Middle of the middle.

Here we are, just past the Fourth of July, with its blaze and hot dogs, its smoke and ambivalence. At least that's how it was for me. Luckily, I got to see my dad during the day, and we--the historian and I--went downtown to see a movie in total spontaneity. Also, ate pizza. The fireworks in my neighborhood went on well after midnight. Bruiser is an old man now, and is not a fan of the neighborhood fireworks. We postponed our walk till we thought it was all over, but no: one family had their entire ranks huddled in the dark on their parking strip, and set off a few rockets in the street. Green and white sparks fountaining up. We were maybe a hundred yards away. Bruiser drew up short, and looked back at us, as if to say, Really? REALLY? And we were all, I KNOW. When the family saw us, they held up their next conflagration until we had passed. Which was nice of them.

In my current roster of democratic (small d) actions, I include the following:

• Writing to my senators all the damn time.
• Reading prescient and pertinent articles out loud to the historian, who is a mensch and a champ.
• Taking small comfort in good things.
• Despairing, and at some volume, and then rallying. 

Small comforts: 

1. the historian was working at a coffee shop, and saw a guy wearing an ACLU tee shirt. The guy was teaching his daughter, about ten, to play chess. The guy told the historian that he'd got the shirt at some ACLU event. So, you know, fellow traveler. Comrade.
2. All those Secretaries of State, telling Kris Kobach to shove it, one way or another. 
3. Talking to my dad and mom so often, hearing their stories, observing their responses to challenges. 
4. Listening to an amazing podcast yesterday, with Danez Smith and Franny Choi interviewing Eve Ewing. 
5. Writing, at least a little bit, every day. Thinking about writing. 

Eve Ewing talked in that podcast about 'desire-based narratives'--rather than writing about oppression and focusing only on what's terrible, thinking about, listening to, what the people involved want, what they long for. That seems small d democratic to me. An idea to conjure with.

It seems like our current predicament--what Danez Smith said called for them, all of us, to pack the apocalypse backpack every day (what's in yours?)--is going to last for awhile. I admit that I hoped that the appointment of a special prosecutor would be a hero on a horse situation, and even though I knew better, I hoped it would come quickly. But nope. (Or, in my favorite Twitter hashtag, which I think I personally devised, but maybe not: #NOPE.)

Anyway, the fire, and the fireworks, are ongoing, and we--I--must figure out not only how to endure, but how to engage, in a way that might possibly be productive. And that's how I'm spending my summer. Also: packing my apocalypse backpack. 

You have got to be kidding me.

It's noon already?

I have only accomplished the following today, on this lazy, pyrotechnical holiday:

• waking up late
• thinking about my family scattered hither and yon
• taking my regular long walk, but later than usual, but that was okay because: not so hot
• blueberry pancakes, making and eating
• pulling spent blooms off the nicotiana
• making a desultory list of stuff I could/should/might do today
• sitting on the patio and reading a few pages
• admiring my back yard

--all good things, to be sure.

I woke up this morning around four to hear the sound of water. It didn't sound like sprinklers. I feared that it might be a swamp cooler malfunction. I lay there and considered it. I got up and looked out the window. It sounded like rain. I went out on the back patio: rain indeed. So I stayed outside to be in it, sort of--on the chaise looking out at the world, the light still dim. Then there was a muffled burst of lightning, which sent me back indoors. Because my patio roof is metal, and I'm safety conscious like that.

Fireworks bike ride.

Since it's already summer vacation, a holiday is less of a big deal than it might ordinarily be to me, except that the historian gets a break, which is great. I started my day with a bike ride around the neighborhood, which allowed me to check on my favorite gardens and also think deep thoughts. The historian took his bike ride on the Jordan River Parkway, where he saw a kingfisher.

This evening around nine, I said, "Is it too late for a little bike ride?"

He looked out our window and said, "Mmm, probably...well--maybe not."

So we hurried out and got on our bikes while the light faded. As it turned out, it was just in time for the neighborhood fireworks. So we rode around while people were setting off their fireworks, little and big.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then, later, there were a few sparklers:

 

 

 

...and a few more fireworks in the sky:

 

 

 

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The Fourth.

Around 10:15, we took Bruiser out for a walk. The air was warm and more than a little smoky. The sound of the fireworks igniting, from the park a few blocks away but also through the neighborhood and one neighborhood over, volleyed and ricocheted. Light constellated. It aneurysmed. It blew like dandelions gone to seed, again and again.

I disapproved of the fireworks, but I admit it: I thought they were beautiful.

Fine, Fourth of July.

More evidence that I am a holiday-hating crank: ugh, fireworks. Unless I can watch them without any effort on my part, to wit: driving to a giant park; parking in a giant parking lot; hanging out with the humanity while we wait FOREVER for the fireworks to start; watching the fireworks (the good part, for sure--I totally concede this); gathering up your damp blanket and your whatnot and surging, slowly, with the humanity toward the exits; finding your car; getting into your car and burning up fossil fuel FOREVER while everyone else exits before you; getting home exhausted.

Go ahead, judge me. I can hear you from here: (A), take the train, why don't you? (TWO), what about freedom? and independence? and so forth? (c), grouch. (I respond: (A), good idea! why don't YOU take the train?, (TWO) freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose (or something like that), (c), don't I know it.)

The best recent fireworks happened up in Idaho the last couple of years, where we basically drove two minutes down the road, sat on a blanket on top of sagebrush while the owners of the Grub Stake Market put on a swell fireworks show across Highway 20. There was no "Proud to be an American" hoo-ha, just lots of light and gunpowder drift and so forth, oohing and aaahing from both sides of the road, and when it was over, we drove two minutes back home. It was awesome. Basically, all the good parts and almost none of the grouchy parts.

But hey! We're having a BBQ at my daughter's house, so that will be great. And here's a photo of the Idaho fireworks from last year:

And here's a little mix of relevant America songs, courtesy of Scotland daughter's mixing talents:

And in conclusion, some American things I love: the Gettysburg Address; Frederick Douglass's autobiography; the Declaration of Independence; blueberries; watermelon; ice cream; Title IX; basketball; the movies; hot dogs (don't get me started); Target; Yellowstone; the great rivers of the West; the Idaho bluebird and the Western tanager; community colleges (for real); my whole dang family; and the persistent hope, however slim, of the electoral process.

Happy Fourth, everyone, however you celebrate.

Forth and back and forth again.

This is the summer of Idaho.

I have already been up and back and up and back and up and back again. The first time was an educational mission, where my folks showed us the ropes about opening the cabin for the season.

The second time was with my oldest friend. After all these years, we had never taken a trip there together. It was sublime.

This time, my brother and his wife were there, along with their daughter (my niece), my darling auntie Sal and her son, singing son and his lovely wife and child. There were:

Bison. Aplenty.

The baby.

Birthday cake.

Big rigs. And also:

Stuff blowing up in the sky.

Hope your weekend was awesome, too. I'll be back in Idaho soon, working on my manuscript and getting all chilled out before my school preparations commence. Won't that be nice?