Oil Can!

13 05 2015

I am not religious.  I am not overtly patriotic.  I did not grow up loving horses, race cars, or aircraft.  I am also not particularly sentimental . . .

So what is it about the Kentucky Derby, the start of the Indianapolis 500, military jet flyovers at big football games that stirs my heart?

I can’t watch these things without feeling a lump rise in my throat – and that pisses me off.

It is maudlin. I am not romantic; I am strong and rational and sensible. I am Spock, not Kirk. I am Holmes, not Watson. I do not like this feeling, not one bit.

I also can’t not watch these things because they take my breath away – just a little – but they do. It is moving. I am not heartless; I am engaged and caring and . . . human.

There is nothing wrong with getting a little verklempt when they play America, the Beautiful.  Nostalgia for middle-American-made cars and our innocence lost is reason enough for a little reverence at the sight of those three-wide eleven rows at Indy.  I felt a little bit silly a few Saturdays ago, as tears streamed down my cheeks from the call “Riders up” until the Run for the Roses was over, but,

I FELT.

For a lot of my life, I steadfastly refused to be moved by sentiment – at least on the outside. My armor would have been the envy of even the greatest warrior. Ah, but when you shield something from light and air, it withers. What I thought I was protecting, I was killing.

So, I stand, alone in my living room, when the Blue Angels buzz an NFL playoff, dab my eyes at the playing of My Old Kentucky Home, hold my breath a little at “Drivers, start your engines.” These things are glorious reassurance that, although there’s no denying that my joints could use a good oil can, I do, in fact, have a heart.

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14 05 2015
MARIA ETTEL

—THE FINEST OF HEARTS!
LOVE FROM MARIA XO XO XO XO

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