One day, I found myself milling about the house in an aimless manner ... and one person milling about is a pitiful sight to behold. Personally, I think four people are the optimal number for esthetically pleasing milling about, don't you agree? Which brings up other questions: How many people does it take to make a mob? If one is a goose and two are geese, are three a flock? Think about that a minute: "Hey, I saw a flock of geese flying north! Yeah? A whole bunch of 'em, huh? Naw, only a flock of three." Sounds silly and whimsical, doesn't it? Anyway, as a substitute for milling about, I looked up the word "Whimsey" in our big dictionary.

Among other things, it means capricious humor or wit. Being me, of course, I looked up the word "capricious". That looks a little odd to me ... if I had been being Jane or John would I have looked it up? Probably not because a Jane or John would have more interesting and productive things to do. At least I hope so.

Back to the word "capricious". It comes from latin root words for Capricorn, the goat, which is me personified. In addition to smelling like one on occasion, which is probably why goats like me, it actually is my birth sign. The dictionary described it as being cautious, curious, and subject to occasional whimsical capering for reasons not readily apparent to casual observers. Oh, how true!

And it is that "whimsical capering" that causes me so much trouble. The attacks are sudden and last for varying periods of time. Since I've been in Germany, they have increased both in length and intensity, becoming almost uncontrollable at times. There is something about the way Germans take themselves so seriously, the way they are compelled to conform in what they eat, wear, say, and even dare think, that triggers these "Terminal Whimsey" attacks in me. In my mind, for I dare not publically express myself, how I do whimsically caper! And sometimes giggle for reasons "not readily apparent to casual observers", but nonetheless very clear to me.

Oh, why do I say "Terminal Whimsey"? Well, you've heard the term "die laughing" haven't you? Can you think of a better way to go?

Incidentally, by coincidence I'm sure, my very first friend - - dear, true friend - - was a little white goat named "Ribbons". She wore a small, tinkling silver bell around her neck and danced on tombstones . . . but that is another story for another time. Nearly forty years later, a big, stubborn, opinionated goat named "Annie Nannie" also became my friend and confidant. She was such a good listener . . . but what else would you expect from a whimsically capering Capricorn like me?