A crisp Monday morning.
Jones abandons our Leggo project and runs to the front window.
It’s Ted!
Ted works for our landlord– who owns several properties on the street– as a kind of handy man. He salts the sidewalks, moves garbage bins from one spot to another, waters bushes, and generally makes himself present and helpful in all the small ways that matter. He’s small, bent. Ancient, like he came from a land that no longer exists. It’s impossible to know his age or understand his language, but everybody adores him, thinking of him as a kind of mythological creature who might just vanish into the earth each night.
Jones is banging on the window, shouting out his name.
Ted looks up from the garbage bins he’s pushing down the street, sees Jones and starts blowing kisses. Jones blowing kisses back. Me, also. And it goes on like this, the three of us blowing kisses to one another through the window, everything urgent, everything small and true.
The video is of the Italian Air Force flying maneuvers while a recording of Pavoratti plays. Deeply moving.