I've totally regressed to childhood in the past few weeks. Even my sleeping patterns have changed. I have yet to suck my thumb. I look in the mirror and, in spite of a few wrinkles and discoloration of skin, liver spots on my legs and grey hair, I see a child. Maybe it's wishful thinking, maybe I want to be pampered, maybe I just want to curl up into the fetal position and just return to my mother's womb where it was warm and Daddy played Dvorak's New World Symphony for me on the record player. All I know is that it baffles me. Even my art is becoming more and more naive. I pick and choose where and when to go out and it's usually to surround myself with the innocent of heart. I just refuse to see any darkness around me.
And believe me it's getting pretty dark. No belief in the politicians or religious leaders anymore. An egotistical, hedonistic youth draining us, taking it all and giving very little back. No new frontiers. A world gone mayhem, with no clear priorities, each to his own. Yes, it all means shielding ourselves and be part of the survivival of the fittest. So I choose Protectionism, my own.
That is why I keep re-inventing my English Cottage in the style of Tasha Tudor and Beatrix Potter even though it be in my imagination. What could be better than a paradisiacal garden, a pot of tea on the cast iron stove to welcome friends and neighbors, the hand-knit quilt strewn over the bed for a welcoming nap, a fireplace at dusk, scones and apple pie on Sunday? I can think of no other happiness like it.
People may judge, laugh, giggle at me but I have made that choice to remain the Nerd in Wonderland.
