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THE GRAND DAME
Gazing out the window, I look upon her, and fondly remember her glories past.
Today, she is sitting quietly in the melting snow holding on to her tattered
dignity. For many of us, there is a faded sadness about her. I do
not understand how it happened. However, time has somehow passed her by.
Remaining glorious in her elegant simplicity, in her day, she was the queen of
the ball. Of course, like any good monarch, she was more than simply
herself. The Grand Dame was, and remains to this day, a symbol of
something much bigger. Like any strong monarch, her symbolic nature
elicits emotional responses both positive and negative.
Without her admirers realizing that it happened, in our rapidly spinning world,
she has become but a tattered shell of her former self. As a strikingly
beautiful woman who has undergone the natural cost of time, even in her faded
glory, she remains an eye turning event. For those of us who knew her, and
loved her, when we have the rare occasion to see the grand gal in her evening
gown, we remain smitten by the power of her presence. To our
surprise, but not to our surprise, we find tears running down our cheeks when
she makes her grand entrance upon the stage of our life. Others . . .,
well others are blinded by their youth and not having experienced her love.
Therefore, they do not seem see what we see.
With the painfully swift passage of years, it saddens me to see her now
neglected and almost forgotten. With more than a pang of guilt, I look out
at her with feelings of warmth. As one who knew her and loved her, in her
glory, I think, do believe, NO, I know that I owe her something. She, who
has given to much pleasure and comfort to so many, deserves a better fate.
It is not as if my wife would be jealous of this aged queen. In her own
maturity, my loving wife understands the mystical lure of a first love.
Would it be so bad if I were to carve out the time to shower her with a small
portion of the love that she gave so freely?
Life is so busy. We all seem to get caught up in the pressures of a racing
clock and diminishing number of future years. Yet . . . Yet, it
would be wonderful if she were to be nursed back to health. Of course, I
well know that the cost is this level of care is staggering. This comes as
no news. We all have experienced the financial burden of proper care as we
age. But, to help her regain a vestige of her former glory, would that not
be sufficient reward in itself? Yes! To help her clean up and return
to health would indeed be a worthy cause.
I have seen others devote themselves to this grand old gal in her now faded
glory. Like many of my peers, it never fails to bring a lump to my throat
when I am in the presence of such a regal being. In the same light, I have
been with these same peers when such a wondrous lady makes her entrance on the
cluttered stage of our life. To a man, we instantly stop what we are doing
to look lovingly upon her beauty. Our eyes glaze over. Our hearts
quicken. We savor the moment. Listening to her distinctive footfall we
remember what she means to us. For us, to see her, to hear her, and even to
smell her distinctive fragrance is a sublimely loving experience. No, for
us, she is not faded. She remains the queen of the ball.
True, I have been with others. Unashamedly, I have loved others.
With a mixture of reverence and passion, I have caressed other’s lovely
curves. These wonderful others have responded to my gentle, yet firm touch
with a responsiveness which only a man could love. However, somehow, she
remains the true and only queen of the ball. This I know because a large
part of my generation has been forever touched by her mere presence. None,
none of the others can stand above her when the power of her presence is
experienced.
In this case, the god Eros has reached down from the mountain top and gathered
her in his arms. Then, by Eros’ power, the hearts of countless men have
been filled with a fathomless love for the royal lady.
Yes, I know what you, who have not experienced Eros’ heart-touch think
you see when you look out the same window I am looking out. You think
faded olive drab paint, a utilitarian body, a pair of landing skids, two rotor
blades and a tail rotor tells the whole story. You say:
“Why it is just an old helicopter left over from the Vietnam war. It is
quaint. But, it is just a piece of old junk which will never fly again.
Even if it does fly again, it is still just an old helicopter!”
I suppose you think that you have described just another old relic. Maybe,
in your eyes, you are accurate. However, I am going to be bold enough to
say this:
“You are sadly mistaken and blind to the ageless grace and beauty of this
Grand Dame. Dress her up; bring her back to health; let her strut
her stuff upon the stage of my life; and you will see profound reverence on my
face as I bask in her dignified beauty. ”
For those untouched by Eros, she is just an old helicopter. However, I
would suggest that if the opportunity arises that you might be with me, or one
of the countless thousands who knew her, when we hear the signature “whop”
“whop” footstep, LOOK AT US. You will see our aged heads
rise as we begin our search for her. Our tired eyes will scan the skies
until we see her. Then, our lined faces will soften, our eyes will go out
of focus as we “see” her again. We will remember how she
loved us and took us home.
She is beautiful even to this day. She is the UH-1 Iroquois.
We just call her “Huey” and continue to love her.
Copyright 2003 - Bruce E. Carlson
Author of "Red Bird Down"
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