Our next contributor to the series “Just A Little Crazy” is Sally of TigerEye’s Sallies. She eloquently ponders the question, “So what is crazy, anyway?” If you’ve missed the other entries in this lively series, click here and get yourself oriented . . .
Crazy? Harder than I thought to pull together ideas. What is the craziest thing I‘ve ever done? I dunno. I seem to have a lot to choose from, especially in the days before children.
Do I talk about walking the Witness Trail in honour of my dead brother with my best girlfriend in bear country? Do I talk about painting the kitchen bright spring green and rich mountain blue? Do I talk about skinny-dipping at midnight, or mid-day, or whenever confronted with clear water? Do I talk about throwing off the shackles of widowhood at five months out and finding a new love of my new life?
All of these are crazy, and adventurous and generally spontaneous behaviours in my life-well-lived. They‘re pretty typical of what I do. Regular readers will know how anathema punctuality and regularity are for me, and may not be terribly surprised by the aforementioned list.
So, for this post, I wanted something different, and big – something truly crazy. I have no tattoos or unconventional piercings, so that won‘t work. But I do have a series of recently taken photographs, which do somehow illustrate my brand of crazy and spontaneous. Let me explain . . .
This is a picture of Sam, my first-born, almost nine-year-old, beloved boy. He is wielding a magic stick, aka a dog ball chucker, and he is spreading magic at the lake, before sunset, on a mystical afternoon, outside of time, at the end of summer. For me, this is magic, aka crazy.
Let‘s look at the elements:
A dog: we don‘t own a dog ourselves – our zoo is full up with cats and rabbits and fish – but my daughter Sydney is a dog-lover. The dog-person gene skipped a generation, and was passed directly from my mother to my daughter. We stop for dogs (e.v.e.r.y. Dog). We borrow dogs. We test-run dogs. Adding a dog to our household is an important ingredient in our crazy recipe. Dogs mean chaos and fun and laughter and water and mud. The dog not seen in this picture is a not-yet-full-grown pointer. He is non-stop crazy fun magic.
A best-friend: I met my BFF 20 years ago last week, during the first days of our university program in Child and Youth Care. We‘ve been through a lot of crazy fun magic together (see the above list . . .), and now that we once again live close enough for easy visiting, my children are the beneficiaries of her largesse, energy, creativity and spontaneity. For them, she pretty much epitomizes crazy fun magic. For me, she is this, and a trusted confidante and an opportunity to play photographer while she plays auntie. She brings over her dog, and her presence and presents, and another critical ingredient in our crazy fun magic recipe is added.
Water: it doesn‘t have to be a lake – a river is also excellent – but a backyard pool and hose will do equally well. It doesn‘t even have to be outside – dish soap and food colouring added to the bath tub make for a fantastic crazy fun magic time. Water soothes us and heals us and holds us. It keeps promises and secrets; it restores and refreshes. Being in it or near it seems like a never-fail ingredient in our crazy fun magic recipe.
Sparkles: here, they come from sunlight. They could come from glitter, or cake decorator‘s sprinkles, or an out-of-season Christmas ornament. They might come from a precious pet, perhaps named Sparkles, or from a loving hug or a warm smile. They certainly come from the helpless laughter of a child or the love in a parent‘s gaze. Sparkles are harder to see when you‘re down, but they are there, in dew-drops, butterfly wings, spiderwebs and wet noses. If you don‘t have them before you put together your crazy fun magic recipe, you‘re bound to have them afterwards.
A child: I birthed both my children at home. For some people, this is crazy. For me, it was a refusal to live in fear. Certainly, there are risks in life. I choose, vigorously, not to live my life wrapped in cotton wool, fearful of bumps, bruises, heartache or even disaster. I can‘t protect against these things – for the most part, life and the universe are pretty indifferent to my petty sandbags. My very best defense against those slings and arrows, I figure, is to seek and exploit opportunities for joy, beauty, sparkles, fun, magic and craziness.
The crap is gonna come along – can I grow something good in it? Turns out, I can and did – a couple of kids, several profound loves, some great friends. Pretty sure something fantastic‘s gonna happen tomorrow – will I be ready for it? Will I recognize it? It might like look water, or a dog, but who knows? It could look a lot like you.