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Whimsy |
As I get older, I feel that all I am doing is running down a dream. Thank you, Mr. Petty for those words of wisdom.
I'm chasing dreams that should have been caught and bottled long ago. They should already be sitting on my shelf of life prizes, gleaming and glowing.
I should be able to take down the jar, turn it over in my hands and feel the raised lettering on the smooth glass, and admire the beautiful shining accomplishment that is mine. I could unscrew the lid, breathe deep the aroma of joy and pain that went into its making. Take it out and use it at my will, maybe even share it with others and impress a passer-by now and then. Place it gently back in the jar with just as much love for it as I had when it was first just a spark in my imagination. Back on the shelf it goes until another day.
How many of these lovely jars I should have!
Is this how it feels to get old? Frantically gathering up all those little sparks in your mind. Oh, there's the one I wanted so badly! And this one, it would be such a joy. What about doing this with my daughters? It's something they would have enjoyed years ago.
But years have passed. And with years comes age, and with age comes loss. The loss of quickness and of health. The loss of sharpness of mind.
I happen to be someone who refuses to stop chasing dreams.
I fully believe that when you stop dreaming, it's time to die.
So, regardless of loss, I am chasing an old dream with new fervor. My fingers may not be as fast. My tendons may not be happy, but my heart needs this.
My heart needs the music to be poured in so that the pain and the joy and the lessons of life can be poured back out into my newest jar. My Banjo Jar.
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