Oomph...actually

Henry’s always trying out new words and one of his newest is “actually.”

He asked about his yogurt this morning, “Do you think this is cherry or strawberry?” and then he answered himself, “Actually, I think it is cherry.”

“Actually” sounds so funny coming from him – like in that movie, “Love actually.” Maybe he’s got a little British flavor to the way he says it. It’s a redundant word and I actually like redundant words. They give flavor, like spice to a hot-dish. Nothing fancy, just a dash of something that makes for a little oomph.

I’ve been lacking in oomph lately but it’s started coming back.

I’ve gotten this idea, living next to the freeway as I do, of the freeway as metaphor for the busy life. For a while now, I’ve been taking pictures of the freeway fence – the sunrise against the fence, the afternoon shadows against the fence – that kind of thing, and I came up with this idea of doing a video with these images and thoughts on the busy life.

Then one morning, I had a ladder up against the fence, and was standing on it taking pictures, when the light came on in the bathroom window, signaling that Angie was awake. I thought how peculiar she’d find it, if she were to look out the window, and see me up on a ladder hanging, in the just-after-sunrise hour, over the fence, with my camera.

It made me smile, and I thought – this is the way I’m like my dad, a thought that filled me with pleasure.

My dad was a character, even an eccentric character. I’ve said it all before. He was particularly this way later in life when he became what I call a gentleman farmer. Who knows what those two words together mean – and yet – they call up a certain image: a farmer, but not completely of the earth; not too rustic; not so earthy that he couldn’t also be charming; not so practical that he was tied to neat rows and a productive yield. Not so homespun that he couldn’t get all dressed up and go out on the town polka dancing and kissing ladies’ hands.

I saw an old friend/arm chair cousin of his this summer. I was telling him how I had this one picture of dad when he was the boy, and he had the kindest look on his face. I said, “Even then, he had that kindness.”

Marty said, “Oh, that Joe, he was a tricky one. He had his wild days.” He was saying, “Don’t fool yourself. Joe was more than nice.” He was more than nice, more than a dad, more than a farmer, more than a gentleman. He was no saint. He was a character.

As I thought of Angie catching me on the ladder, I thought how neat it would be if she delighted in my quirky ways. And then I thought, ‘Maybe she will; maybe she won’t. She might…someday. She might not.’ And then I thought that it’s enough, more than enough, actually, if I can delight in myself.