Did I mention that Charlie was with me? Although he was actually at home in Carolina Beach at the moment, I felt his spirit strong in the force, so I decided he would be with me this morning.
You remember Charlie, I'm sure. He's one of those pint-sized little guys, who seems to be filled to bursting with joy and wants nothing so much as to share that joy with anyone wearing a kind face. He makes the day just a little better for everyone he meets.
Fantasy, as we all know, is pure escapism, and that's where it gets its magic. I rely on fantasy to make sense of a world that makes no sense, and I invite you to suspend disbelief and accept that Charlie was with me. He was in my heart.
The drive to Brunswick was quite enjoyable. Wynd Horse was cruising smoothly down Grandiflora Drive while Linda Ronstadt sang "Blue Bayou" and Charlie enjoyed the wind in his face from the open window.
The drive to Brunswick was quite enjoyable. Wynd Horse was cruising smoothly down Grandiflora Drive while Linda Ronstadt sang "Blue Bayou" and Charlie enjoyed the wind in his face from the open window.
We drove past the coffee shop and stopped at the Brunswick Forest Welcome Center. The walk through the park would do us a bit good I thought.
While Wynd Horse chose a parking space, I recognized Ms. Thistle in the savannah underneath the pines. She held a large pair of binoculars, which told me she was braving the threat of rain in her attempt to take the lead in the Great Year competition.
Thistle is the President of the local chapter of the Wilma Squirrel Watchers Society. Veterans of this blog will know that society members compete annually to log the largest number of squirrel sightings.
"Hello, Ms. Thistle," I said. "Good morning to you."
Charlie was fish-tailing at the end of the leash, no doubt he hoped to get within licking distance of Thistle's ankles.
"You think it’s a good morning, do you?" she said.
"A little rain is nothing," I said guessing that it was the rain that dampened her spirit.
"Not concerned about the rain," she said. "I left my Peterson’s Squirrel Handbook at home and Spring left me here while she goes to Native Grounds for coffee."
"Do you really need a handbook?" I said. "There are only two species of squirrel here. Gray and Red."
"Don't care about their color. I'm just counting them."
"But you don't need a…," I began but then gave it a miss, because, I mean what do you say really?
"Don't tell me what I need, young man," she said.
"Of course not," I said. "Good morning," I said again and if memory serves I tipped my hat. Not sure why. Just seemed the thing to do at the moment.
"We're headed to Native Grounds," I said, "and if I see Spring, I’ll tell her about the guidebook. Maybe she can get it for you."
"What do I need the guidebook for? I’m only counting the damn things. What I need is coffee. And I'm glad you're getting Eddy away from here. He doesn't like squirrels and they don't like him."
"Actually," I said. "He loves squirrels. Can't get enough of their company. In fact, he's applied for membership in your society. And his name, as everyone in Waterford and half of Brunswick is aware, is Charlie, but you knew that, didn't you?"
She "harumphed" if that's the word. I'm pretty sure about it because I've heard that same word used in similar contexts and the word she used had a sort of harmonic residence. Is that the word, residence? On second thought maybe it's resonance.
"I'm not denying his posturing when he first encounters the squirrels," I said to Thistle. "They surely get the idea that he plans to convert them into a light snack, but it's only grand-standing."
"You think it’s a good morning, do you?" she said.
"A little rain is nothing," I said guessing that it was the rain that dampened her spirit.
"Not concerned about the rain," she said. "I left my Peterson’s Squirrel Handbook at home and Spring left me here while she goes to Native Grounds for coffee."
"Do you really need a handbook?" I said. "There are only two species of squirrel here. Gray and Red."
"Don't care about their color. I'm just counting them."
"But you don't need a…," I began but then gave it a miss, because, I mean what do you say really?
"Don't tell me what I need, young man," she said.
"Of course not," I said. "Good morning," I said again and if memory serves I tipped my hat. Not sure why. Just seemed the thing to do at the moment.
"We're headed to Native Grounds," I said, "and if I see Spring, I’ll tell her about the guidebook. Maybe she can get it for you."
"What do I need the guidebook for? I’m only counting the damn things. What I need is coffee. And I'm glad you're getting Eddy away from here. He doesn't like squirrels and they don't like him."
"Actually," I said. "He loves squirrels. Can't get enough of their company. In fact, he's applied for membership in your society. And his name, as everyone in Waterford and half of Brunswick is aware, is Charlie, but you knew that, didn't you?"
She "harumphed" if that's the word. I'm pretty sure about it because I've heard that same word used in similar contexts and the word she used had a sort of harmonic residence. Is that the word, residence? On second thought maybe it's resonance.
"I'm not denying his posturing when he first encounters the squirrels," I said to Thistle. "They surely get the idea that he plans to convert them into a light snack, but it's only grand-standing."
She gave me a look implying that my words weren't gaining traction.
"He has to throw his weight around when the opportunity arises," I said, "because his human admirers always resort to baby talk when addressing him. His self-respect demands it. But it's all, oh, what do you call it?"
"Sound and fury signifying nothing?"
I admit it! I was impressed! I'd never heard her say anything that gave so much evidence of culture. "Ms. Thistle," I said, "you do know your Shelly."
"I know I am," she said, "but what are you?"
Truth, dear reader! That's what she said. I was amazed again but for an entirely different reason. One second she's up on the top floor among the linens, and the next she's in the basement with the foundations. Pure drivel.
Charlie gave Thistle a look resembling a Scottish Presbyterian minister rebuking sin in the congregation. He growled and dug his rear feet into the ground as if to say, Don't get uppity, sister. It reminded me of that old gag about the warhorse starting at the sound of the trumpet.
And so we agreed, Charlie and I, that it was time to be getting on. I tipped my hat once more and smiled. Our job is to spread sweetness and light wherever we go. We share our courtesies, with the just and the unjust equally. We adhere to a dictum attributed to Louis Untermeyer. It goes something like this...
"Humor is warmly sympathetic, playful, sometimes high-hearted, sometimes hilarious. Unlike the poisoned barb of satire, and the killing point of wit, humor is healing."
"Humor is warmly sympathetic, playful, sometimes high-hearted, sometimes hilarious. Unlike the poisoned barb of satire, and the killing point of wit, humor is healing."
That's it. We attempt to heal some of the wounds with humor. After all, nothing is more contagious than a smile.
We walked on toward the coffee shop and I immediately noticed that Charlie, with his head held high, and stepping smartly, carried a small stick in his mouth and it suited him well.
I doubted that I could pull it off with the same style and grace but, seeing him marching so proudly, I was reminded of the words of Frank Zappa...
"Without deviation from the norm, progress is not possible."
And with those words echoing in my head, I broke a twig from a passing rhodendron and placed it in my hat. And if you think the name Plantagenet floated into my mind, then you're spot on, my friend.
We walked on toward the coffee shop and I immediately noticed that Charlie, with his head held high, and stepping smartly, carried a small stick in his mouth and it suited him well.
I doubted that I could pull it off with the same style and grace but, seeing him marching so proudly, I was reminded of the words of Frank Zappa...
"Without deviation from the norm, progress is not possible."
And with those words echoing in my head, I broke a twig from a passing rhodendron and placed it in my hat. And if you think the name Plantagenet floated into my mind, then you're spot on, my friend.
Charlie and I will see you in the next post, which biographers tell me will be titled, A Day In The Life, Episode 2. Until then, spread a little sweetness and light of your own.