One thousand posts.
What have I to share that I haven’t shared, aside from the stories that I haven’t strung together yet, word by word, like a popcorn and cranberry garland on a quiet Christmas Eve?
I have my favorite poem by Leonard Cohen, Owning Everything.
You worry that I will leave you.
I will not leave you.
Only strangers travel.
I have nowhere to go.
I have the story of my ride in a helicopter when I was ten years old.
My best friend Jennifer and I lived next door to each other in the married housing apartments on-campus at Southeastern Louisiana University. One day there was a festival of some sort going on across the highway, where helicopter rides were to be had for ten dollars apiece.
We ran across the hot blacktop in our bare feet to watch the helicopter rise up and down, up and down, lifting and lowering its paying passengers. When we saw a lull in the traffic, we walked up to see if we could catch a glimpse of the mysteries inside. The pilot had seen us watching and waiting, and he ushered us in for a quick up-and-down of our own, no charge. We couldn’t stop smiling.
Here’s to a thousand more.