By John R. Greenwood
|Bottle #1 Release Point|
As I prepare to release Bottle #4 back into the wild I thought I should probably provide some evidence that Bottle’s #1,#2, and #3 were actually released, and done so in areas where I hoped they would find a good home. We may never know where they now reside. They might be on display on a kitchen window sill, or a rustic fireplace mantel. They could be on the debris covered floor of someones car or on a cluttered workbench in someones cold garage. They could be on the top floor of one of Saratoga’s spanking new condos or in the living room of someone’s 1800s farmhouse out by the lake. Wherever they are, I’m enjoying running all the scenarios through my head.
|Bottle #2 Release Point|
When I first thought of the idea of leaving a message on a bottle I thought I would leave my contact info with them. The more I played with the idea, the more I liked the idea of leaving the connecting to chance. Chance has played a large part in this blog and in my life. I have made countless connections simply by relying on instinct—and a little serendipity. Although I grew up in the 60’s I have to admit I never knew the meaning of that word until I started this blog. Now serendipity seems to seep into every crevice of my life.
This experiment generates the same excitement as buying a lottery ticket. You know the chances are slim that you’ll wake up rich, yet it's carrying around the thought that theres that ever-so-slight chance it could. The adage, “You gotta be in it, to win it,” holds true with bottle releases. Although it’s a simplistic practice there’s a sense of wonder about it. You think your cell phone will ring at any moment and a message or email will pop up from someone letting you know they have Bottle #1 in their possession and they just wanted to let me know it was safe and sound. Best case scenario—finding it made their day.
|Bottle #3 Release Point|
When all is said and done, it’s a fun and harmless way to stay engaged in the world around me. Like fishing for stories on the streets of the city where I was born. Like metal detecting, hoping to unearth a relic inches below the surface. Like throwing out a line with a big fat nightcrawler on the other end.
Hey, you never know.
Call me crazy. Get in line.