Learning to Fly

I'm chasing the dragon a little bit today. All the media is atwitter (pun intentional) about Lindsay Lohan and I'm just not able to break a sweat about her. More roadkill on the Human Highway, too much, too soon, too fast and probably too late to save. I can get worked up about the self-aggrandizing meat puppets she has the misfortune to have as parents, but in the bigger scheme, they don't get anywhere near passing the 'who cares?' test. 

Two different and (maybe) related events happened yesterday and I am perhaps their only point of intersection.  

We've had, in my non-meteorological opinion, quite a nice summer probably as a mulligan for a truly awful winter here in these parts. I realize I'm not making friends with the farmers or the ducks when I note with pleasure we haven't had a lot of rain. Yesterday was another nice day, scattered clouds, but also scattered sunshine, low humidity and a slight breeze. 

Taking advantage of it after lunch, as I was walking, I could see approaching me a bandy-legged toddler, not much more than a week into solo walking. He moved as much side to side as forward, all the while with a smile so wide I imagine you could see it from space. And how he laughed! I can remember our two children being about his size (I don't guess ages on anybody, much less miniature people) and giggling as they slowly walked until they were grown and gone.

The toddler's mother was close at hand, far enough away he felt that he was on his own, but still near enough to quickly intervene should she need to (knowing the difference between those two states is an art). As we passed one another he stopped and looked me up and down (he came to just above my knees) long enough for one of us to relish the journey ahead and the other to regret the trail sometimes taken, and then, as unsteady as ever, he moved on. 

Later in the day, I came across the obligatory "Lindsay is out!" on-line dispatch and the news site's "most read" story about a female condom (that sound you hear is my tiny mind, still boggling) and then I fell across a feature on Ray Bradbury. I have read, or owned, nearly everything he has ever written, so keep your 'I didn't even know he was still alive' remarks to yourself. Titles such as Dandelion Wine, Fahrenheit 451, and unending short stories to include And There Will Come Soft Rains, are as fresh to me now as when I first read them four plus decades ago.

The article noted Bradbury describes himself as a 'delicatessan religionist', inspired by Eastern and Western religions, who believes that "Joy is the grace we say to God." I am not good at arithmetic so I don't how many incidents and accidents in a particular sequence had to occur for me to have found this in the vastness of the Internet on a truly beautiful day after an encounter with an advance scout from the Next Century.

His observation that "I jump off the cliff, and build my wings on the way down" takes my breath away. I've been watching the days draw down without ever understanding what happens After This Song Is Over, but I'm thinking, maybe, now I can fashion a truce with myself to get farther down the road. I've had as much trouble with the journey as with the destination and I may never get that sorted out but I guess I'll know when I get there.
-bill kenny