Eagles in Heaven
Always in life there’s something else and new to learn, isn’t there. Anu’s wonderful word this morning is luftmensch, which pretty much suits me perfectly at times. Most times. Some airhead priest instead of a realtor or new car dealer as I contemplated my university years: there was no Chrysler-Plymouth dealer here and it was going to be me, Thanks a lot, Buzz.
There was “nothing but sand” across Hathaway Bridge as my father often said, and I thought to sell it. Instead, a luftmensch, literally an air man selling -- what? A notion of eternity. Ride that across the heavens with me in the yellow Cadillac of my dreams.
Let’s hope there’s plenty of room up there, my friends may be zooming back and forth in F-15 fighter jets and Navy Tomcats. I’ll be 17, they can be whatever age they choose, minimum 21 for hitting the O Club. Even St. Peter has rules.
Raining so hard the walk is cancelled, first time in months.
That’s not the Eagle I meant. Let the reader understand. We're dreamers, baby.