Our daughter and I have called the man of the house Mr. Wizard for years. In fact, the name may even predate our 29 year old child, I can't be certain since my synapses do not fire like they once did. Old Americans, like myself, may remember that the original Mr. Wizard had a children's TV show in the 50's teaching science concepts.
But I do remember that the name for my husband started at a campfire on a starry night.
The Wiz has always been interested in physics, theories about the formation of the cosmos, and other gee-whiz stuff. My background at that time was more arts and literature, so I found this utterly fascinating. I recall sitting drinking wine at a campfire staring up at a sky thick with stars. "Tell me about the Universe, Mr. Wizard" I asked. And so he seduced me with big bang theory (apropos, eh?), the idea of an ever expanding galaxy, and of our minute spot in the magnificence of space and time. I was dazzled. (But I always was easy when it came to guys with big brains.)
The name stuck, and thirty some years later he is still Mr. Wizard. But only on the days when I like him. When I am pissed off, I don't call him much that is worth repeating. You probably guessed that, since 30 years is a very long time. But I do still like him most days.
As I recall this, I am reminded of something Cynthia Jones of Diana's Grove wrote:
"I will sing the song that the Universe sang on the day that the Earth was newly born and She held it in Her starry arms."
livingdominica: I wonder what that girl at the campfire would think if she could see me today, living on this wayside tropical island.
She would jump up and yell "Way to go Jen"!
ReplyDeleteOr, "I can't believe at your age you are still so crazy!"
ReplyDelete