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Jan. 23, 2007 Sitting in my bubble-bath the other evening got me to thinking about bubbles. Yep, once in a great while I break out the “Johnson and Johnson” and run the tub full of bouncy, little bubbles. I form them into towers and spires and plateaus of rapidly evaporating but madly invigorating works of the bubbliest art imaginable. In the natural world of running rivers and creeks and streams, bubbles are nature’s way of validating Al Gore’s various global warming theories that explain water pollution as a result of the pending global catastrophe. But bubbles can be cool too. Ask my two grandchildren and they will tell you that “Pot-Pot” (That’s Me. ) can blow “Bubble-Stuff” bubbles for hours of bubble-popping enjoyment. It is a real pleasure to watch my grandchildren chase bubbles on the wind; watching their eyes widen as they catch and destroy each shining, flying orb of air-filled soap. Bubbles remind me of snow without the cold. Bubbles remind me of the times I would conduct curb-side car washes as a kid to scrape up a couple of dollars for a movie or some toy that I wanted. Bubbles even remind me of one failed experiment I had in my 8th grade science class while mixing chemicals out of sequence. As I think about bubbles I think of all the pieces of “Double-Bubble” that I chewed when penny-candy still only cost a penny. I think of all the hundreds of pieces of bubble-gum that I harvested from the hundreds of packs of baseball cards I bought. (No. The collection that resulted was given away when I shipped to Germany in 1971. The parents believed I had outgrown my baseball cards, having joined the Army. I don’t cry over spilled milk, but I do weep on occasion for the loss of my Pete Rose Rookie Card!) Bubbles also remind me of the several times the thermostat in my first car (a1961 Ford Falcon) got stuck; causing geysers of frothy bubbles of antifreeze to spew from the pinholes in my radiator and the freeze plugs dotting the engine block. Champaign is commonly called “bubbly”. And I believe “Bubbles” was a common nick-name at one time. Although I never met anyone called “Bubbles” I did once know a fellow named “Bubba” (the male derivative perhaps?). When I had my aquarium I would spend time watching the bubbles flow from the filter; catching the occasionally unwary guppy off-guard; flipping it sideways or upside-down. Those guppies were a laugh riot! Here in Kuwait I do my own laundry. I have occasionally over-filled the soap dispenser and ended up with bubbles streaming toward the drain in the kitchen floor of my apartment. This is a good thing though because it occasionally forces me to mop the kitchen floor. (Something I heartily, normally procrastinate against!) You will admit your fascination with bubbles. Bubbles have replaced rice as a more environmentally protective substance to surround newlyweds as they escape to their limousines on their first day of marital bliss. But bubbles are important. They are in our beer and our soft drinks, our sparkling wines and our tonic water. Bubbles are pure. Bubbles are innocent. But most importantly, bubbles POP! I don’t know what life would be like without the proverbial bundle of bubble-wrap! The joy of the squeeze! The relief of the POP! What utter entertainment! BUBBLES……….AH! BUBBLES! ------------ About the Author: Michael John McCrae has contributed over 700 articles to Useless-Knowledge.com. Email: macswordV@hotmail.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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