"I'm forever blowing bubbles"

The colors in this tub of bubble-blowing jars caught my eye, and the song popped into my mind. We used to make these by putting soap suds in a little jar, dipping a wand into the suds, and gently blowing. The bubbles would be iridescent in the sunshine. They would stream from the wand, sometimes quite large, and then pop.

"I'm forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air.
They fly so high, nearly reach the sky.
Then like the wind they fade and die." 
[From memory]

Now the wand is attached to the jar lid, the jar is made of plastic—as if our oceans didn't contain enough of it—and there are labels affixed to warn children under three years of age (who certainly can't read the sign) of a choking hazard. 

As in many things, I like the old way better. 

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I am woefully behind on posting photos. Backblips are trailing behind me like bubbles from a wand, waiting to be shared. By the time I show you Portland's autumn leaves, you will be showing me crocuses. 

One of the things that has kept me from Blip is the tragedy of 49-year-old wife and mother, Carolyn, whom I have known since she was eleven. Beautiful and healthy [see Extra], she came home from a hot yoga class a few weeks ago, collapsed with cardiac arrest, and has been on life support ever since. I pray for healing but the doctors don't hold out much hope. 

This has happened to others. Yoga can be as relaxing and delightful as pretty bubbles in the air, but under some circumstances it can be a lethal hazard. Please be careful. And please pray with me that like the woman in this story Carolyn will experience miraculous healing.