Up on the Roof

These days I find I have less patience for big crowds. If I’m being honest, I think it is related to my fibro, and being afraid of getting into a situation where I’m in pain and stuck… I should probably work on that. But it’s the Fourth of July, and I promised my Munchkin fireworks. 

Now, we live less than 3 miles from the local high school where tonight’s show was happening. We also live up on top of one of the highest hills in the area. So I suddenly had an idea: Can we see them from the house?! I wonder… 

I ran the idea past the Munchkin… who replied, “Can we watch them from the roof?” After a moment of thought, I said, “Why not?” 

Now, before you all think I’ve lost my mind… We have a split-level home, and the roof is actually just one step over the railing from the second-story deck in the back. And it’s not steep. So at five minutes before showtime, we doused ourselves in insect repellent, gathered an old blanket and a bag of chips, and headed upstairs. 

I should note here that about two steps onto the roof was when I remembered how terrified I am of heights. Specifically, FALLING from them. Which is why, even with an easily accessible roof, my gutters are sadly neglected. I can be in a plane, I can admire a gaze across the skyline from a 48th floor window, and I adore balconies. But in any situation where I feel like I could fall, I freeze up. The Munchkin wanted to go higher onto the very top level of the roof. It’s literally one step up, with only about a 5/12 pitch. I’d be nowhere near the edge of the house. And it was closer to the end of the house nearest the high school. It would be the best vantage point if we were going to see anything. 

But I couldn’t do it. 

Luckily, just then a neighbor sent up a shell a couple blocks away that could be seen perfectly from the end where we were. Thank you, sweet baby Jesus, for literal signs from heaven! I gulped down a lump in my throat, ventured to the apex, and said “Let’s just sit right here.” 

As it turns out, we were either too far away, or it was too hazy, to see any of the town fireworks from our roof. It had rained just a couple hours earlier, and everything was still damp. I could make out distant flashes and the low rumble of echoing explosions, but that was it. Fortunately, some neighbors due south of the house were setting off some pretty decent ones, so we sat up there watching for about 45 minutes. 

During that time in the dark, my son’s mind was going a million miles an hour. Commenting on every noise we heard, every shape he saw in the scattered clouds, every sparkling mortar shell that flew into the sky. He made up a song about sitting on the roof eating tortilla chips. We even FaceTimed my sister, using one phone to talk and another to light our faces in the night. 

Of course, the Munchkin wanted me to keep taking pictures. It’s what we do. But armed with only my iPhone? We weren’t gonna get much. My hair was a mess. But we had two phones for light, and a big moon, so why not? In between bursts of color in the sky down the street, I snapped a couple shots: 

As the fireworks started to slow down, my son snuggled up against me and said, “Isn’t this a lovely night?” 

Yes, baby… it’s perfect. I hope you remember it forever, because I’m certain I will. 

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Searching for a Silent Night…

For several days, I’ve had a few bars of a song stuck in my head. Problem was, I couldn’t get quite enough of it to put a name to. But there it was… just a few bars of a chorus, drifting into my thoughts as I went about my days.

All through the errands.
Through the stressing over the Christmas gifts.
Through the worrying over finals and my sister and visitation schedules and HDMI cables and postal delivery times.
Through juggling phone calls with the Munchkin’s school and health insurance companies and pharmacies and doctor’s offices and banks and the mortgage company.
Through laundry and bill-paying and house-cleaning and therapy appointments.
Through the daily efforts poured into shoving aside the dark December memories that tried to push their way to the forefront.

All the while, I was tangled in an internal tug-of-war… an extension of my ongoing existential discord between allowing myself to rest when needed, and feeling guilty over all the things that went undone. Continue reading