Kite flying

Tonight's writing may happen in a series of posts, for the sake of post-erity, and posteriors, and post scripts (oughtta be more of those in life).

So we went kite flying today.  This is the kite I flew:  


I picked this one because it was called "hot" (see the tiny caption?) which I liked better than being cool.

Kite flying is a funny thing.  It's like having a dog, in a way, because strangers come up to us to strike up conversation:  "How do you make it dance like that?"  "What's it made of?"  "Where'd you get it?"  or just "That's a nice kite."  It's like having a dog because it lets people come up to you, but you don't have to feed it and it doesn't stink up your house.  It just feeds you.

Emilia and I had to have a talk about talking to strangers.  She admonished me after I chatted with the little boy who rode his sister's bike over to watch us flying.  He picked his way across a muddy field til he was close enough to call out "Hey, that's a nice kite!"  And we talked a bit, as much as we could with Nori clinging to my cheek.  After he left and I toyed with my regret at not offering him a go at the kite (hindrance being the baby stuck to the upper left side of my body that kept me from being able to give proper kite-flying instruction),

Emilia admonished me for talking to a stranger.  This is the second time this has happened.  She had a long talk with me after we picked up a down-on-her luck stranger last month and took her to find a hot lunch.  How do you teach your children to be cautious but to show love to strangers who need to admire your kite or ask about God at the playground?  How do you explain the way you have to listen to God speaking in your heart?  How you have to read the situation and watch your wallet, but give and give and give and share and give some more, your peppers, your kite string, your time and attention?  How you have to give your own personal gut-punched self a backseat so you can be there for someone else?  How do you explain that to a six year old?  And how do you explain the way you listen to intuition and the God speak?  How, when you're just learning to listen yourself?

I guess the doing is witness and answer enough for now.  I tried to explain listening to your heart, but she looked at me with skeptic's eyes.  My first baby one and look at her now.  I'm proud and in awe.  It makes me feel so small.

So let's change the subject to kitier things?

This is the kite I wanted to buy this summer:



But these are the dual-string stunt kites I really want but don't know if I can justify buying because, let's be honest, I'm not that skilled (am I?  maybe I am?)  I like the design on the top one better, but mainly I just want to try my hand at real kite flying.




Aren't they gorgeous?  Can't you just SEE them ducking and diving??  Can you hear the squeals of delight?  And feel my sun-stung cheeks at the lakeshore?  I can.

So why kites, Helen?  Why the thing with the kites?  Why, on this muddy suck should-be-winter day do you convince the kids to get muddified and go across to the field and fly kites when they'd rather be doing safe indoor things?

See, here's where I think the fascination lies:  It's in the tethered and the control.  We all secretly (secretively, oh wordplay) are rooting for the kite to escape.  Have you ever had a kite escape?  We did.  The very day we found out Jonah would be a he (and lied, we lied and lied and lied).  And our pirate kite escaped.  And when you feel the string go slack and watch the kite lift, you drop the string and run, but, if you're a Helenka, you  chase the kite every moment heartwhispering "Go, you kite!  be free!  Head to Iowa or Memphis or to the apartments off Broadway, but go!!" And still, you run to the tree line, you plow through the underbrush and scan branches searching for the skull and crossbones that's supposed to be yours to control, to allow slack, to bring in.

But I hold the line (blue spool is 90 lb line; red spool is only 50).  That day I only used fishing line.  I held the spool on a branch.  I thought I could control it enough-- could a trout or a bass really be stronger than a pirate kite?  I thought.  I thought wrong.

But I love the interplay between control and release.  I love the way we ache for it to soar, we try to control it, but when it breaks free, we run and we cheer.  Oh, how we cheer.

I love the ache of the forearms as I reel in what feels like a mile of kitestring.  I love the way it's worth it to know my kite got the highest.

I love the strangers who come to say "what's it made of?"  "where'd you get it?"  "is that your kite?"