JUST AN ORANGE

Rituals are the backbone of life; they are what make it stand up, give it some structure; new summer tennis shoes, hanging the porch swing, pressing the dandelions for their sweet nectar.

Then there are the discoveries, the revelations, intuitions and illuminations. All those things that make life sparkle and shine. The new information that we gather to us, some of which becomes a part of our life, circling into the ritual again, strengthening us, giving us more reason and enjoyment to be alive.

And so a young boy walks into the shoe emporium and charms Mr. Sanderson, the old shop keeper; shows him, really, of the joy of living. Antelopes. Gazelles. Douglas is specializing in a quiet exuberance for life.

With the passing of Tim Russert this past Friday, I’ve been thinking a lot about exuberance for life. What I know of him is largely from hearing him on the radio or occassionally seeing him on television. But from what I can tell, Mr. Russert was a man who loved life. He loved his profession, his family, his country; his concern was for people. There was a happy enthusiasm that spilled out of him and I admire that. I regret that we will miss his contribution to the public discourse on some of the most pressing subjects of our time, particularly in this election year.

Chalk it up to my own discoveries and revelations. I want to live a life as fully as I perceive Mr. Russert lived his. Not that his ambitions and values are necessarily my own, but I admire his feeling. I know instinctively I don’t have that kind of energy, it’s just not in my nature. I am more like Douglas, quiet but aware, exploring the idea of what kind of life I want to live. I want to fill my life with rites and ceremonies that are meaningful and fulfilling, not simply patterns I fall into haphazardly. I want to be illuminated by discoveries and revelations that enrich my existence.

Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury; published by William Morrow, 2001 hardcover edition, pages 17-34.

photo by roberto pagini

Dandelion Wine, William Morrow 2001 hardcover edition, pages 1-16.

Do you remember summer as a child? The never-ending days, the ever-expansive weeks, the eternity of the season; summer seemed as long as the rest of the year put together. And that trip to the dentist was so incredibly disruptive.

I remember the year I started piano lessons. And that was the first measurable summer. Suddenly weeks meant something; there was this mark on the time line, like some giant cement monolith casting unnecessary darkness into my days of endless sunshine. I remember being called in from playing. I remember reluctantly pulling myself up into the front seat of our blue VW Vanagon unhappy at being interrupted. It was the first year that I noticed summer passing before my eyes.

So, for this Summer 1928, Douglas, at age 12, has realized he’s alive, really alive! Not that his senses haven’t worked before, but now he is aware of them; an inward realization of what is going on outside of him. It’s a lovely moment as he takes everything in, aware that life itself is stalking him, waiting to pounce. And then it does; and Doug is growing up.

Douglas, aware that this summer will be special and extraordinary, becomes vaguely aware, then, of the passage of time. As the first “golden tide” rushes off the wine press and into the bottle, Douglas has already measured out his summer, knowing that each day must be caught and stoppered and the memories kept for later days.

{I’ll be posting about Dandelion Wine each week. The sections are short and undemanding and they go through to the end of summer, just like the book. This is the first week, and while it’s already Thursday, you can catch up quickly. I’d absolutely love to have you join me with your own thoughts and ideas.}

{For a Summer Reading Schedule of Dandelion Wine, please click on Literary.}

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Of all the books about summer, I think that Ray Bradbury’s Dandelion Wine must be the best. I read it for my sophomore English class in high school and promptly fell in love. Bradbury is at his best chronicling Douglas Spalding’s summer while weaving through little vignettes about the towns people that inhabit Doug’s life on the periphery, in the same space that all adults inhabit in every child’s life they are a part of. I love every bit of it. With faithful brother Tom at his side, Doug is the boy on the brink of growing up, which is a wonderful and terrifying place to be for anyone.

In some tribal cultures those adolescents are ignored for a time. They don’t exist, according to the tribe and are left to fend for themselves until they can prove they have managed to become adults. If we followed the same tradition in our culture I wonder how many people would still be hanging out in that no-man’s land? Too many, I suspect. Adolescence is a liminal space, a space that is really a nothing space, like a doorway; one is not in or out; one is not a child, nor are they yet an adult. It’s a tricky spot to navigate. I sometimes look back at my own adolescence completely amazed I made it through in tact.

The sequel to Dandelion Wine, Farewell Summer, deals more with this idea. I must say I was rather disappointed by it, as Douglas seems to lose all qualities that made him Doug in the first place. Despite what Bradbury says, that this second novel was written at the same time as the first, I don’t believe him. It lacks the magic. And while the transition from being a kid to a teenager is rough and awkward and full of pimples, I wasn’t impressed with Bradbury’s re-visit of Green Town.

But all that aside, here, now, in Green Town, Illinois, we have Doug and Tom, the Green Machine, the Happiness Machine, Col. Freeleigh, Bill Forrester and of course, one must not forget The Lonely One. And Douglas, though he is heading towards the door, is still the child whose mind is starting to navigate the world we all must inhabit for the long-run.