Every three years (since the 1970s!) my family has gathered, converging on an unsuspecting city or town to engage and reconnect with one another. Needless to say, between 150 and 300 of us showing up each reunion, we have one hell of a good time.
This year, we met up in New Orleans (my first time in NOLA!) and man did we party and eat and drink and celebrate our roots!
Watch out Sacramento, we’ll be seeing you in 2018!
I’ve always had a soft spot for the 4th of July. Nothing to do with Americana or patriotism, but rather the thrill of fireworks. I love feeling the quick boom of thunder rattle through my whole being, the mix of smoke and glitter filling the otherwise black sky, and the illumination of peoples faces around me, faces raised in awe…
But ever since moving to New York it has been quite difficult to replicate such an experience. Gone are the days where I can head out west and lay on a blanket in a sparsely populated field to take in the local fireworks display. Now I’m crammed, shoulder to shoulder with the city of New York, all of us hoping for a glimpse of the spectacular displays.
I took a bus to Brooklyn Bridge park and spent nine hours camped out in what I believed to the be the perfect spot. I weathered the gloomy skies, cold winds, and the petulant indecisive rain. Eventually the sun crept out between the clouds and the warmth of the summer day brought locals and tourists alike by the hordes. I preferred my quiet spot of grass in the rain over the crammed bodies that the summer sun provided. But what is one to do? Jess showed too, bringing a nice can of cool beer with her. I finished Revolutionary Road, she colored Abbi Jacobson’s book, and waiting for the display to begin we engaged in a game of Marry.Fuck.Kill. There was a particularly hard round that involved Bill Self, The Morris Twins and LeBron James ;D
And much to my dismay (but I didn’t dwell on it) the fireworks began out of sight. We heard them. We felt them. But initially we couldn’t see them and that is when we discovered I had picked the absolutely worst spot. The gaseous and fiery display of light exploded over the dense tree tops instead of over the Brooklyn Bridge. Oh wells. I still craned my neck to catch what I could I relished in each thunderous escape of the next one. Too, when I looked around I loved the expression etched on everyone’s faces – that childlike wonder and awe.