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07/05/11 - (1)
Thendependence Day
All steamy, sunny Monday, it seems to you and me, Linda, We can barely keep pace with the frenetic energy of the holiday. We squeeze in a visit to my ninety-six-year-old mother, Who's been living alone, in her house, for eight years now, After we finish lunch at Brio (which the kids rename "Burrito").
Half an hour later, "Nanny" insists on Savvy and Parker staying "Just another few minutes," "just a little bit longer," Before wishing them a quavering "Please come back, next year." Then, we're off again, this time to my high-rise, for swimming, Then to Stir Crazy, for a pan-Asian dinner, then...then...
Then, once more, we're on our July Fourth odyssey, Hoping, against near-impossible odds, to find a parking spot, On the inordinately choked residential streets of Webster Groves, Somewhere close to Elm and Glendale — the heart of the carnival, Over which, in forty-five minutes, the pyrotechnics will explode —
Then succeeding, deftly, at sardining our car into a street crease, Then casting our blanket onto an unviolated patch of grass, Settling in long enough to decide we have minutes enough To explore the buoyant pandemonium in the valley below, Look for Icees (settling for kettle corn), amidst the twisted lines.
Then, at 9:45, the lights on the Tilt-a-Whirl, Ferris wheel, carousel, Oval roller coaster, giant pendulum, runway vendors' tents go dark. The sky is a garden of rocket-pollinated phosphorescent blossoms. Booming, hissing, sizzling missiles, shells, and Roman candles Razzle-dazzle the four of us, with patriotic fervor.
Then, following the torrent of revelers, draining in every direction, We choose one main stream, which eventually deposits us at our car. Then, we're home — Fourth of July-eyed, unusually quiet. Then there's a snack of raspberries, a glass of milk, blueberries. Then it's sleep, color-cascading dreams, for Savvy, Parker, us.
07/05/11 - (1)
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