The Journey's the Thing…

It’s true. I’m a little bit weird. Today, I’ll admit one thing that I think about that is kind of strange. I don’t know how this came about, but I think it is because of my love of sci-fi movies, especially cheesy ones. Here goes…

One day I was looking at a bug on the ground, an ordinary little black beetle of some sort. I suddenly had this flash! What if bugs weren’t bugs at all, but really,really, small, all terrain vehicles on little missions from their ET basecamps. And what if inside, instead of bug guts, there were teeny people at the controls, giving orders, navigating, fixing coffee, and all that? I thought the idea was a pretty good one, and I’m waiting for the defense department to start
using some kind of 8-legged crawler in some war. Then I’ll say “Hah!, you see, I’m right! Just wait, the Giant People will soon be here, and we will look just like little bugs.”. I had this thought about the bug/machine thing a long time ago. Since then I’ve realized that the idea is ludicrous. Those bugs can’t all be machines…

As some of you know, I build model airplanes. This may seem a juvenile pursuit for a 40-year old man, but I find it to be extremely relaxing, a great way to learn about the early history of aeronautics, and just plain fun, no pun intended. There is quite a community of folks around the globe who all have the same love of aircraft, especially those of The First World War, or shortly afterwards, The Golden Age of Aviation. These were times when flying was truly a skill, devoid of any computers, and in some cases, altimeters and fuel gauges. The aircraft were made of wood, canvas, and steel wire. They were covered in what is called “dope”, which was a type of varnish that sealed in the linen canvas fuselage and made it waterproof. This stuff is also extremely flammable. So basically these pilots were flying wooden boxkites covered in varnish drenched cloth, held together by a series of criss-crossed steel wiring, drawn tight to keep everything aligned. Sometimes they just fell apart in mid-air. Sometimes they burst into flame when the engine ran too hot. If they were shot down by an opponent, they would usually go up in flames, taking the pilot with them. Remember, no parachutes until 1918…Tough decisions at 5000 feet. Either jump and risk that scenario (some pilots did survive) or go down in flames and most certainly die.

Anyway, here is a picture of one of my “builds” as they are called. It is a Nieuport 28, post WW1, flying for the Swiss Air Service. This plane was widely used by the US Army Air Corps in WW1, but had the bad habit of shedding its lower wing in any kind of dive.
http://photobucket.com/albums/a248/jono1965/Model%20Builds/th_23589.jpg

I really have no clue. I fumble about, taking advice from people all around me, hoping that this time all will be well. What I have to remember is that life will sort itself out, as if by some design, with or without my input. Having my number in the equation will steer the course along one path or another, but when you get right down to it, I have nothing to do with the navigation. The only choice that I have today is how I react to every situation happening around me. This is how life shifts, I think, hopping from one foot to the other, like an eagerly nervous schoolchild. Much of my reaction must be to accept life exactly as it is today, with no exceptions. I take that back–All of my reactions must reflect this philosophy. Once in a great while, I seem to get a glimpse of some kind of blueprint, like a flash in my brain, but then it’s gone. I would love to view the entire schematic, poring over the tiniest of details, past and present. On this blueprint the future is not a pre-drawn section, but rather constantly evolving as the present moves along and becomes the past. What we think of as the future doesn’t actually exist. It is always just The Now gradually moving behind us being replaced by something else. The Future is Now. Now is Then. Coo-Coo-Ca-Joob!

I was invited to a party this afternoon, and I actually think I might go. I have coffee on a regular basis with this guy who is a phenomenal drummer. I’ll call him Pete, because that’s his name. Anyway, he and the band he plays with are jamming at an outdoor party today, up in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, about 45 minutes from where I live. He invited me to go. If I do go, I am guaranteed to run into some folks that I haven’t seen in about 4 years, or since I got sober. They all know my history since then, so there are no great surprises. the surprises will be all the other folks I run into. The function is being held at the house of a member of another recovery group, some of whom I met while in jail. This might be weird, it might be great, or it might be nothing at all. But I think I will go. The music will be stunning and fun, that I am sure of. The rest of the shindig will be a reaction, by me, of the outside stimuli being served, like so many canapes. I’ll try not to eat the salmon mousse.

Ciao