lift-off sparklies

During the incarceration that the recent heat wave has imposed on this bag of bones, I have sought out small reassurances that delight is not a mere fantasy, that, yes, there are sparkly bits that inhabit an otherwise locked-down universe.

Not that my sparkly bits coincide with anyone else's sparkly bits. These were just sparkly bits that reassured me that somewhere there was something other than the sense of being wrapped psycho-fashion in a wet sheet.

I noticed it two days ago when I watched an old TV spy thriller called "Page Eight." The tale was carefully crafted, intelligent and full of people who had both fragilities and strengths. Besides being a good, twisty, unflinching tale, it just made me happy that someone had created it and thereby asserted a twinkle-twinkle in a dark -- not depressing necessarily, just dark -- sky. I watched it once ... and then I watched it all over again, swimming in its blue-cool seas.

And then last night, I watched "Matilda" -- a movie-ized version of a Roald Dahl story. Like a lot of Dahl's wonderful confections, "Matilda" is laced with the whimsy of a fairy tale and yet is shot through with lurking human fears and horrors. I am happy to live in a universe where such tales are told and told well.

Sparkly bits. It's like knowing you can fly even if you can't.