The same folks who shot off fireworks on the 4th of July are doing another show as I write–a week later. I can’t see them; too many trees intervene. But the sound alone is enough to evoke my two favorite 4th of July memories.
Half a mile down the beach where I lived as a child was an amusement park. Every 4th of July people would come from miles around for what was known to be one of the best fireworks displays in the state.
As the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon, my dad would stuff me and a couple of my girlfriends into thick, orange life jackets and buckle them tightly around us. Then we would climb into his little wooden fishing boat, he’d pull the rope on the little Evinrude outboard motor, and we’d put out into the bay. After we were a good distance from the shore, dad would throw the anchor overboard and we would watch the colors of the sunset dance in the water. We could hear the sounds of the crowd at the amusement park, the screams as the tilt-a-whirl hurled riders in big circles in the air or the roller coaster descended a steep hill.
Dad pulled a package of sparkles from his jacket pocket and lit one for each of us, cautioning us not to touch the burning part or to throw the sparkler in the water when it was done. Finally,the sky grew dark, and at last the first of hundreds of huge, sparkling, starry fireworks shot into the air. “Ooooohhhhh!” the people at the park cried in one musical voice. “Ahhhhhhh.” The show lasted well over an hour, dazzling us with its spectacular beauty.
Somehow, Dad could tell which of the tiny lights on the shore was coming from our house, and he skillfully navigated us through the dark waters right to the edge of our yard.
My second favorite 4th of July memory stars my mother. She was a registered nurse in the days when nurses wore starched white uniforms and caps, and blue capes lined in red satin. One 4th, Mom was on call for duty in the emergency room. And just as the fireworks ended down the beach, she got the call: Come now!
When she reached the end of our road, where it joined the road into town, cars were streaming from the park. She leaped from her Studebaker and strode right into the bumper-to-bumper line of cars, her cape billowing in the night breeze, and held up her hand, commanding the cars to stop. They did, and they waited while she pulled in ahead of them, heading to the hospital to help save a life.
I always loved that image of her, so undaunted and brave.
I’ve spent more time than I ever would have wanted in emergency rooms myself over the past couple weeks. And I discovered that my treasure chest of happy memories was one of the biggest assets I had. I pulled out one after another and spent time reliving them as I underwent tests and procedures and hours of waiting for results. I thought about childhood memories, and about vacations, and about the chipmunks and birds and flowers in my yard that I so enjoy. It helps you heal, you know, to let your mind savor memories of things that brought you joy. And it keeps you healthier if you spend time collecting life’s little gems and storing them away as you navigate the present.
Every now and then, as you go through your day, stop and scoop up a shining moment or two to tuck in your memory box. You have no idea how delightful it will seem when you discover it someday in the future just waiting for you to find it.
I missed writing to you the past two weeks. It feels great to be back! I’m wearing a grin and I’m happy to say I plan to be around for a long, long time.
Warmly,
Susan
Image by Stux at Pixabay.com