Sometime last winter my literary muse (let’s call her Erato Escapee or E.E. for brevity) left me wordless. I suspect she had fled with other suddenly sane North Americans to the balmy, bright tropics. While enjoying respite from winter’s foibles E.E. left me bereft, unable to think of a single subject worthy of applying pen to paper.

“Do not confide in our lovely boss lady,” I whined to my son, “but whatever shall I do?! I feel I may be unraveling at the seams while lacking the resolve to go on. Methinks I desperately need some starch for my heart.”

Mind you, I am not talking about the I beams of faith or genetics, but rather the shiplap, the wallpaper, the tiles in life that bring pleasure to the eye and solace to the senses.

“A bit of starch for your heart? Not a worrisome problem,” responds a compassionate David. “Try a trip on a ferry. Schedule a play date with a puppy. Stroll through the rainbow rows of the tulip fields with friends.”

Not a bad smidgeon of advice from a man who acquired his first boat in ninth grade and has seldom been without some sort of water craft most of his life.

Image Credit: Heidi Magnuson-Ford

Good advice from the owner of the largest Great Dane in Gibson’s memory. When Charlie and Dave stuff themselves into the family Smart Car they are both amusing and adorable. Charlie sits on the seat with his head touching the roof of the car and his front legs firmly planted on the floor. David bonks his head on the roof as well and his long legs are scrunched under his chin. For all the world they look like the proverbial clown car of the circus. You cannot repress a grin as they putt putt along their way to the errand of the day.

Tulip field strolls will likely inflict their magic of starch to the heart as well. But winter may return full of blusters and snow blows so that pleasure is still off in the whenever.

It is a now a warm summer day and perhaps now the flighty E.E. can responsibly return to help me back on task.

One can only hope.

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