speechless.

"Whatcha doin'?"

As soon as I regained my composure, if any, and restored calm to the mind, if it is a mind, I gave the offending shrub a stern look of censure. Wouldn't you? I saw that the bush was giving me the same. Not the bush in fact but something peering from it. It might have been a wood nymph for I couldn't see it clearly, but I thought not. As it happened, I was right.

"Sorry, sir," said the year-old Siamese kitten, the one I've named Lucy Lucille Lupe because Old Possum says that cats require three names. Ms Wonder tells me that Mr Possum had something entirely different in mind but So what is my comeback to that. I reserve the right to take the road less traveled sometimes. Napoleon, I believe, did the same.

"Didn't mean to startle you," said L. L. Lupe.

"Not at all," I said having immediately forgotten the annoyance I felt at being shaken from a pleasant semi-slumber of the afternoon because this Lucy Louise fosters a warm, soft spot in the center of my chest near the heart. "It's good to see you again."

She did a little dance, her front paws moving two steps to the left and then two steps back to the right while the rear feet moved to a different rhythm entirely. I know this particular dance well, and I interpret it to mean, I like you because you give me good things to eat but, oooh! you've got big feet and I'm so small. I'm not fluent in the language of dance, of course, I offer only the gist of meaning.

"Got something to eat?" she seemed to say.

"It's not dinner time," I said.

"What's that?" she said adding a new step to the dance.

"I'm stroking your back," I explained.

"Don't touch me please," she seemed to say.

"OK, if you don't like it," I said and I stopped immediately. Protocol is very important to cats because there was a time when they were worshiped as gods and they haven't forgotten it.

"If not today, then maybe tomorrow," I said.

"Don't think about tomorrow," she said.

"Yes, I read about that somewhere. I don't mean to say it was about cats only. If memory serves, birds and lilies were mentioned too."

"Birds! Love birds!," she said turning round and round hoping to see them, I'm sure. "Where are they? By the bird bath?"

"I don't see any bathing just now," I said, "but don't distract me, I'm trying to remember something I heard when I was just so high. Probably not much bigger than you."

"Me? You were never my size," she said.

"Where was I?" I said.

"Birds!" she said.

"Right, birds. The passage I'm trying to remember went something like this, Behold the birds, for they sow not, neither do they reap, something, something, something--and then, pay close attention because the big payoff is coming up--take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for itself. I'm paraphrasing of course."

"That's me," she said.

"I thought as much," I said and I was being sincere about it. These cats have never completely given up their wildness and it's my position that their popularity has something to do with a human being's desire to fondle a tiger.

She stretched her front legs out and bent the body into the stretch. Her butt was high in the air, as high as it goes rather, and her tail pointed skyward. She was lovely. She was beautiful. She was so delightful that nothing else was required of her to be perfect in my esteem.

"Think I'll take a nap," she said and sauntered off toward the rhododendron.

It seemed a good idea and I decided to do the same. Perhaps I would dream of a perfect world, where no cat suffers from human malice, for as Robert Heinlein put it, "How we behave toward cats here below determines our status in heaven."

I like that. I keep it in mind always. I suggest you do the same.

21st Century Perks

"But these symbolic dreams aren't new," she said. "We've been talking about them for a while now."

That's what Dr. Beach said to me in our recent session when I told her that my dreams had turned dark and troubling.

I got her permission to write about it so I wouldn't be accused of violating doctor/patient confidentiality. She said the rule only applied to the doctor. I'm pretty sure she's wrong. She also said she isn't a doctor and I think she's wrong about that too. She's probably on cold medicine.

"The dreams may not be new," I said, "but they've changed character. You remember the dream where Sagi was running around the yard with a big smile on his face, or with what passes for a big smile on a cat's face. He seemed to playing a game of Catch me if you can! He looked so happy that it made me happy and now I always remember him just as he was in that dream."

"I do remember," she said. "That's a beautiful dream."

"Yeah, well recently I dreamed the Emperor came to ask me for Mom's Big Book of Death. He said the dead had asked him to write their names in the book so they wouldn't be forgotten. They told him I'd stopped recording their names and if something isn't done soon, a dark storm will rise up from the Underworld and take over the earth again."

"I can see how a dream like that would be disturbing," she said.

"Disturbing?" I said. "Disturbing would be waking up from the dream and having to clear the head to get back to sleep. These dreams bubble up from the pit of anxiety that fills up the hole in my heart and I can't get back to sleep again."

She gave me a look that said, I don't know what to say but tell me more, please.

"Sometimes, after one of those dreams, I wake up in the morning filled with so much despair that I wonder why I get out of bed."

"But staying in bed doesn't solve anything," she said.

"No, it doesn't," I said, "and besides I have lots of reasons to get up, get out, and get on with my life."

"What are some of those reasons?" she said.

"Just off the top of my head, there's all those syrupy flavorings the coffee cafes offer, like caramel, French vanilla, and lavender! Can you believe people add lavender flavor to lattes? Tasty insanity! The 21st century does have a few perks."

"Having something to be grateful for makes all the difference," she said.

"Coffee can send the forces of darkness back into the sewers where they belong," I said. "And when coffee is set to music, it's just another day in paradise."

"You do this just to yank my chain, don't you?" she said.

"We've run over our time," I said. "See you next Monday at 2:00 PM?"

The Extra

"Are you going to be downtown this morning for the filming of Merv? They're on Castle Street I believe."

Ms. Wonder and I were having coffee on the lanai but I wasn't my usual chatty self. I suppose my feelings were oozing out.

"Not planning on it," I said. "Too muggy. And it's a Christmas movie--hard to get in the spirit when the heat index is 100 degrees."

"Southport should have some cooling offshore breezes," she said. "The Summer I Turned Pretty is there this week."

Now, I don't need to tell you that I usually look forward to the warm-weather filming schedule for popular television shows, like Turned Pretty and I get excited when I know there's a movie being filmed in the area. I enjoy hobnobbing with crew members on location. You know, get a few candid photos, and maybe pick up a bit of celebrity gossip that I can post on social media.

You may think it's nothing to get excited about but for me, it's a reason to get out of bed in the morning. There are other reasons, to be sure, but I'm specifically referencing the 6 AM de-bedding, not the 4 AM or 2 AM. Completely different reasons and generally not all that exciting.

"I won't be going to Southport either," I said. "I don't want to drive Highway 87--too narrow--and Highway 211 is being widened from 2 lanes to 4 all the way to Long Beach."

She gave me a look accessorized by tight lips and lacking not the smallest sign of an eye twinkle. A moment passed between us when I thought it likely that I could be bitch-slapped in about 3 seconds.

"Have you forgotten what I told you at breakfast?" she said.

"Of course, I have," I said. I saw no reason to deny something that could easily be proved in court. I do often forget. Life in the suburbs with its lack of mental stimulation has caused my natural attention deficit to reach a stage where it borders on mad cow disease.

It was difficult to identify the look she gave me now. It was something I might expect to see on the face of Island Irv when trying to persuade him to become an accessory to the fact in some scheme I'm plotting.

I thought I should continue the conversation and hope that she cooled off before hotting up to the point of leaking at the seams.

"The weather is just way too hot and humid along the Carolina coast," I said, "and although our fine old metropolis is buzzing right along with summertime festivals, hoards of vacationing hominids, and the ubiquitous film crews, it's just too much to deal with."

"Look, baby," she said, "I know how much you love hanging with film crews and keeping your social media public updated. But your interest has gone flat lately. The good that you know you should do, you do not. What'sup?"

"You know," I said and it probably sounded like a plea for help. "Schopenhauer says.... At least I think it was Schopenhauer but possibly Shakespeare...that all the suffering in the world can't be mere chance. The Universe must intend it."

"Yeah, I know who spews that asbestos into the air," she said and she patted my arm lightly as she said it, "Princess Amy can't find anything to bitch about so she's practicing chair yoga and can't be bothered with you. Sounds like the perfect time to get yourself knee-deep in life and bump into some opportunity."

"Well, of course, you're right, Poopsie," I said. "You always are. But it's hard to churn up interest and motivation out of, what's the term, thin air?"

"Don't churn up anything," she said. "Just go, make it happen, Data. Engage!"

"I love it when you say that," I said and I meant it with knobs on.

"Look," she said, "I know that you consider yourself something of a local reporter at large, an arts and culture blogger, but I think you're missing a wonderful opportunity."

This piqued my interest no small amount. "You do?" I said. "What opportunity?"

"Think of yourself as an extra," she said.

"A movie extra?"

"Sure," she said, "don't you see? You're someone important to the production, like an extra. In fact, you're necessary. The shooting would stop if the extras weren't there. Their presence in the film is what gives it believability, makes it real."

"Hmmmm," I said, "and I meant it to say that she'd interested me strangely, like the feeling you get when Superman sneaks into the phone booth and comes out with an attitude that says, I'm gonna get all up in there. She had captured my attention and the old cogs were whirling."

Now when I say the cogs were whirling you must remember that when a man with my attention span is plunged in thought, the machinery just whirrs for a while, and then that's the end of it. Suddenly everything gets quiet with little to show for it.

Wisely recognizing that nothing was to be expected from my musings, she continued.

"Extras don't have speaking parts," she said, "and their acting ability isn't important, but they must perform their roles precisely and on time, just as the stars of the film. Without the extras, there's no movie, no television story."

"That's me," I said. "I'm an extra!"

"That is definitely you," she said.

"Excuse me, Poopsie, I'm due in Southport. The Christmas episode for Summer I Turned Pretty, Season 3 is planned for the next few days and I don't want to miss the decorating of Main Street."

"My extra!" she said and I could feel the pride in her voice. Made me feel good.

Do The Numbers

From time to time, I like to review The Circular Journey to see how many people it has reached and where in the world people are logging in to get here.

Looking at the numbers makes me feel better. I read somewhere that looking back at past accomplishments can generate a little more self-confidence and make life seem a little more agreeable. Those aren't the actual words I read. Just the way they spoke to me.

I created the blog in 2008 and published the first post on June 30 of that year. The first post got 22 views. I have never promoted the blog in any way other than listing it on a few social media sites as my website.

The Circular Journey began as a journal to help me cope with my mother moving from Tennessee to North Carolina. She had lived in the same house for 70 years and lived in that same small, rural community all her life. Moving away was one of the major events of her life. Mine too.

For the first year, give or take, I wrote my experiences caring for my mom. Not long after I began journaling there, my relationship with Mom changed. We became great pals. I was her chauffeur and her errand boy, and we celebrated Christmas twice per year. Hallmark movies figured into it.

I removed all the blog posts that dealt with those early years and I removed a few that just didn't suit me anymore. The oldest post in the blog now is dated February 22, 2012. It's called Let The Good Times Roll, and yes, it's about Mardi Gras, and it currently has 136 views.

Eventually, The Circular Journey became a journal for coping with mental health syndromes. A number of them. Finding humor in the circus that takes place in my head, and sometimes spills over into real life, helps to cheer me up and gives me hope that Jimmy Buffett is right when he sings, "..if we didn't laugh, we would all go insane."

This blog is an important part of my life and I'm so very grateful to every person who logs in to read it. Please continue to visit and tell your friends about the blog. And if you have a minute to spare, I'd love to read any comment you might share.

Here's the short tally updated December 2, 2025:

434 Total Postings 172,730 Total Views

All Time Top 5 Most Popular Posts:

Precession and Whatnot

As soon as I woke this morning, I felt numb inside, numb to all emotion. The power principles that usually help to lift the mood were not working.

I’ve recently questioned the Universe’s sanity over her decision to enroll me in multiple courses of instruction simultaneously. I reasoned it might be helpful to have a heart-to-heart with Princess Amy if a small cluster of gray cells in the brain has anything to pass for a heart.

“Amy," I said, "I feel like a man who has drunk from the cup of life and found a drowned beetle at the bottom.”

"Perhaps life in the 21st century is an acquired taste," she said. "I remember that you hated Brussels sprouts for years but now you fancy them. Give modern life the same chance you gave Brussels sprouts."

"You think there's hope in that approach, do you?"

"You might consider this," she said. "When you examine it narrowly, how little do you really have to dislike about your current situation? You're only unhappy because life isn't like it was in the gay nineties but just think how very few there are of decades like the 1990's. One in a century is my guess."

Our talk didn't help. Some occasions demand nothing less than a time-out. This was one of those occasions. Minutes later, had you been looking for me, I could be found walking through Magnolia Plantation. My plan was to consider all my options, which didn't take long. There were few.

As I strolled casually down the sidewalk with the artist formally known as Prince singing "Get Crazy" in my left ear, a fire truck suddenly popped up like a demon king in a Thai water opera, and tooted a horn that sounded like Rush Limbaugh denouncing liberal democracy.

It's never difficult to tell the difference between a ray of sunshine and a Genome who's been pushed too far. And in that moment, it has never been more clear.

That doesn't mean that I tornadoed around in public like the Tasmanian Devil. Certainly not. I behaved like the nice boy next door, always my strategy when in public. I mentally gave the driver a piece of my mind and I searched the databanks for choice, juicy words.

If negative emotions ever invoked a dark reality on any piece of fire-fighting equipment, that f-f equipment was one.

The major exception to the rule about Taz's behavior is that I often, regrettably, do behave like Taz when in the company of Ms. Wonder. What a saint she is! I don't know how she puts up with me. Please contribute to her campaign.

But in that startling moment mentioned above, the Limbaugh moment, the idea of being tugged this way and that, reminded me of the Buckminster Fuller concept of precession.

I know! Look, I've never denied that my mind works in mysterious ways. Mr. Fuller's precession is just another example of that. Some people find my chaotic thinking amusing. It may be helpful to think of it like Brussels sprouts. I'll bet you once didn't like them either.

An example of precession is the combined effect of the sun’s gravitational pull on the Earth and the velocity of the Earth as it circles the sun. The first force is acting to pull the Earth into the sun; the second is working to escape the sun's pull and send the Earth hurtling into the cold depths of space.

The combined effect of the two forces provides the perfect combination to keep the Earth in orbit at just the right distance from the sun to support life and be hospitable to you and me.

I know! Magic!

I can only hope that a bit of precession will result from my personal tug-of-war and have a magical effect on my life. And on Wonder's life. She deserves it far more than I do.

Don't misunderstand. I'm not saying the idea of escaping gravity and flying off into space isn't appealing.