2002-07-05 - 9:59 p.m.
For a moment, when I woke up this morning, I thought it was Monday and my mind was just swimming through that vague dread of another week. And then I remembered, It's get-ready-for-the-trip-day.... and the dread vanished. I've always wondered where my spirit is, in those moments halfway between asleep and awake, when I've lost touch with the current details, and my life is only some half-remembered sensations.
The fourth of July was a quiet day at home for us, which is something of a luxury in our over-committed lives. Skootie got lots of birthday calls and we went out for afternoon hot fudge sundaes as sort of a mini-celebration. Mostly we were waiting for evening when we were meeting her parents for a Nice Dinner at an Expensive Restaurant. They enjoy fine dining and know: the best places to go, the difference between various expensive bottles of wine, the pronunciation of Foreign Language Entrees, etc. So we are sitting at an immaculately linen swathed table beneath an enormous stained glass dome, toasting Skooties birthday. And I became aware that my Restaurant Jinx was rearing its ugly head: we were seated near an out-of-control toddler. (This happens to me more than anyone else I know. Sometimes I think the very fact that I walk into a restaurant must be like a siren call to parents of toddlers everywhere...."Eeeeaat out. Taaaake the kids...") So this toddler, of the impish grin and head of bright red curly hair, let out a few blood-curdling shrieks which I tolerated quite well. But then she began to HIT a large chocolate, whipped cream & raspberry dessert with a spoon. Which of course sent a spray of sticky chocolate, whipped creme and raspberry particles flying in MY direction. As I wiped off my arm, I actually turned around and gave the child's parents a WITHERING LOOK. Which did absolutely no good. Not that I'm surprised, because parents who would allow their child to scream and hit desserts in fancy restaurants are beyond being shamed by a look. But I can't resist trying.
Other than that, it was a nice occasion in what is increasingly a rather surrealistic holiday. All the fireworks.... big fireworks.... explosions.... kept going off all day and all night. By the time we were making our way home, the air was thick and hazy with smoke and smelled of gunpowder. I felt like I was driving through a scene from Apocalypse Now. Despite the fact that we supposedly have a city ordinance against it. But all you have to do is cross a county line to buy all the explosives you can light. I heard that the best selling fireworks this year were printed with the likeness of Osama Bin Laden. So we have another opportunity for the masses to make empty, macho gestures around the concept of patriotism. You can't take away our right to burn money and make loud noises.
I was walking the dog when I found it among all the fireworks litter on the street: the perfect relic of our national gunpowder frenzy. A little cardboard tower (Made in China) labeled "Rising Flag" which was supposed to send a little American flag up on a little paper spiral when ignited. And it did. It stood there, slightly scorched, with the little flag waving......upside down.
Early in the a.m. we will be on the road, with Mother Superior loaded with duffel bags, groceries, dog and dog kennel, art supplies, cameras, books, guitars, and everything else we expect to need in a teeny-tiny town where we have never been before, apparently miles from anywhere we have been.
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