July fourth afternoon, we gathered at Uncle Herman and Aunt Virginia's home for barbecue and swimming. Steaks for the adults, hot dogs for the kids. Uncle Herman built a big pool for occasions such as this, in the middle of his expansive desert backyard
I grew up with 27 cousins and a strong family story. Everyone gathered on Christmas Eve; we visited cousins' houses on Christmas morning, and the first thing my uncles did when they came into our house was beeline to the fridge. Of course we spent the Fourth of July together.
After we swam and ate, everyone drove to the warehouse, sat on the dock, and watched fireworks. The male cousins, when old enough, lit the fireworks-- this always made me nervous, as did watching my father, who lit matches and ran away in what seemed barely in the nick of time.
While raising our family, Tony and I rarely purchased fireworks. We found a field, brought snacks and blankets, and made ourselves comfortable staring up at the stars waiting for the city fireworks to start. Surrounded by little girls, laughter and awe, it's another beautiful image in my memory montage.
And so it was last night.
When we bought the house in which we are now living, one of our first thoughts was won't this be great for watching fireworks. The previous homeowners thought so too, and put their leave time after the fourth so they could enjoy one last grand Fourth of July celebration.
On Independence day night, after potato salad, watermelon, and baked beans, we built a fire and roasted marshmallows for s'mores. We did so, as the entire valley lit up with fireworks--from mini explosions to spectacular bursts, and when it was dark, grand firework shows from two cities, began.
Our daughters present, spoke of past years on this deck, doing the same thing year after year, with little variety except for the people present, a different potato salad recipe, or everyone a year older.
There's comfort in the year-after-year of life.
The more things change, the more we cherish the same.
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