“There just isn’t enough craziness in the world. Murderous insanity, yes. But not good-natured craziness.” — Robin Wayne Bailey, fantasy author.

In happier times, when everyone’s health was better, friends of mine would gather once or twice a year on the corner of 38th Terrace and Southwest Trafficway in Kansas City to blow soap bubbles. (Photos) The recipe is simple: warm weather, twilight, Lawrence Welk music, three or four gallons of bubble soap, and all the bubble toys you can scrounge up at today’s equivalent of the five and dime.

A recent email discussion reminded me that we haven’t done that in a while. My collection of bubble toys sits idle on the porch, used only once since that last bubble party three years ago. When my nieces visited last summer, I cleaned them off and evicted the spiders and bought a new bottle of soap. It was fun, but it just wasn’t the same.

Kids blow bubbles on the front lawn because they’re kids and it’s fun. Adults blow bubbles in traffic as a benevolent act of madness. And it’s fun.