tedwords

Anyone who knows me knows that one of my favorite family traditions takes place on July 4, when I pack up the kids and take them to my parents' beach house in Westport.

It's something we've been doing since before I had kids, when I was a kid, actually, around 16 or 17. And it's one of those things that grows more enjoyable, in many ways, with each passing year. I've grown quite dependent on these Independence days.

Of course, things change over time. My grandmother, a staple of these celebrations for so many years, has been gone for five years now. And last year, the party had been cancelled, owing to an illness. My parents own the place with two friends, Cathy and Jim, and Cathy's mother has stopped going, because she spends most of her time in bed, now. Corb couldn't go this year, because he had to work, and I missed him.

Still, it's the touches that endure that I cherish. Chili at two, followed by a paddleboat ride across the pond in the mid-afternoon. Games in the patio of the beach house, and hamburgers at around five. Conversations on the deck. And then, at night, sitting on the beach, watching the firework displays and bonfires taking place across the bay.

Each year has changes and additions, too, of course. This year, my friends Pauline and Jo-Anne. Both of them are heading off to Vermont with us in a few weeks, and they're good company. Jo-Anne knows the value of banter. I like banter. I really enjoyed my conversations with Jim's nephew John, who has been going for many years now, but I've never really spoken to, in depth. It was a nice discovery.

This year, we didn't light a bonfire, but we did have fireworks displays on either side of us, closer than we've ever had before. Our gold standard has always been a fireworks display that Jim's father, who passed away many years ago, set up about fifteen years ago. These were almost as good, although in a laissez faire sort of way, since we had nothing to do with them, directly.

The best part of time is the night time, I think. Sitting in the darkness, in a flimsy folding chair, watching all that's going on around me. Scattered bits of song. Laughter and bickering. Watching the fireworks burst forth, random flickers of light.

I kind of like to think that the ghosts of prior celebrations like to join us at that point. Watching, as I am, those that are assembled, watching all the changes that have taken place. Watching how folks have gotten older, how relationships have changed. Under cover of the darkness, time becomes timeless, years start to blend. This one speck in time becomes bigger than it is, spans the decades, unites for just a moment.

It's the moments of unity that I enjoy most. Under the firework sky.

As usual, yesterday was spent in Tiverton at my parents' beach house.

After three years worth of trips there, I'm pleased to report that Corb has acclimated well into the ways of my people. My mom and dad own the house with another couple, Cathy and Jim. For a while, Cathy would treat him rather rudely and suspiciously, but this year, she was nice as pie. Something just clicked, I guess. My mother spent quite a bit of time going out of her way to make us feel comfortable and, at the least, well fed.

Part of the enjoyment of this day, for me, are the traditions that have been built up over twenty years. Like eating chili and cold pizza at the two in the afternoon, or going for a ride in the paddle boat, or sitting on the beach watching the fireworks, watching the bonfire crackle in front of us. One year, we burned an outhouse, with the toilet seat hanging from the top.

Some of the traditions were broken this year. First off, no bonfire. Lenny is the man behind the bonfires. Each year, he comes to the beach house loaded with discarded wood, enough for at least an hour's worth of entertainment this year. Not so this year.

"Lenny's been banned from the beach house," my dad informed me, with a grin on his face. "His wife divorced him."

"So quickly?" I asked. "What happened?"

"He had an affair two years ago," replied my dad. "Joanne found out about it. Cathy refuses to let him come to the beach house."

(Now that I think of it, this isn't the first time we've not had a bonfire...back in 1998, there was too much rain, and it raised the shoreline so that the beach part of the house was about the size of a postage stamp. I drove my grandmother home early that year, and she tripped on the way in, and hurt herself. That was when I first started getting worried about her health.)

Other things were different, too. Cathy's mother didn't come. She's the last of the silver foxes. Every year, she'd sit on the deck with my grandmother, and they'd trade stories. At some point, Cathy's mother would always bring out a playlist of songs from the twenties, and try to whip up a sing-a-long. Not so, this year. Also, Jim's brother, and his silent family weren't there. They usually travel from New York to be a part of the fun, although they don't say much. his wife just had her stomach stapled, and has lost 35 pounds. I was looking forward to seeing that.

And, as a result of the drizzly rain that fell all day, we didn't sit out on the deck, watching fireworks. However, we did watch them from inside the porch, drinking champagne and sharing stories. And I have to say, that might have even been better.

You know me. It's the stories that I always love. We sat there, between fireworks blasts and sips of champagne, swapping stories about my father and the kids, and Cathy's long-ago rivalry with another teacher, back in the days when my dad was a principal in Warren and Cathy worked for him as a first-grade teacher. Stories of lost pets, like the time Corb fed oatmeal to the fish in his mother's aquarium. And, of course, stories about my grandmother. How she had a talent for trading in on her senior citizen status to get refunds on anything she wanted from store managers. Basketballs that were two years old and deflated. Battered card tables that has seen years of use. And, of course, one infamous time where she was at the grocery store and tried to sneak in a ten dollar off coupon for a turkey into a five dollar purchase.

They don't sound like much, writing them down like that, but they've kept us laughing together for quite some time. Huddled in that small porch, I felt an incredible sense of belonging, and that's something that keeps me coming back, year after year.

As I drove home tonight from the day's journey, I realized that the car was dangerously low on fuel, and I literally sweated out the last five miles of the journey. The gas gauge was well below empty, and the red "feed me" light had been glowing, off and on, for about five minutes, and I was on my fifteenth Hail Mary before I was able to pull over at a gas station.

At eleven at night, the occupants in the car were totally oblivious of my predicament. Ashley and Tiger had long fallen asleep, and Corb, utterly proud of the fact that he had discovered a shorter route home, had valiantly tried staying awake until the final leg of the journey, at which point he let his head drift down to his chin, and in no time at all, he was dead to the world. They pretty much stayed asleep as I hopped out of the car to pump the gas.

The gas station was pretty much the only place open for business at that time of night in the sleepy town of North Eldredge, and the bright lights served as a beacon for every insect in the area. I shut the door and moved to shove in my credit card and fill up the tank, and I realized, as I stood there, minding the hose, that my particular area was infested with large moths, all the color of sand.

As I watched the odometer turn rapidly, I couldn't help but watch the moths hovering around the pump, dancing in the sky, and fluttering up against the pump. My gaze was particularly attracted to two moths, located by the gas nozzel. One was quite still, and almost appeared dead. The one next to him, however, was quite active, and was almost dancing around the lifeless moth, fluttering its wings and moving in drunken circles.

At first I thought it was some kind of weird moth mating thing, but as I continued to watch, it became clear to me that that wasn't the case at all. It was almost as if the moving moth were trying to wake up his friend, who had grown weary of the fight. His friend kept trying to move underneath him, to lift him up, and then, being unsuccessful, would circle around, and try again, at another angle.

Anyway, for some reason, their dance reminded me of the day that I had just spent, which had flown, way too quickly. Today was the day that my parents held an annual Independence day celebration at their litle beachfront property in Tiverton. The day had been enjoyable, even if my father had been somewhat stand-offish and cold, because Corb was there and Josie wasn't. But most in the cast of characters had been on hand, same as they always were for my parent's celebrations. Cathy and Jim, and Cathy's mother and crazy sister, and Jim's brother and silent family, and all my parent's teacher friends, and of course, I brought the kids and Chad (Annie's former boyfriend, now reduced to friend status).

And twenty years ago, I was the age that Annie is now, and driving down with my parents to the same location, which has not, truthfully, changed much in almost two decades. And then, flash forward five years, and I'm driving down with Josie next to me and Annie, just a baby and with a thin swatch of hair barely covering her head. And then, five years more, and Ashley's added to the mix, and then Tiger, and then, two years ago, I'm driving the brood with Chad (this time in boyfriend status) in tow on a hot summer day, and "You're My Best Friend" comes on the radio, and I look over toward Josie and I try not to cry, knowing that this would be the last time that we would all of us be together like that, and wondering what the future would hold.

What I've discovered is, that the future holds more of the same, only slightly reshuffled.

The same rituals still exist. When we first arrived, I had annoyed Corb by saying, several times, "You see, in this land, my people do things this way..." But it's true. Rituals are the glue that holds the whole experience together. A pot of bad chili placed out for snacks at the start of the day. Paddle boat rides. A swim to the rock in the middle of the lake. Cheesburgers and hot dogs on the grill. The same outhouse with pictures, covereed inside with pictures of topless women. Card games, especially an obscure game called Maniac. A bonfire on the beach. Fireworks blasting across the shore, in different locations. My father, growing tired around 9:30, gently but firmly letting us know it was time to go.

The rituals remain, even if the faces change and alter with time. Jim's brother has two boys. I remember them coming to the beachhouse as infants, and swimming, naked, in the water. Now they are grown, the youngest is Annie's age. Bodies change and mature, reach their prime and then start to fade.

And things change. Josie has not been for two years. My grandmother, such an important part of the grouping, is no longer with us, and her homemade red clam chowder is now just a memory, too. Cathy's mother walks with a limp, but she still remains a bright light, with her pocketbook filled with mimeographed pages of lyrics to songs that were popular when she was a girl. Her husband passed away when I was in my teens. Jim's father, the man who supplied us with fireworks ever year, passed away over a decade ago.

If only all of this could coexist in the same world, could come together into one big party. If only past and present and future could collide, and the day could be vivid and colorful and absent of any sadness or distress. If only Nana could be back, with her pot of red chowder, and Jim's dad with the fireworks, and the hundreds of people who have taken off their shoes and have enjoyed this beach sand between their feet, could soak up the sun for one long summer day.

If only. But like moths, we are only given a finite time frame, and it all passes by and changes so damn quickly. Here I am one moment, young and tan and horny and good looking, and then, there I am, years later, and...well. I guess some things just don't change.

But they will. And something occurred to me, tonight, as I was sitting next to Corb, with Tiger on my lap and my mother by my side, as we watched the bonfire start to die down on the beach, and my mother and I sang patriotic songs while Ashley danced with sparklers in her hand. Suddenly, Cathy moved toward us, with a camera in her hand, and snapped a picture. And it hit me, like an automatic reflex. "This is the way I want this picture to look for some time to come."

I look forward to this day every year. I want to look forward to it for many more years to come.

Happy July 4th, everyday.

My goal is to spend the entire day compter free, enjoying my kids and my best friend, and the gang that hangs out at my parents' beach house in Tiverton for their annual July 4th celebration. That's it. A simply day, with nothing but smiles and fireworks.

I love you all, my fellow LJ-ers...and a special hello to my new friends this week, secretsguardian and gwendraith!