My life has become a bit more interesting with a twenty-two month old in it. I’m remembering how new and unencumbered the world looks through a toddler’s eyes.
She’s not worried about the high price of gasoline or news about ongoing terrorist threats or which politician is in trouble now. Her main concern is, well, no concerns. Her biggest problem is the problem of the moment. Hunger, dirty diaper, fatigue – the big three in a toddler’s life (and at the end of life, too, when you think about it).
My granddaughter is a parrot. She will repeat anything she hears. Her mother tries desperately to convince me that she’s saying, “Oh, sit,” or “Sit, sit, sit.” Uh-huh, I tell my daughter, and do you have a bridge to sell me, too?
She’s a sharp little talker and she connects the dots with the people in her life. What does Daddy say? Grrr, grrr, grrr. What does Mommy say? No, no, no. What does Sissy say? Blah, blah, blah.
We’re all like Sissy at times. Writers are the best at saying blah, blah, blah. It’s our calling, our lover, our curse, our life. Writers are the Masters of Blah, and, as a member of the club, I’m pretty darn proud of my ability to Blah.
As adults, we have the weight of a thousand cares laid on our shoulders. It’s easy to let the gravity of life keep our feet rooted to the ground. It’s much harder to let loose of the world’s pull and soar away through our imagination and through a toddler’s eyes.
Current enthusiasm is co-authoring at Rubicon Ranch