Harvey might like to play Uncle Wiggly, anyway.

There are a couple of inexplicable things that I do. Or at least difficult to articulate insofar as I am handy with the tools of articulation. Which is to say less handy than I’d like to be.

One of these things is that I am not--despite my complete failure to toe the line with regards to my religion of cultural origin--an atheist. It is possible that I am an a-theist, in the sense that a theist purports to have an encapsulated image of god--that is, God as a discrete being, whereas one without this sort of discrete version of god may be an a-theist. But that does not necessarily leave one without a notion of the ineffable.

The other thing is that I “am” a writer. In the sense that I require this self-image. For my own psychological purposes. And despite the total lack of external validation.

So, in order to explain these otherwise inexplicable characteristics, I have nothing to offer but the Harvey defense. And here I reference Harvey, as in the big white bunny. The pooka. Jimmy Stewart’s friend:

Let’s summarize. Elwood P. Dowd (Jimmy Stewart) might be nuts. His best friend is a 6’+ white rabbit, visible only to himself. His sister Veta has decided to cure him by means of an injection of Dr. Chumley’s Formula 977. The taxi driver, there to ferry him to the site of the “cure” says, yes, it will work...it will make Elwood a “perfectly normal human being; and you know what bastards they are!” It is at this last critical moment that Veta realizes she doesn’t want Elwood to be a “normal human being.” She wants him to be the same carefree and kind person he’s always been, even if it means she’ll be living, forevermore, with Harvey the pooka.

So, being a writer and being an a-theist, but not an atheist--that is my Pooka. I like it.

I would rather talk to no one than have no one to talk to, and I’d rather be what might be nothing, than be nothing.

In a completely--and I emphasize completely--different vein: I discovered something remarkable on page 18 of the Vermont Country Store catalog. It is a Penny Brite doll ensemble, complete with change of outfits, and poofy weird 60’s hair, in the exact black and pink vinyl case she came in when I had my very own Penny Brite in roughly 1965? And here’s the really great thing. You can own your very own for the bargain price of...(drum roll)...$69.95. Some boomers must really value nostalgia.

Yes, the Vermont Country Store is well stocked with delights of yore. How about some clackers--those two balls on strings that you could clack rhythmically and if you were good you could bang’em repetitively at both 6 and 12 o’clock at great risk to the faces of any kids lingering nearby. Um...ten bucks. Or how about a “Mrs. Beasley” doll, from Family Affair? You can, for $99, astound your children and cause them to ask “Yo...what's with the ugly doll? At which point you pull Mrs. Beasley’s string. She says “Do you want to play?” and your children run screaming from the room. A 12 oz bottle of “Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific” shampoo can be had for the relatively bargain price of $14.95 (plus shipping--$5.95.) But don’t you want to smell the way you did in Madame Hamerstrom’s French 3? Of course you do. Well worth $20, more or less. Who knows when Chris Entwistle and his red hair will wander back into your life. You want to be ready.