wordsworth

Ellen: Does Mattie ever say to you, “OK, Ellen, there are a couple of things we need to discuss?” Maybe that can be a thing just you and I do. Anyway, there are a couple things on my mind. So, if you will, I’ll monologue and see what happens.

Had one happy thought yesterday. I was pulling in to the Publix on 17-92 just south of Fairbanks, and watching the cars carefully to be sure there’d be no loud and surprising CRUNCH of collision, when drifting east out of the parking lot rose a single balloon. My mind turned to you immediately. I don’t know why. But I knew you were home alone. And home was east. And that balloon was heading in your direction.

“I could do that!” I told myself. “There’re balloons at Publix. I could get one. Let it go. And call Ellen.” Then I realized, “I can’t call Ellen. But I could post it to the blog.” Then I realized, “She may not see the post before the balloon reaches outer space.” Then I realized, “Even if she sees it, the court could declare a ‘balloon signal’ impermissible contact.”  Then I realized, “I can pretend.”

And, so, I did. I pretended that everything was going my way. I pretended I was buying a balloon. I pretended it was exactly the balloon you would want. I pretended it was big enough to see for miles and miles. I pretended that when I released it into the wind some woman in the parking lot smiled at me. Then, I imagined it all over again – this time I pretended that when I released the balloon a large crowd gathered to applaud and right up front was Judge Blackwell in her judicial gown clapping louder than anyone. I pretended that I smiled all the way home composing my announcement to you on the blog. I pretended you got my message just in time. I pretended you ran outside, clapped your hands together right below your chin, held your elbows to your chest, wriggled left and right, hopped up and down and squealed “Ooooouuueeeh! My balloon! My balloon!”, just like you were a teenager pretending to be three years old again, just as I’ve seen you do time after time.

It was a happy thought.

OK. Next item of business. Guido wants a blog. So, I’ve told him I’d set up a public blog if he would name it. So, do you want your own private blog?

Next item. More is better. Blog me.

Dad