Just read a great post over at
Ton-Fifty-ONE in which Gregg asks, "So where's the best place you've ever ooh-ed and aah-ed [over fireworks]?" What a great blog prompt, eh?
I used to be afraid of fireworks--at least, the big ones. The crazy, low to the ground, spinning and spraying fireworks that people would light off at home after the big, city-sponsored displays? No problem. Which, now that I know more about that whole "safety" thing, strikes me as a bit ironic. To my child-self, however, those big fireworks were scary--they came down
so far in the sky. No matter how much my parents consoled and reassured me, I could not shake the fear that they would not come down to the ground and start us on fire.
Years later, when I in my early 20s and was no longer afraid of fireworks, that actually happened. Although there was no major damage, my friend's jeans had a hole burned in them, and our blanket was not so...salvageable. So, my inner child would like to say, "
SEE? TOLD YOU SO!"
ahem. Oh, was there a question here? Right, best place for fireworks. You know, the most memorable fireworks-watching experiences don't have much at all to do with the actual displays...I'll write about the two that immediately came to mind.
2003,
Blacksburg, Virginia. Steve had moved to Wisconsin that past April, while I remained in Virginia to finish my doctorate. While it was a pretty lonely time, I was fortunate in that I remained where our life had been for the past 5 years. My friends T, D, and C (if I write about them more, they shall be nicknamed, but for now, initials suffice) and I made plans to meet up for the fireworks. We sat on a hill near Blacksburg High school, and waited for dusk. Poor C, who is a musician as well as a scientist, was in agony listening to the not-so-melodic strains of a community orchestra as we waited. It was a perfect night in the Appalachian mountains--the hot July day faded into the embrace of a warm summer evening, the sky was clear, and we chatted about nothing and everything as we awaited the fireworks. Our conversation was peppered with silly asides and inside jokes that had been built over the past year or two, through the shared experiences of navigating our way to adulthood and simply trying to survive graduate school. As the fireworks burst across the sky, I remember feeling content. I was in a beautiful place that had become home, surrounded bycouples finding love for the first--or perhaps fifth-- time, happy families, and groups of friends much like mine. My friends...the ones who cared for me, who made sure I wasn't alone, who just understood me.
That was my last summer in Blacksburg, and I'd be lying if I didn't say I miss it every time I think about it. I can't tell you much about the fireworks, but there was something magical in that evening.
2009: Neenah, WI. When I'm not living 950 miles away from my hometown, my 4th of July is always spent in Neenah. The 4th is my grandfather's birthday (89th this year!), so the family tradition is that he hosts a cookout in celebration. His house is just one block from the park where they light off the city fireworks, so when I was very young, we would watch the fireworks from his driveway. Then, as I got old enough to walk with the crowds of people we went down to the park (
SCARY) and watched them there (
WHERE I WAS SCARED). The park itself (except for the tennis courts near the streets) is now closed to the public for safety concerns (
SEE? Told you so...AGAIN!), so it's back to the driveway. When I was a teen, I often resented this intrusion on my other, oh-so-cool, holiday plans with friends, but of course now I cherish the tradition.
We arrived at Grandpa's mid-afternoon, where we--me, my parents,grandfather, aunts, and uncle--relaxed for a bit in. Well, some of us relaxed, and my dad got his exercise walking with Matthew as he rode his bicycle around the block....multiple times. Dinner was inside, where my grandfather had the television tuned to PBS and the Lawrence Welk show. I was transported back to Blacksburg, where one of those aforementioned inside jokes with C invoved the Lawrence Welk show, and I impressed my family by dropping a little LW science on them--Norma Zimmer IS the champagne lady, y'all. I know, it doesn't take much. After dinner, we returned outside to chat and wait for dusk...and my dad returned to his round-the-block circuit with Matthew.
There's not much to write here that will make for exciting reading. What did we do? Well, my mom and I sat on the front porch and caught up on local and neighborhood gossip while people-watching (My grandfather's house is prime people-watching on the 4th, as people park on his street and walk down near the park to get a seat as close to the action as allowed). My grandfather was regaled with a rousing rendition of "Happy Birthday", sung by neighbors as they wandered out of their cul-de-sac toward the park. Around 8:30, we arranged our seats onto the driveway and wondered if the fireworks would actually start on time this year. Some neighbors lit off small Roman candles as they waited. Matthew was pretty impressed with those, so the anticipation was building--what would he think of the real fireworks? Would he like them? Would the noise bother my sensitive 4-year-old? Or would he, as in years past, fall asleep before they even started?
When we heard the national anthem being sung from the park across the river, we knew it was time. First, there was a ground display, which we could not see. Then the first arcing light flew into the sky. A hush fell over the neighborhood....pause....hold your breath....and boom! Green and purple blossomed in all directions, and I heard a whisper-shout from Matthew's chair..."WOW!" The show seemed to go on and on this year, and the fireworks seemed somehow bigger, and closer, than they had been before.
After the finale....the rushed goodbyes:
"Happybirthdaythankyouforhavingus!"/"thankYOUforcoming!"/"loveyouhugkissbyebyenow!!!"
as we all rush to our cars, hoping to beat the mad traffic. This is followed by a bit of strategic planning on the part of Steve and myself, as the route home takes us *right* *past* the ONLY exit from Menasha's fireworks. We have been caught in that traffic and detour before, and it makes a longish trip home after a longish day...well, even longer. We decided that we would bypass Menasha entirely, and take a more northerly route home if necessary. As we headed out, we noticed a bit of luck--Menasha's fireworks were, for once, behind Neenah's. They were still going! Maybe we could make it! Regroup-and-restrategize:
"Ok, if they're still going once we hit Midway and 441, we'll take 10 back. If not, we'll have to take 441 north and go through Darboy."
"Ok, but hurry, I think the finale is starting....GREEN LIGHT! GO GO GO!"
(Yes, Steve and I get great amusement by injecting drama into mundane situations. We're a lot of fun. Really!)
Victory! We made it to the critical intersection just at the end of the finale (which was not what I had called the finale initially...all the fireworks seemed somewhat
more this year), and laughed over our triumph.
The rest of the ride home was more relaxed...a sleeping baby, a guessing game of "Who's fireworks are those? ("Appleton? Darboy?" Nah, too far east. "Hilbert?" Maybe!). A small voice from the backseat "Mom, I'm tired of looking at fireworks...." and not 5 minutes later, a sleeping 4-year-old. At home, a comfortable bed, and a deep, grateful sleep. I'm grateful now, for the opportunity to write about these memories, because it brings to mind when I am at my happiest--surrounded by family. By family I was born into, by family I married into, or by family that I've lucked into through other circumstances--those friends that I can be my most ME around. That last family is dynamic, changing, and always, thankfully, growing. For that, I'm pretty darn lucky. "
Wow...!!!" indeed.
(
post title: "Saturday In the Park", Chicago. old skool yeah!)
