In search of lost whimsy

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I lost my whimsy when I was 16 years old, a little older than many but younger than others. It was in the front seat of my father’s Pontiac, and afterwards I grew philosophical: “I have lost my whimsy, so today I am a man. I don’t feel any different.” But something had shifted inside me.

I went many years telling people sadly that I lost my whimsy to a pretty girl back when I was 16, but in later years I made a remarkable discovery. Although many tokens of childhood are lost in rites of passage and coming-of-age rituals and the like, it seems that whimsy is not something permanently lost.

One day while sitting and reading a book — or was I walking through a field of wildflowers — or was I walking a somewhat insane dog — I don’t recall the particulars, but I firmly remember stumbling over my lost whimsy and exclaiming, “What are YOU doing there?” It didn’t reply at first, it just up and wrapped itself around my heart and dragged me in another direction.

“My mother used to say you must be oh-so-smart or oh-so-pleasant. Well, for years I was smart. I recommend pleasant,” my lost whimsy murmured in a voice that sounded very much like James Stewart being Elwood P. Dowd. “I recommend pleasant, too, you oh-so-smart old man.”

“I’m not an old man,” I protested.

“Look in the mirror,” my whimsy said, and so I did. And lo and behold, I saw an old face full of wrinkles caused by being oh-so-smart. That was the moment I transformed, just like Ebenezer Scrooge or Elwood P. Dowd himself. Of course, deep down, I am still oh-so-smart, but given the choice I realize that oh-so-pleasant keeps me young.

When chaos is wonderful

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This weekend was the fifth anniversary of Choosing Summer Day. The shy golden retriever who inhabits my home and this blog (and co-stars in Dejah & Summer in the Time of Magic) was born July 20, 2021, picked out of the litter on Aug. 29, and taken home to stay on Sept. 11.

The 45 minutes I spent on the floor with 10 five-week-old golden retriever puppies remains one of the highlights of my life. Everyone should have an experience like that one; it would eliminate almost all of the unhappiness in the world.

We had picked the name “Summer” during the two-hour drive to the breeders’ home, where we met Windsor, her magnificent father, and Lady, her sweet mom. Lady had delivered eight female pups and two males, and we had signed up for a girl. All I had to do was dive in and choose. My answer to the question “how do you pick from among eight puppies?” was to get to know them all as best as I could.

I absolutely forget how I decided which puppy was Summer. After 45 minutes she was my pal, somehow. To tell the truth, the puppy who really seemed to want to come home with us was one of the two males, and I had to keep saying, “I’m sorry, buddy, but you can’t,” the poor little guy.

I have no idea which one of the puppies in this photo is the one wearing the yellow collar that I finally chose. Cj and I took a lot of photos that show my delight and more sweet little faces, but this is the one that shows all 10 of them in the midst of the wonderful chaos.

Not quite fully green anymore

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Five o’clock in the morning is a different place when the sun is still hiding. The clock is the only thing that remains constant from those lovely mornings when light was already creeping across the yard. We have the cool stillness still, but the light is a physical cue that day has begun to reassure a weary body and soul that it is not total madness to climb out of that cozy bed, and that cue has slowly vanished since the summer solstice more than two months ago.

I felt the cool late-August breeze when I ventured outside. “Here I come,” autumn whispered. I resisted — summer can’t leave yet! It can’t be time to pack up for fall and winter, I haven’t finished unpacking for spring and summer. 

But something in the trees is not quite fully green anymore. The breeze is still warm enough to be refreshing — more refreshing than a hot summer breeze, if I’m honest — but it reminds us that if there’s to be warmth in coming months, we will have to make it ourselves.

I have always said that the first day of school deceives us into believing that summer is over, because of course there are still three weeks before the fall equinox and the official first day of autumn. Still, with September upon us I can’t deny that the inevitable change is in the air.

Those of us who live near the 45th parallel like to say we love the four seasons, but if I’m honest love is a word I would apply to only three seasons, and so I have a bittersweet feeling as I eye the calendar and ask, “Where has the time gone?” It has gone the same way it has always gone, of course, long time passing, long time ago.

Three Willows is near the southern border of a summer vacation paradise, and the highway that parallels my front porch will grow less frantic as getaway season transforms into fall colors season and finally into the quiet season. That’s a blessing. There are always blessings to be found whatever the season, and that comforts me as I brace myself gently for what’s coming.