Saturday, July 05, 2008
Digging my toes into the sand at Pt. Mugu, eagerly awaiting the fireworks soon to explode over the Pacific Ocean. Bonfires everywhere. My dad parks the Ford Galaxy alongside the road and walking, walking, walking.
Fireworks above the pier in Ventura. Cool ocean breeze. After a day in the sun my skin burns warm. Salty ocean air.
Shooting bottle rockets on the farm, out by the pond. One after another, my brother and cousins are out there all day. My aunts churn ice cream by hand. Jello salad. Laughter. Kansas corn grows and at night the lightening bugs glow. My mom talks about making jewelry as a child, with the glowing parts of lightening bugs. This day is a whole different world for me to know, of family, calm, love and simplicity. I’m at peace.
Fires burn across the Northern California valleys, sunset glows hot red. No fireworks with so much smoke in the air.
The last year my sister still lived in the states, we drove into the Conejo hills in the truck, hoping to get a view of the fireworks. Up, up, the scent of sagebrush and butterscotch, traffic lines the 101 with headlights. But the sky is dark and fireworks are far away, but there. We sit with the back of the truck open, silent, together, for the last time in a long, long time.
The climbing panda and spinning pagoda, hung from the old oak tree in front of the little pink stucco house in Chico. Must have been 100 degrees that night, but some of the best fireworks I ever had. The smell of that river in Chico stays with me to this day. I smelled it that night, when we swam, in the dark night, laughing.
And tonight? A new one. A new memory. Of baseball and friends and fireworks. We’re lucky to have such great friends and good times. And good seats!
And did I tell you? The Portland Beavers were down 3-0, and in the bottom of the 8th? Scored once, then twice, followed by a Grand Slam, and a few additional hits, to come out 8-3 victors. God bless America. Now that’s the way to play baseball.