Back In the Village

Well, here I am again, back in the Village of Crystal Cove and staying at the Inn of the Three Sisters. I know what you're thinking. As determined as I am to avoid this place, how is it that I end up here so often? 

Well, I'd like nothing better than to explain but it's a long story and for God's sake, I can't into it now. Right now I want to tell you about the dream I had on my first night here.

In my dream, I was in a hotel restaurant in central Missouri. I know! Central Missouri! Dreams can be so weird. I was eating a bowl of wabi-sabi--I know, I know! The waitress, filling the tall, amber drinking glass with tissue restorer was Susan S. and she looked exactly the same as so many years ago when she was a doctoral candidate at Rice University.

Susan inclined her head, the way the best waitresses do, toward the sidebar and recommended the sauce in the bottle there over the sauce in the bottle on my table. Of course, I walked over to investigate but discovered that the indicated bottle was uncapped and that the mouth of the said bottle was all crusty! When I turned to protest her recommendation, Susan was gone. 

Guess what happened next. Right! I woke up. You will not be surprised to know that my immediate thoughts were of the nature of the dream. What the hell, I thought. 

Now I am well aware, just as I'm sure you are, that many great and wonderful breakthroughs come to people through dreams. I'm sure you remember the story about Albert Einstein unlocking the secrets to general relativity because of a dream in which he rode through space on a sunbeam. Or was it a comet? Don't quote me.

What you don't know is that this Susan S. is the person who taught me to decipher dreams. The technique requires that immediately upon waking, you use guided imagery meditation to put yourself mentally back in the scene of the dream and then you direct your questions to one of the characters in the dream. You can speak to a person, a rabbit, a zombie, it really doesn't matter. Ask a direct question concerning events in the dream and you will get a direct answer. It really works. Try it sometime. I tried it with this dream.

I soon was back at the same table in the restaurant in the middle of Mizzou but, as I'm sure you've guessed already, Susan wasn't there. The waitress was played this time by Amy Normal, Backup Mistress of the Greater Durham Night and part-time barista at Native Ground. 

I considered the change of personnel to be irrelevant, a side issue, and one that I would not let distract me from unlocking the secrets of whatever my higher self was trying to tell me. I decided that this Amy, not to be confused with Princess Amy, although come to think of it they do have a lot in common, would be met with the same respect I show the idle wind, which as Poopsie Wonder tells me…oh forget it. Not important really and I'm in danger of getting derailed. Let's get back to the pertinent details.

I rolled up my sleeves and got into action. She--Amy Normal that is--raised an eyebrow and I saw immediately that she was going to play hardball. I decided to take the direct approach. Always best when the witness is hostile. I'm sure Napoleon would approve.

"Hey, Normal," I said. "What gives?"

She rested her elbow, the one connected to the arm holding the coffee pot, on her hip and gave me a look.

"Simple," she said. "You're wabi-sabi has got stems on."

This got right by me. Stems? As you well know, this Normal and I have our differences and she can often become a thorn in the side but I've always maintained that her IQ is of the highest and brightest. This comment however had me reeling. I was sure she had finally come undone. 

"Look in the bowl, douche-bag," she said.

"Bowl?"

She stomped her foot, just a little, like a horse stamping the ground prior to charging into the fray if fray is the word. She looked toward the ceiling and sighed and for some reason and it immediately dawned on me what she was driveling about. I looked into the wabi-sabi bowl and you will never guess what I found there.

Cherries! The wabi-sabi, whatever the hell that is, had become a bowl of cherries--with stems on.

It was at that precise moment, back in the waking world, that Uma, Empress of Chatsford, began licking the top of my head. I woke but lay motionless thinking about the dream. Uma put an end to the meditation when she began playing Dig-the-Mummy-Out-of-the-Sand. What the hell, I thought. You play the hand you're dealt. 

I rose, moved to the window to salute the sun, and then performed the morning ablutions. This day was going to be filled with more good than bad and I was ready for it. I may not know the meaning of the dream but I have the support of Poopsie, Uma, Susan, and yes, even Amy. And like icing on the cake, I have you, my 1000 real fans, to rely on to get me through the day. What's the worst that could happen?

Coastal Camelot

Morning comes early in Southport. You're probably thinking that it comes early where you live too but let me tell you, there is far more to the morning than you could possibly imagine. 

On a clear day in this small seaside village, the dawning begins with a rosy glow that quickly becomes a golden curtain hanging above the horizon. Then the curtain opens revealing that familiar old ball of gas in his most pleasing aspect of Monarch of the Heavens.

It's very much like something resembling perfection

Soon after sunrise, the morning clouds gather in the east, puffy and white, just as requested to soften the morning light. It's all so very much like Camelot in the way it resembles perfection.

This particular day's beginning was so grand and so majestic that I found myself questioning that story told by Mr. Priddy in sixth grade, about the turning of the earth on its axis being responsible for the sunrise. Surely I think, gazing at this glorious sunrise, that only a goddess driving her divine sun chariot could pull off a show like this.

Come evening, just about the dinner hour, the clouds are on the horizon again but this time in the west. They diminish the heat and make the sea breeze more refreshing. The streets begin to fill with people strolling along the waterfront, some with children, some with dogs, and some with lovers.

The Southport mystique is irresistible

Those little streams of people begin to pool outside popular joints like Fishy Fishy Cafe, Southport Provision Company, and Port City Java. And of course, people gather wherever the daily filming of the current movie or television show is taking place. That's right, the Southport mystique is so alluring that there's always something being filmed here. It's not unusual for six to eight projects, a combination of movies and television shows, to be filmed concurrently in the greater Wilmington area and most of them include scenes shot in Southport.

Ms. Wonder and I came out to Port City Java early for our daily espresso fix, and to beat the crowds to the movie site du jour. We came hoping to catch a glimpse of the filming of The Problem With Providence, starring Lily James and Joseph Gordon-Levitt. 

The movie production company hired local vendors to serve as extras and they've been strewn around the lawn in front of the Southport Maritime Museum in what looks like a festival of sorts. 

Nothing was happening on the set yet so we moved to the edge of the crowd of sightseers to watch a freighter entering the Intracoastal Waterway where it headed upriver toward the Port of Wilmington. Ms. Wonder thinks she recognized a friend standing on the pier along with several other members of the Cape Fear River Watchers.

"Background!" yells the movie wrangler and we turn back in time to see the extras go into action. The customers walk through the set toward the vendors, who begin taking orders and serving Italian ice and hot dogs. 

"This is some serious acting," I heard someone say. "Hmmm," I said to Ms. Wonder and I emphasized the statement with a raised eyebrow. She raised a corresponding eyebrow if that's the term, and with a slight nod, she indicated that we shared the same opinion of the review.

I was looking for the stars of the movie or if not the main stars at least Jim Gaffigan or Himesh Patel, but the wrangler yells, "Scene cut!" before I locate them.  This little scenario repeats every few minutes and I soon give up trying to get a peek at the actors. 

"Cart's here," said Ms. Wonder and we hurried to the loading zone for Southport Fun Tours. We needed a few more photos for the travel piece we're doing for Carolina Roads Magazine. 

Time moves more slowly in Southport

In a world where everything is constantly changing, you can be sure to find a reassuring sameness in Southport. And there's no better way to get a taste of just how dependable the town can be than with Southport Fun Tours. 

Dan Guetschow, known locally as The Rev, conducts the tours and entertains us with stories ranging from local history to local gossip. Dan earned his nickname while playing guitar for Boz Skaggs. I know! Boz Skaggs! Little surprises like this one make Southport seem all that more magical. 

As Ms. Wonder and I stroll along the waterfront on our way to the yacht basin, a line dance of pelicans passes overhead playing follow the leader. The first bird slides to the right and each bird following does the same. The leader then slides back to the left and one by one they all follow. They continue with their dance, doing the Charlie Brown and wobble, wobble, wobble until they're out of sight.

The perfect spot for happily ever after-ing

As we near the marsh walk, we can hear a local entertainer singing Jimmy Buffet ballads at Fishy Fishy Cafe, and we meet a local resident who moves as though she raises Cocker Spaniels but she's actually taking a Scottie for a walk the river basin.

I nod to her when we pass. "Crabs are out," she says.

"Ah," I say, having searched the data banks for just the right response and coming up empty. My mind doesn't work with the speed of someone like Ms. Wonder but it follows the same processes. The subconscious continued working on the mystery until it finally found the solution.

She must have meant that the crabs were searching for their supper along the marsh walk and wanted to prevent us from stepping on one. But the realization came too late to comment and she, realizing that she'd non-plussed me, made another effort.

"Big blow coming," she said nodding over her shoulder toward the evening clouds. I smile to myself with the knowledge that it doesn't rain 'till after sundown in Camelot.

"Stay dry," I said.

"Didn't say rain," she said. "Wind."

"Ah," I say again and remind myself that there's not a more congenial spot for happily ever after-ing than the coastal Camelot that is Southport.

The Remedy

I deftly rolled to the left and dislodged a pod of sleeping cats, making it possible to retrieve the phone from the bedside table. It was six o'clock.

"Good evening, Ms. Wonder," I said.

"Good morning," she said.

This surprised me. Thinking back, I was sure that I had taken a nap right after dinner.

"Are you sure," I said. "It seems dark outside."

"The skies are overcast this morning. It's supposed to rain all day."

This disappointed me. What's the point of the mild winters in the mid-Atlantic states if every day is dark and gray? How does one maintain a stiff upper lip and a calm mind when it's cloudy all the time?

"Poopsie, I think we've had enough cloud cover for one month, don't you? I don't like the way I feel when the sun refuses to shine. I think even the bluebird cries in her beer at Mattie B's."

"It may be seasonal affective disorder," she said. "Many people suffer from it in winter, especially now during the most depressing days of the year."

"I don't see what's more depressing about this time of year over any other," I said. "I keep a calendar of depressing days and I've found that I'm pretty much affectively disordered throughout the whole damn year."

"You may not be aware of the formula for determining the most depressing day of the year," she said. "It uses factors for weather plus the amount of debt you've accumulated and multiplies that by the days since Christmas raised to the power of the days since you've failed your first New Year resolution. "

"Poopsie," I said.

"That value is divided by the product of your motivational level multiplied by the critical level of your need to take action," she continued. "The result gives you the exact date of the most depressing day of the year."

Don't you find it annoying when someone is dumping more information than you can bear and then fails to abate the nuisance when you try to change the subject? Well, I do and it occurred to me that I don't have to allow it.

"Well, let me tell you something that you may not be aware of," I said. "I majored in math at MTSU and, although I did not excel in my studies, I know that anyone who works out a formula like that cannot help but experience a disordered seasonal affect."

"Effect is the correct word," she said, "meaning result or consequence. Affect conveys the idea of an influence or control over something."

"Thank you, Poopsie," I said. "Something you bumped up against in the last few days?"

"Yep," she said, "but you must admit the words are easily confused."

"It's just too much, Ms. Wonder," I said, getting back to the point, "too much to deal with this morning. You're sure it's morning are you?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to hit the reset button and go back to bed."

"I thought you might feel that way. You will find one of my pick-me-ups on the table in the insulated mug."

I looked and by a strange coincidence, she was right. "Ah, thank you," I said.

"Not at all," she said.

I bunged the tissue restorer down the hatch and waited for the usual unpleasantness to pass. As expected, the top of the skull ricocheted off the ceiling, the eyeballs popped out and rolled around the floor, with Eddy and Abbie chasing after. 

Once retrieved and replaced properly, I felt that I could face the day. I'm not sure of the exact ingredients of her special concoction but I'm sure there's Blenheim's Ginger Ale in the mix.

I took a deep breath. "I am powerful," I said to no one in particular. I took a second breath. "Life is good." I took a third breath. "I am enough for today."

"Ms. Wonder," I said, "life comes hard and fast but today I am ready for anything."

"That's great," she said, "I knew you'd feel better and that's why I don't hesitate to point out that you have 6 messages waiting for you on your phone. I heard the alerts."

Normally, this news would give me the bum's rush but with the recent tissue restorer doing its best, I felt that I could handle anything that Life cared to bung my way.

"Fierce Qi Gong, Poopsie!" I said.

"Fierce Qi Gong," she said.

Share The Joy

"I will have more joy if you are there to share it; and the more of us there to share, the greater will be the joy of all."

-- Thomas Merton, Seeds of Contemplation

I posted this article several years ago when I was road-tripping far more than I have in the last year--for obvious reasons I hope. I ran across it today and realized that it had more meaning for me today than ever before. So I'm re-committing, if that's a word, and wanted to invite you once more to journey with me. Here's the original post:

Are you familiar with the film, "Finding It," which deals with sacred pilgrimage? If not then I recommend you find it. Wait a minute, you say. Why am I talking about an old movie when I'm inviting you to share the joy? Fair question. It's like this.

The setting of the movie is the most famous spiritual trek in Europe, Camino de Santiago de Compostella. As all good stories should, this one uses the outer journey to mirror the inner. It's a beautiful film and I recommend it highly. 

All roads eventually lead to the same destination 

Each time I hear or read or view something about pilgrimage, I remember that we all live our lives on the road to Compostella, or to Mecca, or to Graceland. It's not the destination but the journey that really matters, which is something I don't need to tell you.

This morning I'm planning my upcoming pilgrimage to the holy sites of my own personal mythology. The journey will take me to the Summer-lands of the South where I will meet the spirits of my ancestors at 3300 Beloved Path in Perdido Bay, Florida.

Then I will visit the Gray Havens of the West to restore the tissues and refresh the spirit with lots of chicory coffee and beignets--Laissez bon temp roulez. When the sun rises on the first day of the new period, I will head North to the Court of the King where I will pay my respect to Elvis and give thanks for the riches in my life. 

Always follow the sun 

Finally, I will travel East toward the rising sun, make a brief detour into the Land of the Spirits, my hometown, and then back to my current home. And happy to be here as always.

I don't know how long the journey will take. Probably the rest of my life. But I do know that I will write about it here on Circular Journey, of course. My audience would expect, or rather allow, nothing less. 

All that I write will be metaphorically true, although I may enhance the telling of it to make it more interesting. As the Wee Little Men in the books of Terry Pratchett are fond of saying, "Dragons and elves always make a story more interesting."

The fun is greater when it's shared 

The quest is for me and I realize that only I can make it. However, I'm reminded, as I prepare for the journey, of something I read recently:

"I will have more joy if you are there to share it; and the more of us there to share, the greater will be the joy of all."

-- Thomas Merton, "Seeds of Contemplation"

That's why I'm inviting you--to share the joy. I will do my best to make it entertaining. Princess Amy will see that it's interesting and exciting. If you decide to come along, you will find yourself on a pilgrimage of your own. I'm sure of it. Come on then. Share the joy.

You'll Be the First

It has been well said of the Genome, by those who know him well--that if there is one quality that distinguishes him more than any other, it is that he keeps the upper lip stiff and makes the best of things. In words of my own construction--I don't eat pine needles. (It's a longish story and we don't have time to go into it now.)

Waking this morning to another day, minus the lark and the snail, I rushed out for the cup of dark roast. Having refreshed the tissues with that first cup of needful, and hit the road with the windows down and SiriusXM turned up to 11. Still, I was disappointed to find the heart still down.

Down among the wines and spirits, as I've so often heard Ms. Wonder describe it. And not only the heart but the head too. I was suffering from a distinct apprehension for an inclement future. And I'll tell you why I was suffering from a distinct A for an inclement F. Ms. Wonder and I had left the old metropolis of Durham and traveled to Crystal Cove, on the Crescent Coast near Wilmington.

I've received numerous tweets asking why, given the option, I avoid the Cove. After all, as one follower describes it, "It's a picturesque village, surrounded by manicured fields, apple orchards, and with a willow-fringed river running through it."

And to that I would add, it is the home of my favorite cousin, Gwendolen, and my most amazing god-niece, Lucy Lupe Lightfoot Mankiller, the company of both never tiring. And so you ask again, Why? It's the question Ms. Wonder asked as we drove the bridge leading to the River Walk and our meeting with the Inner Circle.

"Why do you dislike the Crystal Cove? It seems a perfectly pleasing place to me."

"Perfectly pleasing?" I said. "Perfectly pleasing is it?" You may notice a touch of annoyance, possibly some indignation, in my reply. I noticed it and, having done so, I thought better of it. This Wonder, who has done so much for me, deserves the softer touch and so I modified the tone.

"Yes," I said. "You no doubt look around the premises at all the luxuries--manicured landscaping, river frontage, a plethora of inviting outdoor activities--and you might reasonably think that life is ideal in Crystal Cove."

I paused for a few seconds. Not sure why. It may be that I'd forgotten where I was headed with that line of dialog. Or perhaps after mentioning a few items in the pro category, I was reluctant to begin listing the cons.

"However," I said, "Though every prospect pleases...."

"What about it?" she said. "Though every prospect pleases--what?"

"Oh, well, I'm not sure. It's something I heard once and it impressed me considerably. I like to throw it into conversation every now and then to add a little whatsit."

"I wish you wouldn't," she said. "Every time you throw quotes around, I waste time trying to make sense of them, and it's annoying."

"Are they supposed to make sense?" I asked. "Quotes I mean? Everyone quotes Shakespeare and his lines were nonsense when he wrote them."

"What! I can't believe you just said that. And you're supposed to be a writer too."

"I'm not just supposed to be a writer. I am a writer," I said with no little energy. "And you can't deny that Shakespeare was in the habit of shoving anything that came to mind into those plays."

She looked at me with large eyes and...no. What is it? Incredulous. That's it. She gave me an incredulous stare.

She opened her mouth to say something but the words didn't come and so I continued, not that I had anything more to add really, I just wanted to fill up the empty space.

"You might also consider the poet, Keats," I said. He speaks of stout Cortez staring at the Pacific and all his men looking at each other with a wild surmise, blah, blah, blah."

"So?" she said.

"Well, it wasn't Cortez, was it? Balboa was the bird that first stared at the Pacific."

She immediately fell silent. Her eyes were soft. I could tell that she was musing over my words. It made me feel better immediately. It always makes me feel better to think that she's considering my words.

"Alright, you big stiff," she said. "You're right about Balboa, But it's a big ocean and it is open to being stared at, so I see no reason why Cortez may not have given it a goggle too. Now, that's out of the way, answer my first question. Why do you avoid Wilmington?

"It's not Wilmington that I avoid. It's the Cove. And the reason is the local gendarmerie, one Vicky Mason, who has sworn to sign me up for an extended stay in the Brunswick County caboose."

"Really? For what exactly?" she asked.

"It's something to do with an unfortunate accident that occurred just before last year's winter solstice. She has hard suspicions, but no matching evidence, and so she sneaks around watching everything I do with an eye to catching me bending."

"Why she can't let the dead past lie I can't imagine. Just because I was in town when the fishing guides dormitory burned, what of it? It's not like I haven't explained to her that it was not my fault. More than once, I've pointed out that I didn't have a lot of time to consider options. I simply had no other choice. Burning the place down was the only way I think for hiding the evidence. Get over it, Vickie!"

I waited to hear Ms Wonder's response. I'm still waiting. I'll let you know.