It’s March and when I was a kid that meant kite flying weather. When I was very little (I really was), it was gathering around the kitchen table watching my older brothers construct them out of newspapers or paper grocery bags while begging our mom for old nylons to make a tale. Then we’d head outside where success and failure were met on the old Parade Grounds at Ft. Des Moines. If I was lucky one of them would offer to let me hold the string for a short time, secretly hoping I would get tangled and a strong gust of wind would drag me off to Missouri. These were scientific experiments extraordinaire as they adjusted the tail and string locations to get the best height. I couldn’t wait to purchase my 10 cent Hi Flyer, no cutting or pasting this was a state of the art, guaranteed to fly pieces of perfection. If I remember right, it had a warning that it shouldn’t be flown within 50 miles of an airport. Unfortunately by the time I bought my first kite my brothers had retired from aviation and moved on to “icky” girls. I must admit I’m still tempted to hit the wild blue yonder again and might, it’s just at 70 the observers are seeking help for your dementia.