Good morning all. This is Your Morning Briefing, February 4, 2012.
“So, its fuzzlewumps is it?” I wondered aloud. Suzanne said, “Yes, Bobby, and as I hear you say it, it rolls off your tongue like it tickles you since I see you smile when you say it.”
I thought for a minute and told her the word did amuse me, no pun intended, though I had no idea what it meant. “Why do you suppose that is?”
She then went on to tell me how its part of my learning to play with words and my imagination again. “You were good at it once, and you will be again. The imagination has many faces, among them are the faces that can be used to help solve problems, or it can be used to take you places you never dreamed of going, or never knew existed. Children know that without being told.
“All children are born innocents, and they have it for all to short a time, as you did once. Then something happens to that imagination and its dulled and brutalized by the demands and expectations of society and life in general. Those who continue to indulge it, in spite of that, do so at their own peril. So, it goes dormant, and in so many cases dies. In your case it went dormant, and I know, because I’ve seen it pop up at times during your life and I could tell the magic was still there.”
“What,” may I ask, “are you talking about?” She told me there was a time when I wrote a letter to Santa Claus, but there were other times that come to mind as well.
“Do you remember the Christmas in the early 80’s when you picked Ryan up on Christmas Day in Fargo and brought him back to Bismarck with you? You were divorced back then, and that’s the way you spent holidays. You got to your apartment late that afternoon. You had no tree, no lights, no decorations, nothing at all that said Christmas. In fact the only tangible thing that remains from those days is the butcher block table we’re sitting at right now.
“But, you had Christmas music to play, and presents to give him. So, you decided to play with your imagination, and you two sat down and you told Ryan, the two of you were going to decorate a tree, even though he could clearly see you didn’t have one. You proceeded to show him where you would put it up, not far from the fireplace. Ryan got into it, and the two of you set it up and trimmed the tree that Christmas night with multi-colored, blinking lights, sparkly tinsel, colorful glass ornaments, snow flakes and a tree top star, all created from your imaginations. It was a beautiful tree and a warm and lovely sight.
The two of you, the child and the adult, made it real. You put his presents around the tree, just as they would have been were the tree real, and then went through the ritual of opening them. He seemed happy at that moment, and so did you. Bobby, do you remember that?” she asked.
I remembered, and wondered again how she knew something that no other person on the planet knew. I had never forgotten how much fun it was then and what a strange, and wonderful, sight it must have been.
“Okay,” I said, “But all of that doesn’t tell me who, or what, fuzzlewumps are.
She laughed and said, “Oh Bobby, fuzzlewumps are those who would crush your imagination, and are to be avoided at all cost.”
Take care, be well and keep in touch. You all know what to do.