Saturday, February 17, 2007
Cinderella's Worst Nightmare!
Everyone can remember trying to blow up one of those long thin balloons as a child. You could huff and puff until your cheeks turned as red as Santa’s on Christmas Eve, but all was to no avail. Then you learned the secret—grab the rubber by the tip, pull and then blow. It worked almost every time. Once it was fully inflated, nothing was more fun (as a child, of course) than to put two fingers on the lips of the balloon and pull and then let the air go screeching out. It was always great fun the first three or four times, until Mom had had enough and put a stop to it. Another big deal was to buy one of those helium-filled balloons at the fair, take it home—if it survived that long—and let it float against the ceiling. Then the betting began: who could predict when it would lose its air and topple to the floor? Hey! Things were kind of slow back in them good old days. A well-tied balloon might possibly make it for two days, but by then it was a shriveled little piece of its former self. Maybe not much bigger than two of your fingers. Most of the time it would simply fall to the floor during the middle of the night when no one was watching. Hey! Things were not that slow during the good old days.
Skip about 50 something years to the present. My granddaughter had come to Florida to celebrate her 4th birthday and we just happened to be close by. We all indulged in a bit of cake at Chef Mickey’s. Then she visited one of Disney’s Theme Parks where she received a celebration token that would last forever—a Cinderella Balloon. This was no cheap latex or rubber version, but a top of the line Mylar product filled with half a cylinder of helium. The Mylar had two extensions shaped like castle turrets and was anchored by three heavy, plastic Mickey heads to keep it from flying off into the wild blue yonder. It was a great keepsake but it just was not going to be able to make the plane trip back home. My daughter asked me if I would take it with us in our car when we returned. Not knowing exactly what I was in for, I agreed. It would make its way back to Houston in one piece and would be used over and over again—a nice accoutrement for her Cinderella dress.
Now not having had all that experience with Mylar balloons, I expected it to lose much, if not all, of its helium in the next week. However, after three days there was no recognizable sign of any air lost. It still needed all three Mickey heads to anchor it. So I decided to provide a little assistance of my own. I carefully loosened the red ribbon that locked in its precious supply of air. I could not feel any air movement on my face or hand. What the heck! Remembering the slow leak time of my youth, I decided to give it 24 hours to start coming apart. After another 24 hours there was still no visible loss of lift. This was going to be more difficult than I had ever imagined. Working very carefully at the air-input hole, I carefully pried apart the sealed area—expecting to feel a loud swoosh or possibly that childhood screeching noise. But, there was only dead silence. I gave it a grandfatherly hug and still there was only silence. I gave it a powerful bear hug and still nothing. I then fashioned from a sheet of paper a hollow roll that I inserted in the balloon to aid in the escape of the air. I went to bed. I had already figured out that things could still move pretty slow even in the 21st century.
The next morning I awoke, poured myself a cup of coffee and wandered over to look at that darn balloon. There were a few wrinkles that I had not noticed earlier. I felt encouraged. I pressed on the Mylar expecting to hear that long awaited swoosh. Nothing but the sounds of Silence. This was rapidly becoming very annoying. Maybe my hollow roll was not allowing any air to escape—discernable or indiscernible. I then did something very stupid. I placed my makeshift straw in my mouth and blew. The castle expanded and threatened to burst at its seams. OK. Unless there was some unknown air lock, air could enter Cinderella humble abode and presumably could exit as well. The only thing was—it wasn’t.
I then remembered all of those science experiments from years ago. I decided to suck out some of that air. If my wife suddenly heard a very high-pitched voice and ran to see what stranger was in our room, I would know that my new experiment had succeeded. I said “something” in a very loud voice. I sounded normal to myself. My wife simply ignored me completely as she always does in a time like this.
More drastic measures were needed as we were scheduled to get in the car with that “thing” in less than 24 hours. I went to the car and found an unused straw still in its pristine wrapper. I unwrapped it and carefully inserted it through my makeshift straw. I thought that I felt a slight wisp of air on my cheek, but I could simply be delusional by now. I decided that it was time for another prolonged bear hug. After 5 minutes of unrelenting pressure, I thought I detected a wrinkle where there had been no wrinkle just a few minutes earlier. Another five minutes and a definite wrinkle appeared. Unless the air was re-positioning itself, this was really working. After a total of 30 minutes, the balloon seemed to have lost maybe 5 percent of its volume. About two hours later, the air was completely gone and Cinderella and her castle now resembled a crumpled good-for-nothing frog. I retired for the night.
The next morning I awoke and poured myself a cup of coffee and wandered over to take a last gander at the Mylar before packing it away in my suitcase. Somehow it had managed to partly resuscitate itself and was back to 5 percent of its original size. Cheez! Why can’t they just make thing like they used to!
Everyone can remember trying to blow up one of those long thin balloons as a child. You could huff and puff until your cheeks turned as red as Santa’s on Christmas Eve, but all was to no avail. Then you learned the secret—grab the rubber by the tip, pull and then blow. It worked almost every time. Once it was fully inflated, nothing was more fun (as a child, of course) than to put two fingers on the lips of the balloon and pull and then let the air go screeching out. It was always great fun the first three or four times, until Mom had had enough and put a stop to it. Another big deal was to buy one of those helium-filled balloons at the fair, take it home—if it survived that long—and let it float against the ceiling. Then the betting began: who could predict when it would lose its air and topple to the floor? Hey! Things were kind of slow back in them good old days. A well-tied balloon might possibly make it for two days, but by then it was a shriveled little piece of its former self. Maybe not much bigger than two of your fingers. Most of the time it would simply fall to the floor during the middle of the night when no one was watching. Hey! Things were not that slow during the good old days.
Skip about 50 something years to the present. My granddaughter had come to Florida to celebrate her 4th birthday and we just happened to be close by. We all indulged in a bit of cake at Chef Mickey’s. Then she visited one of Disney’s Theme Parks where she received a celebration token that would last forever—a Cinderella Balloon. This was no cheap latex or rubber version, but a top of the line Mylar product filled with half a cylinder of helium. The Mylar had two extensions shaped like castle turrets and was anchored by three heavy, plastic Mickey heads to keep it from flying off into the wild blue yonder. It was a great keepsake but it just was not going to be able to make the plane trip back home. My daughter asked me if I would take it with us in our car when we returned. Not knowing exactly what I was in for, I agreed. It would make its way back to Houston in one piece and would be used over and over again—a nice accoutrement for her Cinderella dress.
Now not having had all that experience with Mylar balloons, I expected it to lose much, if not all, of its helium in the next week. However, after three days there was no recognizable sign of any air lost. It still needed all three Mickey heads to anchor it. So I decided to provide a little assistance of my own. I carefully loosened the red ribbon that locked in its precious supply of air. I could not feel any air movement on my face or hand. What the heck! Remembering the slow leak time of my youth, I decided to give it 24 hours to start coming apart. After another 24 hours there was still no visible loss of lift. This was going to be more difficult than I had ever imagined. Working very carefully at the air-input hole, I carefully pried apart the sealed area—expecting to feel a loud swoosh or possibly that childhood screeching noise. But, there was only dead silence. I gave it a grandfatherly hug and still there was only silence. I gave it a powerful bear hug and still nothing. I then fashioned from a sheet of paper a hollow roll that I inserted in the balloon to aid in the escape of the air. I went to bed. I had already figured out that things could still move pretty slow even in the 21st century.
The next morning I awoke, poured myself a cup of coffee and wandered over to look at that darn balloon. There were a few wrinkles that I had not noticed earlier. I felt encouraged. I pressed on the Mylar expecting to hear that long awaited swoosh. Nothing but the sounds of Silence. This was rapidly becoming very annoying. Maybe my hollow roll was not allowing any air to escape—discernable or indiscernible. I then did something very stupid. I placed my makeshift straw in my mouth and blew. The castle expanded and threatened to burst at its seams. OK. Unless there was some unknown air lock, air could enter Cinderella humble abode and presumably could exit as well. The only thing was—it wasn’t.
I then remembered all of those science experiments from years ago. I decided to suck out some of that air. If my wife suddenly heard a very high-pitched voice and ran to see what stranger was in our room, I would know that my new experiment had succeeded. I said “something” in a very loud voice. I sounded normal to myself. My wife simply ignored me completely as she always does in a time like this.
More drastic measures were needed as we were scheduled to get in the car with that “thing” in less than 24 hours. I went to the car and found an unused straw still in its pristine wrapper. I unwrapped it and carefully inserted it through my makeshift straw. I thought that I felt a slight wisp of air on my cheek, but I could simply be delusional by now. I decided that it was time for another prolonged bear hug. After 5 minutes of unrelenting pressure, I thought I detected a wrinkle where there had been no wrinkle just a few minutes earlier. Another five minutes and a definite wrinkle appeared. Unless the air was re-positioning itself, this was really working. After a total of 30 minutes, the balloon seemed to have lost maybe 5 percent of its volume. About two hours later, the air was completely gone and Cinderella and her castle now resembled a crumpled good-for-nothing frog. I retired for the night.
The next morning I awoke and poured myself a cup of coffee and wandered over to take a last gander at the Mylar before packing it away in my suitcase. Somehow it had managed to partly resuscitate itself and was back to 5 percent of its original size. Cheez! Why can’t they just make thing like they used to!
