Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Wandering Wednesdays: The Spark



Happy Fourth of July!

By the time you read this post, I will be in Scotland with limited computer access. I didn't want the blog to be empty for the entire month while I was gone, so I decided to schedule some posts ahead of time. 

This is one of those posts. 

Since I am not actually in Scotland as I am writing this (am I confusing anyone yet?), I can only guess at what I will be doing and feeling and hoping and thinking on July 4th. This is the plan for July 2nd-6th, according to my itinerary: 

"Transfer to the Isle of Sky, where you will learn about Scotland's largely unknown 'Highland Clearances.' Discover the culture and history of the indigenous Scots who used the sea as their livelihood. Like they did, you will get a chance to try your hand at sea kayaking, fishing, and archery."

So maybe I will be climbing into a kayak or standing on the bank of a river or positioning an arrow on a bow when this post is published. Whatever I am doing, I'm sure that my mind will be far away from parades and red-white-and-blue and fireworks. 

But right now, I am thinking about all of those things. 

When I was little, my family would travel on the Fourth of July to a little town in Nebraska where several of my incredible relatives live. My parents had a business for a few years called "Clowning Around." They owned an inflatable bounce house and a balloon typhoon, and we would travel around setting them up at fairs and parties throughout the summer. On the Fourth of July, they would set up the bounce house and balloon typhoon in the local park where the celebration was held. My sister and I would run wild, wading around in the swimming pool to cool off, devouring our parade candy, watching the sun set from the playground. Those are some of the happiest memories I have. 

One summer, when we still lived in Nebraska, my mom and sister and I traveled to Santa Fe to visit my grandmother. On the night of the Fourth, we ventured to the high school stadium where the fireworks were set off. We lay down on blankets on the grass. The fireworks were so much larger than the ones I was used to. I remember the way I felt, watching them go off overhead, as if the trails of sparks were going to land right on top of me and set me ablaze. 

It is hard for me to imagine what the world was actually like when the Declaration of Independence was signed. It seems so far away, so mythologized and yet so unimaginable. To me, the Fourth of July has always meant family. Home. The way that it felt to run around barefoot in the park, my mother and father close by, their laughter echoing through the evening air. The way that it felt to lie beside my sister and mother in the grass, gasping as each firework went off, mesmerized and safe and just the tiniest bit afraid. 

I have wandered far from that place where I ran barefoot, where I lay with my mother and sister. That world has trailed off into the night sky, and it will never come again, but there is something in its place. A spark, a beginning, and I will grasp onto it, and I will watch it come alive. 


My sister, last year, watching fireworks from the playground where we used to watch them as children. 

(Image one via The Bean and the Bear.)

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