Through a Darkened Pane (page 69)

Odd lengths of two-by-fours, an old orange crate, an opened tuna can with a candle stub inside, dismantled baby buggy wheels, rope, nails, baby-blue house paint: all the disparate parts put together to form a kid's soap box racer.

The Blue Angel.

Andy has more imagination than skill with hammer and saw, but, surely, if he had attached wings, The Blue Angel would fly. Where he got the name is unknown. He was certainly unacquainted with La Dietrich's early celluloid classic. He tooled around the hills of Los Altos and enthusiastically pulled his beloved cart up the steep avenues even when his lungs were bursting and menacing an imminent shutdown.

Buster was watching from below, at the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and Miles Street. Andy raced on down from the crest of the hill, rope steering wheel pulled taut in his grimy, hot hands. Hurtling downward with increasing velocity, Andy grabbed hold of the emergency brake (a length of one-by-two nailed adjacent the back left wheel) and, with screeching and burning rubber filling the otherwise quiet neighborhood air, he came to a zig-zagging halt at Buster's feet.

Andy looked into the lazy eyes of the ten year old and asked,

"Want a ride?"

snowbird

Bttt for SizeMik.

Syl

sizemik

Ha Ha . . . thanks for that Syl . . . the truth is I've just finished reading CoCo's OP after hitting your link in the other thread . . . only to find it again! Thank you for your thoughtfulness . . . it is a good read . . . it's 2.00am here and I'm all revved and inspired!

snowbird

At Heart, We Grown-ups Are Still Children

If you doubt this observation, just pay a visit to a toy store, a bakery, or an ice-cream shop.

I've worked all three venues, and I've seen grown folk - especially men - come in and get all goggle-eyed, unable to make up their minds as to what to buy or try.

The most appealing thing I witnessed at the toy store was a silver-haired grandfather getting down on arthritic knees to play race cars with a highly-charged grandson.

At the bakery, another tender scene was a grandmother buying brownies for six grandkids; that must have set her back a couple of Andrew Jacksons, but the look of satisfaction on her face when the little ones chorused out their thanks was priceless.

I thought to myself, she's really doing it for the little girl that she once was, who, perhaps, could only dream of such treats.

On Sunday evenings, entire generations used to visit the ice-cream shop - babies in strollers, grandparents on walkers, teenagers in halters and cargo shorts. (What is it about Sundays that makes us crave ice-cream?) Parents and grandparents made sure everybody got their fill of the creamy goodness.

In those days, I used to smile indulgently at the doting elders.

Now, I am one of them.

Syl

sizemik

Great post Syl . . . may we never fear to keep the child inside of us alive.

snowbird

Thanks, Size.

Amen to your sentiments.

Syl

snowbird

Mouthy, Please Come Back

I've come to love you for your wisdom and compassion.

My equally mouthy 13 year old granddaughter has been asking if you have returned.

You have done, and continue to do, so much good on JWN.

Please don't allow the actions of a few to cause you to reject the many who love and need you.

With your absence, it's like trying to peer through a darkened pane.

Please come back.

Love and blessings.

Your bereft friend.

Sylvia

ziddina

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BUMP!!!!!

compound complex

For Ziddy ...

Though become stagnant in heart, mind, body - nothing fits nor operates as it should - I recollect, without emotion, the Heights that had at one time been my surrogate guardian. My impoverished family loved and cherished our land stretching outward beyond infinity, but it was I, more than all others, that took to the dreary landscape. In a most peculiar manner the dank surroundings soothed me and enveloped me in crawling mists that were more welcomed to me than were the evaporating rays of a summer sun.

I, however, am no longer that joyful lad who found delight in the weird and grotesque. A man in the physical sense of the word but devoid of the erstwhile childlike fascination with a magical existence, I now reside in The City and am comforted with my needs fulfilled and luxuries absent during youth. The view upon which now I gaze is that of steel and stone and glass; its combination in regal, imposing edifices commands my admiring view yet scarcely my heart.

It is through a clean and shining pane that I survey my kingdom as the wild child of yore vanishes from all remembrance ...

Through a Darkened Pane

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