Day 25 - In Reverie

Yesterday was all red, white, and blue. Independence Day--the day of the year celebrating CHANGE and FREEDOM from the past. It's head-first into a brand new future. Blinded by its brightness. I too crave this, eager to live as my new self, I write here, documenting the beginnings and the ends of things (although I fell a little short this week, I'll explain that tomorrow...for today? A reverie).

Parts of my lovely Phoenix family invited us to their sailing boat soiree. The dock creaked under our feet as we leaped into the shiny white. We slid out of the harbor, and headed with purpose to the bay, slowly rocking over the deep blue mounds of the sea. The conversations moved just as naturally, open-air voices in the clear space.

As our boat anchors, we barbecue, swig from our beers, and share chips from a crock pot. It's all-American as Jim Croce croons from a speaker, misting the ocean air with "She's living in L.A., with my best old ex-friend Ray..." Boats and yachts and mini-cruise ships slide by as we ooh and aah at their lights, cracking jokes about P. Diddy.

As night ignites the charcoal blue ocean with twinkle-light reflections of the shoreline, I feel safe and happy. I enjoy the company and the quaint closeness of our rocking vessel. The scenery awes me; and I think I live here. God bless it.

As the fireworks burst and explode like colorful brazen bombs over San Diego Bay, I think for a minute about my brother. Last year, we sat mesmerized on a cool grassy hill in a Minnesota park, gazing upward at a show similar to this one. My memories weave me in and out of the moment. "Isn't that the way they say it goes..."

We gathered last year with our family at my sister's house. Our amateur fireworks pranced and fizzled on the front driveway, and as drunk and happy as we were, we danced around the lawn like fireflies. The thick humidity (or was it the booze) fueling our rising voices. It's a lump in my throat when my brother texts, "@ stacys 4th party. We miss u out here." A sad reminder of how far away I am.

"But let's forget all that..."

I'm here and I'm happy. And I'm more than grateful to see loved ones out here in this misty city--my new home. When we dock back in the harbor, we learn that a baby boy was born during our seaward celebrations--the newest family member. I like to imagine that little Jack saw the world for the first time at the exact same moment we sat in a line hugging our knees--awe-struck and silent--as the bursting finale lit up the night sky. Brilliant and sparkling and luminous, our faces had no words.