Fooling Around

Some days fools are fun.  This one is a doodle from my sketchbook, done one Sunday at the beach. One of my friends called this fool a hussy; good use of the word. I was called a hussy during a job interview because I said thunderstorms were "entertaining rain." I did not take the job they offered.

"Fool" carries so much history.  They are entertainers, people without sense, in Lear of course - the fool is....well that depends upon interpretation.  They are masqueraders who dress peculiarly and hide in plain sight; what could be more intriguing?  Every day is Halloween and what appears unwise, uneducated and unpracticed is none of the above.

Are fools polite?  Not on the surface; there is that masquerade again.

I like to be foolish.  I juggle, though not nearly as well as I would like.  I can juggle three balls and two balls, but not four and not pins, fire, knives or tennis raquets.  I stop and smell the roses - well not roses because they give me a sore throat, but flowers in general: it is so cliche that it is foolish, but oh so wise.

I am no longer a fool for love, too old and mean, or maybe I just no longer need to be; I married a pretty steady person. I am a fool for animals; still.

Foolish behavior can bring light into the heavy ether of our lives. A tiny version of joy, cut into fluttering confetti, it spills everywhere and is never fully retrieved.  We find bits in our memories and flash back to the moments of giddiness that relieve tension with laughter and revelry.  Good stuff; don't let it fool you.