Bubbles in Chicago
Ain’t life grand? In the image above, a boy and his bubble are captured by photographer, Marvin E. Newman, in 1950s Chicago. Immediately coming to mind at first glance was the moment of both intention and anticipation: chewing the gum so one can blow a bubble and the feeling as one pushes and blows, defying gravity as it expands. Exhilarating.
Do grownups play with bubbles? Do they ever do it when kids aren’t around?
I’m thinking of bubbles— in this case, the bubbles of egg whites that make glorious meringue and the ones rising to the top of a glass just glistening. That same moment of the ephemeral guides our anticipation. From the moment of the cork’s pop!, it’s a race to consume the nectar before it transforms from bubbly to dissipation. It holds us in the present, encouraging us to celebrate and drink. The bubbles tickle our tongues. The meringue, on the other hand, teases us with its grand architecture of white bubbles (without a trace of yellow yolk that would impede liftoff). For a little while, these bubbles are impossibly stable, easily piled up and shaped into mountains for Baked Alaska or pavlovas.
