Grandmas and Grandpas and The Fourth of July

Today is the fourth of July! This morning the sun finally came out and lit up my glass bear. I live in the house that my Grandmother grew up in. Though much has changed, this bear is still in the same window where it was when I visited Grandma here. Remembering her on the Fourth of July reminds me of my favorite part of one of my favorite books.

A final memory.

Fire Balloons.

You rarely see them these days, though in some countries, I hear they are still made and filled with warm breath from a small straw fire hung beneath. But in 1925 Illinois, we still had them, and one of the last memories I have of my grandfather is the last hour of a Forth of July night forth-eight years ago when Grandpa and I walked out on the lawn and lit a small fire and filled the pear-shaped red-white-and-blue-striped paper balloon with hot air, and held the flickering bright-angel presence in our hands a final moment in front of a porch lined with uncles and aunts and cousins and mothers and fathers, and then, very softly, let the thing that was life and light and mystery go out of our fingers up on the summer air and away over the beginning-to-sleep houses, among the stars, as fragile, as wondrous, as vulnerable, as lovely as life itself.

Ray Bradbury - Dandelion Wine 1975 All last week my boys practiced their parade form. As they hoped, the real parade today was very loud with fire trucks and small town wonderfulness. After lunch, their Grandmother sent them searching in the yard for a treasure box she had hidden. It is a big job to fill their heads with sweet memories, but someone has to do it. Happy Fourth, -Polly