The elusiveness of presence

Cleo and I have found what I consider the perfect playground. In Rodgers Forge, an enclave that's locally famous for its family-centeredness, there's an irregular rectangle, bounded by two small lanes and two rows of brick houses and punctuated by a large grassy area and leafy trees. Near the western end of the rectangle are two large swing sets, a slide, a jungle gym, a generous two-part sandbox (that's filled with more than a dozen communally owned toy dump trucks, in tomato red, and bulldozers, in standard-issue bright yellow), and a towering play set for the 5-and-over crowd. Nicely sited benches - just far enough; just near enough - gather around the playground. And sunlight, on most days, filters through the maple leaves. It reminds me of some of the greatest small-scale urban spaces I've ever seen: of Connecticut town greens; of the main square of Telc, in Bohemia; of the Place Halfaouine, in Tunis.

Still not impressed? Maybe I should have mentioned the Mary Poppins-like figure who moved through the crowd today, passing out her card, in case anyone should need a nanny. Or the ice cream truck that pulled up - almost laughable in the way that it completed the iconic picture - this evening, broadcasting its recorded melodies. Or the fact that the playground even seems to have an ethos of conversation: the neighborhood's website even boasts of the sociability of most of the comers. Sure enough, I've had several pleasant conversations - and, in one, learned that the current gossip on the playground involves the forced removal of a number of toy houses that had once dotted the grounds, in a sort of idyllic inversion of a shantytown.

So, in short: it's great. But, even so, as Cleo usefully erected small pools of mulch on the base of the slide, I looked around - and saw three caretakers on cell phones. No big deal, I suppose, but the image struck me, likely because I'd just heard, on NPR, a story about how the availability of cell phones and e-mail has dramatically changed the experience of Peace Corps volunteers. You used to have no choice but to integrate, remembered a volunteer stationed in Zaire in 1982. But now volunteers Skype with their U.S.-based friends in the evening, or follow a ballgame online, instead of attending the local pig roast. Or, similarly, moms and nannies converse with husbands, or partners, or doctors, over the phone, instead of talking to their children, or to the dad pushing the swing a few steps away. Even in the presence of beautiful play, we seem (and I do mean we: L. texted me while I was there, and I'll admit to reading her note) to want to be, on some level, elsewhere, as well.

But wait. Look at Cleo. There she is, pointing to a bucket swing, kicking excitedly, being put in... and then pointing, within a minute, to the next swing over. And then, moved to that one, yapping about the see saw across the lot, unhappy until she's taken there - at which point, she'll want to move on to the jungle gym.

It's hard, in short, to be completely satisfied with the present. Even given lovely surroundings, we wonder, quickly, how things might lie elsewhere. And, elsewhere, people likely wish they were on a playground, besparkled and lambent.