Top Hat

Sunday afternoons in summer are now time for old movies with my mom. Last Sunday was Singing in the Rain; this afternoon was Top Hat. The plots, of course, are not the point. It's the amazing, effortless dancing. In the case of Top Hat, Astaire and Rogers (and Fred Astaire never got credit for being such a great singer as well). And, of course, the genius of Irving Berlin. It is being delighted by the ability of human beings to move together with such grace and control, and seeing my mom delighted as well. I looked up reviews of the movie, and found this from the late Roger Ebert:

Because we are human, because we are bound by gravity and the limitations of our bodies, because we live in a world where the news is often bad and the prospects disturbing, there is a need for another world somewhere, a world where Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers live. Where everyone is a millionaire and hotel suites are the size of ballrooms and everything is creased, combed, brushed, shined, polished, powdered and expensive. Where you seem to find the happiness you seek, when you're out together dancing cheek to cheek. It doesn't even matter if you really find it, as long as you seem to find it, because appearances are everything in this world, and ... 

Let the rain pitter patterBut it really doesn't matterIf the skies are gray.Long as I can be with you,It's a lovely day.

Beautifully said. As the late Dick Buckley used to say about this time on Sunday afternoons at the end of his show on WBEZ, "Happiness."

Flying Home

On Friday, after the kids and I took my father to the airport for his flight back home, I felt a bit at sea. During his visit, I had taken him to most of the places I frequent in Evanston. I walked downtown after dropping him off at the airport and the kids at our apartment, and passed many of those same places. I returned some books to the library, then went across the street to an Irish pub, a place I like to go and have a sandwich and a drink sometimes on a Saturday afternoon.

We had been at the same place just a week prior, and I already felt his absence. My father has this gift. He can talk to anyone, at any time, and actually listen, and be curious about their life, their experience; he has the gift of talking, and listening. It's one of the things I've learned from him, and a quality I hope to cultivate in myself.

Walking back home after the library and lunch, I noted that it was about time for his flight to be leaving. I thought I might catch a glimpse of his plane heading out over the lake. But the traffic patterns at O'Hare weren't in my favor. Planes were coming in from the east to land, and taking off from the west.

Then, walking down the alley towards home after a quick stop at Trader Joe's, I heard the familiar whine of what I knew was a big plane -- an A330 or A340, or a 777, or a 747. And, sure enough, I looked up, and there, already at a fairly high altitude, but unmistakable, was a big Swiss airlines Airbus A330 -- the red rudder with the white cross on the back, bound for Zurich. Though of course he couldn't see me, I paused and waved, and wished the travelers, including my father, a safe passage.

Hours later, I went on the flight tracker website and saw that his flight was just about 15 minutes away from Zurich. Silas and I watched its descent, and confirmed that it had arrived. We were in Evanston, and he in Switzerland, but it made us feel in some way that we had accompanied him on his trip.

Our world may be confusing, and disturbing. There is no shortage of cruelty and pettiness. Technology certainly cuts both ways. Reason is scarce in our public discourse. Sometimes chance or circumstance puts us in the right place at the right time, sometimes in the wrong place at the wrong time (apologies to Dr. John). But days like that remind me that the world is also lovely and mysterious in ways we can't imagine, and may not fully understand until we meet the One who made it.