No doubt you have been wondering, 'What has happened to Marigold?' I'm still here, but sadly my muse has gone on vacation. I know that sounds ridiculous, but, alas, it is true.
You see, according to ancient Greek mythology, there are nine muse. These muse are goddesses who serve to inspire all manner of artists from painters, to musicians, to, of course, writers. The nine were said to be daughters of Zeus (naturally, since who wasn't one of his children?) and Mnemosyne, who was a Titan and daughter of the god, Uranus. ( Whoa! A Titan. That means she was one big mamma!) At any rate, artists throughout history have given laud to their muse.
There is just one problem. Actually there were ten muse. The original nine were Calliope, Clio, Erato, Euterpe, Melpomene, Polyhymnia, Terpsichore, Thalia and Urania, but history neglected to include Caprinope. This can only be a product of extreme prejudice, for Caprinope is the sacred muse of goats. (Please note that Caprinope ends in the letters 'p' and 'e', leading us to conclude that there is an evidentiary link to the word PEanut). Works for me.
So to make a long story short, Caprinope got tired of the Washington winter doldrums, (and who can blame her?) unceremoniously deciding to take off for the Caribbean, and leaving me high and dry on my stump. Now, I ask you, is that self-centered or what? So right about now, I'm thinking, no laud for you, girl.
Anyway, so what does one do when one's muse goes on vacation? Well, you can always butt someone. That works really well unless the goatmother happens to be looking. Or, you can always eat hay, making a game out of trying to keep the best bits away from everyone else. (Sticking your head into the feeder and then moving your bum to either side when someone approaches works surprisingly well.) Or you can lay down in the shade (which is usually anywhere on the lee side of Boo) and take a nap. Or you can tip Watson, knock him over, and then run so the goatmother thinks Ella did it. Or you can just relax on your stump and dream about a day when the sun is shining warm on your back, a slight breeze rustles the succulent Maple leaves, dragonflies buzz lazily over the pond, and the day's ration of Peanuts is waiting just around the corner.
I got a letter today postmarked Kingston, Jamaica. It said simply, "Thus, with child to speak, and helpless in my throes, biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite: Fool! said my muse to me, look in thy heart, and write." - Sir Philip Sidney. Oy.
