04 July 2011

7/4/11 or 4/7/11. whatever.

I can hear fireworks but not see them, here in my treehouse. I think the fireworks in town might be behind the trees, and I might miss them all together.


Just as I wrote that, I began to see fireworks. They are not the big, professional fireworks. They are the expensive, illegal, individual kind. They spark off in all directions.

Once before, in this country, I missed a professional fireworks display on July 4th. That was three years ago, and we rode the bucket truck up, in turns, to watch the individual kind go off at random almost 360 degrees around.

We rode the bucket truck up again today, at the K.s', just to see. To see the Mountain Visible from Gone West, and the other one, those two that I miss so much. To see the hills curling round protectively. To see the house below, and to wave down to the people.

"Grandma!" Little J. called, as his grandma rode up and up. "Grandma! Do I look like a toy?"

My momma is here, and the drive back down to Universe City, still painful when there is grilling and swimming going on back there, at home, was slightly less awful than usual. (I called the K.s' house home today, to my momma, as we were sitting under a tree after I threw candy from the back of D.'s fire truck in the parade. "I want to go home," I said, and she said, "To [Universe City]?" "No," I said, "to the K.s' house.") But at least with a passenger there was conversation and I could point things out: the town where R. lived for a year, the highway where a high speed chase went on, the turn toward downtown.

I love having my momma around.

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