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Perfect can be a fact

Meditation by Stephanie Hickey

   

I blew bubbles today. When was the last time you blew bubbles? It was a friend’s niece’s birthday, an excuse for the family to get together at Ala Moana Beach Park, and I was invited. There were some perfect moments.

Yes, a moment can be perfect. I get annoyed when people say nothing or no one can be perfect. Perfect is a fact, not a fiction. We all have our own perfect. My perfect is jumping up and down in the pink castle Moon Bounce, then blowing bubbles on the sidewalk next to sun-soaked sand, as I did today.

astronomy.swin.edu.au/~pbourke/ texture/balls/

 

In the past, when I’ve driven by Ala Moana Beach Park, those inflatable bouncing mansions teased me. I know you’ve seen them.

They seemed to shout, “You’re not a kid anymore, and I am just for kids. You are confined to cell phone bills and thoughts of the future.” The happy Moon Bounces have always made me sad. I knew they would be fun, but I thought I’d never be able to experience one.

Usually these thoughts were fleeting, gone as fast as my Buick carted me past the beach, and the sea of families. But nothing really goes away though; it slices from the moment like a shard of colored glass, a piece for the kaleidoscope, making other perspectives more beautiful.

The idea that people, big people, can’t partake in the joy of the Moon Bounce, is as much a fallacy as the idea that we can’t fulfill the idea of perfect.

At the birthday party, when it was time to cut the cake, the hostess asked, “Would you like a piece?” I hesitated, then said, “Just a small one, please,” my fingers pinched together signifying small. She slowly inserted the knife through white creamy frosting into moist pastry. Her incisions were those of a skilled surgeon. She’d done this before.

Placing it daintily on a white dessert plate, she handed it to me. I smiled at her and said, “Perfect.” She had fulfilled my need for a small piece with grace that can only be called amazing.

The Moon Bounces were next, and now that I’ve experienced them, I know that they can withstand all 130 pounds of me (okay, 135). They are much different then trampolines. On the lovely Bounce, I could jump as high as I wanted, then contort my body, in mid-air, so that I landed on my back, prepared to make a snowless angel.

Trampolines are stiff. Moon Bounces are as soft as moonlit snow. Maybe it’s true that with trampolines you can see the stars, but with a Moon Bounce you can imagine meteors and purple planets.

Two perfect moments in one afternoon. Three would be blessed, and I was. We were given party favors that were supposed to be for kids. Standing on the hot sidewalk, I removed my magic wand from its orange sheath, inscribed with the words “Miracle Bubble.”

I stood upwind. Cars passed me, mostly men in vans with surf boards on their racks, noticing that I wasn’t noticing them. Holding the wand to my lips, I blew, blessing the beached people with the gift of bubbles.

I don’t think everyone appreciated them. A woman on a low chair in the sand, reading The New York Times, sensed the bubbles surrounding her and batted them away with her hands, as though bubbles were blown in her direction everyday.

For her the bubbles were fleeting, as once were my Moon Bounces. But they are in her kaleidoscope now. And my perfect moments at Ala Moana Beach Park have been promoted to telescopes.

 

 

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