My ears, what’s left of them, perked up when I was referred to as whimsical, a word you don’t hear often…an adjective meaning: easygoing and playful, carefree and quaint. Outlandish, unconventional and quirky…marching to the beat of a different drummer.
Someone you’ll surely remember.
I liked being called that since it reflects my lighter side…the soft cotton rather than rough corduroy…the reversible me…happy as opposed to moody, brandishing a breezy brightness…airy, fresh – well-ventilated, glad just to be style.
Whimsy is the noun…she has a lot of whimsy in her, that Susannah. You just never know what’s she’s gonna do. It suggests humor, fun and a lightness of being.
I also like how it sounds… the way it rolls off your tongue like a peppermint Lifesaver.
Now I know why, when Bill Hicks was bored, he’d read the dictionary. Way before computers and iPads, he had a HUGE Webster he kept by his bed. I’d often get a call with him crooning, “Hey, isn’t this a mother-fuckin great word?”
When I can’t sleep, like now, I take out my own Webster’s with pages folded, some dog-eared and falling out, to search for a word that inspires. There’s something about the weight of it on my lap that outshines a Google search.
You can’t always count on one coming your way when you’re standing in a grocery line and someone looks at the bright, yellow laces in your old beat-up Chucks and says…how delightfully whimsical you are.
He was around 90 with a cane featuring a bear’s head with its mouth open. Takes whimsy to know whimsy, said this wry, whimsical thin girl.