Ants and Micro Machines

My extended family is spread out around the world. Italy, Germany, Iran all have these invisible threads across the Atlantic to Texas, Minnesota, and Illinois. It doesn't happen often, save for weddings and the like, but when I was ten or so family came in from Köln. The most important site, for them, was downtown Chicago. Now, Germany is the "old country" for (me and) a lot of people, and there's a reason why it's called that; hundreds of years old houses and ruins and vestiges of the past rise up everywhere you look. Great monuments and memories of both fantastic and poorly conceived, even devastating ideals. In later years I realized that that sense of history is almost normal. Seeing a three hundred-year old church or park that has existed longer than any of the oldest buildings here in the U.S. happens as they're walking to the bank. My relatives wanted to see something new, something distinct to this country. Among those things was my second cousin nearly jumping through the roof of my parent's mini-van in excitement over seeing a Corvette and the Sears Tower.

It's pretty funny to think back to when you're a child and remember the wonder that existed as you looked down at the city, holding your wide-open hand up like you've just blocked out nearly half a large city. How small the ants (if you could see them at all) and Micromachines were moving about like they're part of some greater thing. Moving together. And then running over to tug on your dad's shirt, to point out the white, domed building rising up from the trees drawing everyone towards it, unifying ants from all over the world.

I ramble a lot!