What ever happened to inventing your own fun?

My sister and I spent hours filling condoms with water, then tying them off and lobbing them at our three brothers. We didn't understand why our parents got so upset at the sight of all those broken condoms. Much later, when we found out what condoms were used for, we cried. We’d increased our odds of having another brother. That was the last thing we needed.

Or what about being happy doing nothing? Like lying on your back and looking at the clouds?

Or that thrill of finding a really good rock? No, not a skipping rock, though that is sublime, but a beautiful rock. One you turn over and study endlessly. One that feels good in your hand, fits your pocket and might one day be traded for your brother's old baseball glove.

My grandmother and I used to sit on her cellar stairs and watch the latest batch of kittens play. The boldest one would ascend the stairs, and then his siblings would snag his leg and drag him back down. We didn’t exchange a word; we just watched a spinning ball of ears, tails, feet and other furry parts roll by.

Yesterday I watched our cat Van Gogh enjoy his afternoon bath. First he licked his left paw and began a methodical swipe over his left ear. Then he licked his right paw and swiped his right ear. He splayed his toes apart and pulled out some dirt. Next he started on his large belly. Sitting on his hindquarters, back legs stretched straight out, he worked that soft, fluffy underbelly hair up into a clean, white mass. Then he pulled his tail between his legs, and starting at the base, he worked all the way up to the tip. He capped the whole affair off by curling his freshly cleaned tail around himself and began a nap.

Van Gogh has better hygiene habits than most people I know. And I know he has better hygiene habits than my husband. He forgets his left ear.

Another pleasure this time of year: watching Cedar Waxwings devour fermented fruit. I heard their whistling “tsseeeee,” “tseeeee” as a flock landed on our crabapple tree. They picked it clean. I swear they got giddier as the orgy went on. Just take a look at their incandescent glow, as if lit from within.

Why not linger at such a sight? Rack up unaccounted hours?

Yesterday in the supermarket I heard a young boy complain to his mother: "I'm bored."

Bored?

I was never bored as a child. We were left alone to invent our own fun. No adults organized a play date or a party. We met in backyards and back alleys, and we created something — something we could all do together. Even if that something was turning condoms into water balloons. Hey, you work with what you have.

Have you ever watched ants? Precision and productivity are built into every move. But productivity in humans is often unproductive — to come up with the original, to see the smorgasbord of beauty all around us, for that, you need time.

So what about being happy doing nothing?

It comes in real handy.

Boy, I'm feeling old, but I'm also feeling lucky. I know how to invent; I know how to play; and I know how to be blissfully happy doing nothing.