Missing Genius

“Inch worm, inch worm, measuring the marigolds…”

I missed the genius in that line from the Inch Worm Song by Frank Loesser.

Inch worm, inch worm – the phrase moves like an inch worm moves. I can visualize a minuet of two dancers holding up right to left hands stepping toward and back….

The alliteration of ‘measuring the marigolds’ along with it’s waltz-like meter is, for me, a gentle and loving caress of my mind.

I can see a 20-something mother with her hands on her hips with a wry smile in an attitude similar to humorous scoffing and saying it with a subtle shake of her head, as if the inch worm was her child: “Inch worm, inch worm, (what do you think you’re doing?) (I suppose you’re) measuring the marigolds!

It’s been many years since I’ve even noticed an inch worm. Are they still inching along in the shrubbery and have I been too busy to notice them?

On another layer, I appreciate the humor in suggesting that the inch worm is measuring the marigolds because its name, of which the inch worm is unaware, includes the word “inch”.

At the same time, I can see a tailor or seamstress using a cloth tape measure to measure out fabric using the same motion an inch worm uses to move about. The genius only begins there. Frank Loesser added many more layers of musical genius to the song he wrote, but this isn’t about him or that. It’s about that one line. Thank you though, Mr. Loesser.

How did I get to this age of 68 without the appreciation of that single line?

I awoke this morning in full appreciation of its beauty and like most of my dreams, the appreciation began to fade, dissolving like a mist as the list of today’s planned efforts began to swirl in to dilute it.

I wanted to hold on to that appreciation and yet the enemy of writing – life – was in my way. The battle was on to grab the laptop I ended up sleeping with and write down my thoughts. Roadblocks to doing such a simple thing presented themselves in slapstick-like fashion.

The laptop battery was dead, so I plugged it in. My glasses went missing, so a search of all the usual places began. The search included the shelf above the bed, the nightstand, next to where the laptop had been all night and the glasses were not there. For a moment, I thought, “my vision wasn’t so bad. I can write my thoughts down without them”. Then reality reared its ugly head as I realized that my eyes are that bad and I couldn’t write without them. Then nature called. I know: TMI.

Continue the search for missing glasses, I moved the pillows, checked the floor and then, as I lay on the bed, feeling through the layers of the blankets as I gingerly made up the bed, I felt a lump that shouldn’t be there. My glasses were on the bottom sheet where my back had rested as I slept last night. “Did they make an impression on me?”, I mused.

I turned on my computer and impatiently waited for my Windows 11 machine to load and then to open Microsoft Word to finally get these thoughts, now far less vibrant in my mind than when I awoke, and here we are. I haven’t done justice to my waking thoughts. So to make up for it, I shall wax on just a little longer…

There is so much genius all around and I believe most of us miss it. Like the inch worm, it doesn’t appreciate the beauty of the marigolds as we do because our motives and our perspectives are different.

Do we stop to appreciate more that the proverbial roses we are urged to smell?

Do we look around us and marvel at the genius of the construction of our homes, our vehicles, our societies? Do we wonder how the fabric of our clothing was created? Do we marvel at the way our world has come together to produce, transport, package, and deliver our food?

There is genius all around us and do we take it for granted or do we appreciate it?

Today at least, I marvel at the genius of millions of creative, dedicated, and competent people who have given us so much joy, comfort, order, and progress. Thank you all.

Let the inch worm carry on.