Fireflies, Foxes & Fireworks

July 3, 2022

Greetings from Delaware.

Dread pays, because the reality often ends up being less awful than what I’ve envisioned, which makes things seem better than they otherwise would. There was nary a hiccup in our journey east: an on-time flight and manageable crowds, though I was unhappily surprised at how few people in the airport and on the plane (including the guy sitting between Molly and me) were masked. The only delay was in the arrival of her suitcase on the carousel, so it was after 10:00 by the time we rolled into Delaware, where Ma awaited.

July 4

When one goes to northern Delaware, one might want to wear gold—perhaps even diamonds—so as to blend in. Before leaving the Bay Area, to amuse myself I donned the necklace and earrings that Ma gave me years ago. Molly joined in the game and we appeared in The First State garbed according to local custom, where we found Ma likewise appropriately embellished.

Our big adventure of the day was to visit the graves of my grandparents, aunt, uncle and two cousins.

Speaking of death, Molly and Mom are big into family genealogy, and were looking at a website called “Find a Grave” to locate ancestors. “I see my mother, father and brother in here,” Ma observed, “but why am I not listed?” Lulu had to explain it’s on account of she’s not dead.

Ma’s right ankle causes her a lot of pain and instability, so on our return from our adventures she lay in bed with a bag of frozen veggies pressed against it. She’d been sitting upright against the pillows for quite a while, but gravity eventually got the better of her.

While she rested, I went for a small stroll around the premises. As well-intentioned and noble as it is, the Buddhist term “loving-kindness” has always made my skin crawl. That it’s been co-opted and commercialized at Ma’s retirement place is even grosser.

Back in the apartment I had nothing to do, so I phoned Molly, who was three feet away. Then she conference-called Ma.

Still bored and possessed by a spirit of mischief, I raided Small’s clothes closet, abetted by Lulu.

After our fashion show, Ma—insisting her clothes look better on us than her—generously asked if I’d like to keep any. My usual tact must have been on strike. “I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing them in public.” I suppose I could have phrased that better, but it’s a fact that our sartorial styles are rather incompatible.

Since Eleni, on the other coast, missed out on the dress-up fun, I put together an Independence Day outfit for her from afar. I hope she likes it.

[Editor’s note: Thankfully, Ma is not one of those rah-rah-USA people, by the way, though these wardrobe pieces suggest otherwise. For example, she feels the same about Forty-Five as I do.]

For a couple weeks I’ve been checking the National Parks website to try to reserve a fourth night at my Lassen campground next week, but July is fully booked. I took one last look online and, amazing grace, there was a cancellation! To book it I had to give up my three-month-old reservation first, which made me nervous. The system allowed me fifteen minutes to complete the process before the campsite was re-released from my cart to the public. The minutes flew by as I tried to enter required info. With six minutes and 42 seconds remaining, just as I began to panic, Molly relieved me of my computer and managed to figure it all out in time. I’m now re-booked and the plan is for me to be on my way six days from now.

Later, after dinner and Ma’s nighttime retirement to her chambers, Lulu and I went for a little walk. There are two things I miss most about living in the East. One of them is lightning bugs. Unlike during last visit, they were abundant.

(Thunderstorms are the other thing I love about this coast, and they’re forecast for tomorrow.)

As we wandered around in the dusk there were lots of bangs and cracks, on account of its being Independence Day. A fox bolted across the field as though to escape the noise, and Molly also spotted a swooping bat that I hope was going for mosquitoes and not fireflies. 

Last year on Bloggy I wrote about my misdeeds at a Fourth of July fireworks event fifty years ago. It was held at one of the several country clubs in the area, and my hippie boyfriend and I crashed it. As it happens, the place is right across the highway from where Ma now lives, and apparently they’ve continued the annual summer tradition. Right before Lulu and I started to head back to Ma’s apartment, the sky burst into color.

Sadly, our trip is nearly half over already. We won’t like saying farewell to this Very Small Person.

But we don’t have to do that yet.