{"id":203,"date":"2010-07-07T23:34:56","date_gmt":"2010-07-07T23:34:56","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.katrinakenison.com\/2010\/07\/07\/fireworks\/"},"modified":"2010-07-07T23:34:56","modified_gmt":"2010-07-07T23:34:56","slug":"fireworks","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/fireworks\/","title":{"rendered":"Fireworks"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/span><\/span>I dug the fire pit out in our yard five years ago, the week we moved into the old red cottage on our New Hampshire hilltop.<\/p>\n

It was sweltering hot, and no one was happy. The tiny, uninsulated upstairs bedrooms were unbearable. \u00a0 We plugged fans into every available 1923 wall outlet, then crossed our fingers and prayed we wouldn\u2019t blow out the ancient wiring.\u00a0 But it didn\u2019t help; the effect was more convection oven than cross breeze.<\/p>\n

Desperation inspired us to have our first party in our new house–we needed something to distract us from the mold, the carpenter ants, the bats, the heat, the sleepless nights, and our overwhelming sense of buyer\u2019s remorse.\u00a0 It didn\u2019t make much sense to sit around in the small airless house; the view across the field to the mountains was the real draw anyway.\u00a0 And so I picked a spot out there, dug a little clearing and rimmed it with rocks, and stacked a few logs in the center.<\/p>\n

That night there were just a handful of us–Steve and the boys and me, three of our friends–sitting by the fire, watching the sparks spiral up into the darkness as fireflies danced through the tall grass beyond.\u00a0 It was nothing short of magical, a peaceful moment of deliverance after a long, sweaty, terrible week when every member of my family wished nothing more than to roll back the clock, do it all over again, and stay put — in our old suburban life in our familiar, comfortable, well-ventilated house.<\/p>\n

What I remember most clearly about sitting by the fire that early summer night was the feeling–well, perhaps it was really just more of a hope–that at long last we were taking the first step into what we would come to love in our NEW life.\u00a0 Surely, I believed then, we would have many more such evenings —\u00a0 bonfires on the hilltop, easy, impromptu parties, countless reasons to gather our friends together to share food and laughter and to celebrate life\u2019s simple pleasures.\u00a0 In short order that summer, we pulled together a solstice party, a Father\u2019s Day brunch, a birthday, a cookout on the 4th of July, a few pre-theatre suppers in honor of our new proximity to the summer stock playhouse a mile up the road, various other spontaneous get-togethers.<\/p>\n

And then, reality set in.\u00a0 Summer came to an end, cold weather arrived, and we began the long, exhausting, and expensive project of moving out of the cottage, tearing it down, designing a new house, getting it built, choosing paint and fixtures, moving again, unpacking, settling in.\u00a0 It all took so much longer than we ever imagined it would.\u00a0 Meanwhile, the kids grew up and life got complicated.\u00a0 The party we meant to have when the house was finally finished, months later than anticipated, never happened.\u00a0 I think we were just too wiped out to think about one more project.<\/p>\n

Five years passed before we had another party on that hilltop, Steve\u2019s 60th birthday last June.\u00a0 I was so out of practice that I planned and obsessed for weeks, wondering where people would sit, how many bottles of wine to buy and how many chairs to borrow, whether we should rearrange all the furniture, rent a table, get a new grill.\u00a0 It rained for days before, it rained on the day of, and it rained for a week after. That night, people stood up to eat.\u00a0 We squeezed into the kitchen, clustered in the living room, managed to have a fine time despite the weather.\u00a0 But the idea of heading outside, or trying to get a fire going, never entered my mind.<\/p>\n

This year, the Fourth of July fireworks were scheduled for Monday night, at the high school just down the hill and across the valley from us–which means that the best view in town is from our hilltop. \u00a0It\u2019s been months since we\u2019ve had more than four people at our dinner table, and more than a year since that rainy birthday celebration.\u00a0 The fire pit that I was certain would be the center of countless memorable gatherings hasn\u2019t been used, not even once, since our very first summer here, when it seemed– for a few weeks anyway– to be at the very center of our life.<\/p>\n

Clearly, it was time.\u00a0 So, last week I fired off a few e-mails and made a few calls:\u00a0 Come over for a potluck dinner and fireworks.\u00a0 It used to be that such an invitation would always include the line \u201cBring the kids.\u201d\u00a0 These days, of course, the kids drive themselves and whether they\u2019ll actually show up is by no means a given.<\/p>\n

But the word went out, and I wrote a to-do list, went food shopping, and hoped for a crowd.\u00a0 Jack and a friend\"\"<\/span><\/span>\u00a0spent a sweaty couple of hours digging out the old, overgrown fire pit, making it bigger and better than ever.\u00a0 They laid an ambitious fire, stacked enough wood for a long night of revelry, and arranged all the benches and chairs we have into a semicircle.\u00a0 They set up the badminton net, at my insistence.\u00a0 Just in case.<\/p>\n

And as it happened, we lucked out.\u00a0 Teenagers, parents, old friends and new ones–they all came.\u00a0 The table filled with food–salads and watermelon and pasta. Steaks and chicken and hamburgers and hot dogs arrived for the grill.\u00a0 Coolers were carried in to the kitchen and deposited.\u00a0 \u201cThank you,\u201d Jack said to me in passing, \u201cfor having some normal food here.\u201d\u00a0 (He meant the Coke and ginger ale and corn chips and bottled salsa that I usually refuse to buy. But at a certain point, well, what you really want is for everyone present to feel happy and well fed.)<\/p>\n

There was a\u00a0 moment, a kind of Mrs. Dalloway moment, when I just stopped, stock still, and looked around at the loveliness of the scene.\u00a0 The men were in the kitchen, drinking beer.\u00a0 The women were outside, chatting.\u00a0 The boys were juggling–a skill they all learned together in sixth and seventh grade and suddenly, spontaneously, decided to revive at ages seventeen and eighteen.\u00a0 Clubs flew through the air. A fiercely competitive badminton game was in progress.\u00a0 A group of girls sat at the picnic table, deep in conversation.\u00a0 Just a few minutes later, of course, this evanescent bubble would pop and vanish forever.\u00a0 Steve would carry the first platters in from the grill, the teenagers would troop in to fill their plates, and one tableau would transform itself into another, and another after that.\u00a0 Dinner served and eaten, talk and laughter, dishes loaded into the dishwasher, cake sliced onto paper plates, darkness falling.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/span><\/span>Jack touched a match to the fire. The fireworks lit up the sky.\u00a0 We passed the bug spray around and sprawled out across the grass.\u00a0 Marshmallows were set aflame, s\u2019mores made and devoured.\u00a0 The last time we did this, my children were still children.\u00a0 I don\u2019t know why we waited so long to find our way back here, to this ritual we created, loved, and yet abandoned all too easily — for what?\u00a0 Lack of time?\u00a0 Lack of energy?\u00a0 Lack of belief in the enduring magic of a campfire and friends with whom to share it?<\/p>\n

Today, I promise myself this:\u00a0 \u00a0 More time for fun.\u00a0 More intergenerational parties, before it\u2019s too late and the younger generation is up and out and gone for good.\u00a0 More fires outside, more s\u2019mores, more reasons to celebrate the joy of being alive, of raising children to young adulthood, of spending time with those young adults–who, after all, are still learning from us, each and every day, what it means to live a good life.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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