I've wanted to write about something, something I love more than anything. Something that is never disappointing to me. Something I literally can't have enough of. Because the more I have of it, eventually, the less it becomes.
Many of you take this thing for granted, even though there's no way you should. You pass this thing up for related things that though attractive, don't in the long, medium, or short run, compare to this thing in any way shape or form.
This spring this thing has bred and multiplied exponentially, and because it has, more than any other time in my life I've noticed how gloriously powerful it can be.
Everywhere I walk or drive it's there, free, via sights and sounds, in bits, heaves, here and there, everywhere, even in the air, fresh.
For two hours yesterday I was around it constantly and I marveled at how I saw it even though I saw through it. If there's an explanation for why this thing can be seen and seen through at the same time, you'll won't find it here, because I don't know why, I don't need to know why, and I don't want to know why.
I want to not understand this thing, I want to stay curious about it, to continue having over-the-top visceral reactions to it, in whatever manner I experience it. I want to continue getting odd looks when I go on and on about how much I'm in awe of it. I physically squirm when I take it in.
I am my father's son in that he had a great love for this thing. He loved it, and fully embraced and respected the role it played in his 93-year life. Others may have thought dad too reacted over the top to this thing. But when pleasure happens, it's best to relax and let yourself react. Dad often did just that, sitting in the sun on his deck after planting a tree or mowing the lawn. And it's what I do too, to this day. I do it at least every morning without fail.
Dad didn't over due this thing, which goes against popular knowledge, and here again I take after dad, taking on only as much as I feel I need. Even though the saying "Too much of a good thing ... ," does not apply here.
My ma loves this thing so much she has gets a monthly delivery. And my sister lives her life with this thing almost constantly at hand.
But how to rejoice, how to pay respect, how to worship this thing that I am gaga about?
I know. I'll be buried with it. Tap will be fine.
Rusty DeWees tours Vermont and Northern New York with his act "The Logger." His column appears weekly. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. Listen for The Logger, Rusty DeWees, Thursdays at 7:40 on the Big Station, 98.9 WOKO or visit his website at www.thelogger.com.