My 8mm Moment - July 16, 2012

I take movies with my mind and they’re always on 8mm film.  They’re like a series of snapshots or a fast moving slide projector.  The lighting is dim, even in daylight, but the colors are still vibrant.


I made a mental masterpiece, when we were at Epcot.  The weather was a sweltering 94 degrees with humidity of 50%.  The sun was blaring, but soon slid behind gray clouds.  We knew where this was going.


Thunder warned us to quickly pull out raincoats and an umbrella.  It warned us to purchase a Disney poncho and cover our daughter in the stroller.  The plastic was transparent, so she could still see the raindrops go from sparse to showering.


I had on leather, Merrell slip-ons.  I slid them off to spare them from the rising puddles on the ground.  I was barefoot, which is something I only do when I’m on my own hardwood or carpet.


I didn’t care.  The water was warm and the temperature outside was cooling to a comfortable 88 degrees.  The rain dripping from the sides of my umbrella hit my arms and back, cooling me even further.  The temperature was perfect.  Not too hot and not too cold.  A rare occurrence for me.  My body usually flips into extremes.


Tourists ran for cover under store awnings and roof overlays.  We didn’t stop moving.  We passed through Italy, France and Britain.  I kicked puddles and twirled my umbrella around and around, watching the drops spin around me.


I could barely feel my feet, when the puddles rose up inches.  If I looked forward or up, I felt like I was on a giant people mover.  My own private Martin Scorsese sitting in a directors chair with an oversized camera, gliding in front of me.


We were one of only a few, walking through the park before the storm passed.  All eyes were on us, looking at us like we were crazy.  Some were smiling and some just looked frustrated, hoping the rain would end.


It felt crazy amazing.  The kind of rush you get when someone in the world is actually listening to you.  Their mind isn’t wandering.  They’re not daydreaming.  They’re not thinking of the next thing they want to say.  They’re just listening.


This was one of those rare moments, when you are truly aware of your surroundings.  You’re not thinking of the next activity.  Your mind isn’t elsewhere.  All of your senses are on overdrive and in-tune with nature.


The thunder was louder than a 4th of July fireworks show.  The lightening was brighter than someone flipping on a 100-watt bulb in the dark.   I could feel every drop of rain that hit the surface of my skin, trickle off and fall to the ground.


When we reached our destination, I lifted the poncho from my daughter’s stroller and saw the wide smile on her face.  I could tell we were in the same moment.  We were both shooting the same 8mm film, maybe only from different angles.


I grabbed her hand, no longer worried that she might slip and let her dance in the rain.  Her giggles were the perfect soundtrack for the closing credits.



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