Where The Blue Begins

Just to be clear... Kukla and I are back in Cincinnati. We arrived late Sunday night after an eleven hour drive from Somewhere, Illinois. Somewhere is not far from Chester, Illinois, the erstwhile home of Popeye the Sailor Man, whom we had tried (unsuccessfully) to visit on Saturday night. Neighbors had no memory of him, of Olive Oyl, Swee'Pea, Wimpy, or any others in Popeye's entourage of once- upon-a-time friends and enemies. "He's pictured on the sign there." I said. "And there's a statue of him in town."

"I wouldn't know about that. You some relation a' his?"

"No, just passing through."

"Huh... Well, you could go ask Jim, down to the Dollar General store, I guess."

We didn't ask Jim. Especially since we had seen all the Dollar General Stores we ever needed to see, and then some, since the outset of our journey. At last count there were at least 14,000 of them in the United States as of last month. We took a room at an "Americas Best" (sic) motel and set out early the next morning in search of a coffee shop that hadn't yet gone out of business. Some two hours later we ended up at a Panera cafe in Somewhere.

Of the sixteen Panera customers, excluding myself, only two were talking to each other. The other fourteen were deeply entranced by their smartphones, although they were sitting together at the same table. After half an hour or so, this scenario hadn't changed. As I passed the two friends who were still enjoying a real Kaffeeklatsch together I found a nice new dollar bill in my pocket and put it on their table. "Congratulations!" I said. "You have been selected to be the winners of this dollar prize, meager though it is, as being the only people here who are actually conversing instead of looking at your phones."

"Oh, my!" said the lady.

"Well, ain't that something?" exclaimed the gentleman.

And they both laughed and laughed, and the lady said, "Well, that's just one for the books!" Which is what my grandmother used to say when something pleased her in a surprising way.

A silver dollar would have been better, I suppose.

***

Now we have been back on Bouton Street for the past 4, 5, or 6 days. And it sometimes seems that we never really went anywhere at all, but I only dreamed that we did. Dreamed the mountains and the sea, dreamed the naiads, all and some... And we did not discover the Lost Worlds (but for traces and subtleties) or the place "Where the Blue Begins" (which is also the title of a very strange and worthwhile book by Christopher Morley). But these and more may yet be revisited and found, even of what has apparently vanished (and yes, there are naiads). The stuff of further journeys, so I hope.

In the meantime, I want to remember and thank the friends met along the way and those among my family, neighbors, and all the other wayside philosophers and fellow travelers who wished me well on this excursion - sometimes even reading these reflections of mine posted here over the past three months and 8,000 miles or more of wandering.

I have already been asked, by one or three, if I am "glad to be home".  And here I have to defer to Hesse in replying that, insofar as a sense of home is experienced "where paths of affinity intersect", then yes, I am always glad for such moments. And, as Novalis asked (and answered) "Where are we really going? Always Home!" That journey and return still await discovery.