Watching the Sky
Fourth of July has passed for another year. On Saturday night, Jeff and I fell asleep to the sound of booming skies, carried to us from around the whole Bay Area. For several years, we’d climbed to the strip of land that attaches itself to our property to the South East of our property – a strip of land that is almost sold to the people whose house behind ours faces a different street – to watch the fireworks from what we had come to call “The Panhandle.” Not this year. We started to go to bed earlier during COVID – waking earlier each morning, too – and so we were in bed at the end of daylight.
The booms from all over the area filled the air as I lay awake, always falling asleep later than Jeff, who falls into sleep soon after his head hits the pillow. I listened for a while before I, too, fell asleep. As I listened, the sounds took me back to a Fourth of July many years ago.
Some memories shine, as if lit by a magic light from within.
I was little, probably four or five. I lay on a hill in Washington Park on the North Side of Milwaukee, next to my Dad. I expect that my mother and the baby, Suzie, and probably my big brother, Ronnie, were with us, but they did not show themselves in the memory. It’s as if Daddy and I were alone on the hill. Of the five of us, Dad – I later took to calling him FRB, a nickname which stuck with the whole family – holds center stage in the memory. He was the one in our house who talked the most, an extravert who lived with four introverts.
Daddy watched the fireworks with his extraversion on full display, along with the fireworks. “OOOOOH,” he said, loudly. “AHHHH,” the sound followed. With each burst of light, a new sound escaped from Daddy. “OHHH…” he claimed, again. I lay close to his side on the side of the hill. While the fireworks flashed overhead, I turned to watch Daddy as enjoyment and wonder flowed from him.
*
Why do some memories stick, and not others? I’d like to know. Every Fourth of July, I think of those moments, moments now over 70 years old, as the fireworks boom overhead. I’m still there on that hill, laying close to my Daddy, his joy spreading along the grass to me.
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For many years now, the dry days of summer in Northern California surround me. Photo by Mary Elyn Bahlert, Mt. Shasta in the distance, from the Warner Valley, CA, 06/9/2026
the gift
Christmas before last, Jeff gifted me a wonderful altar to be hung on the wall of my new office. When my own room in our house was being transformed into a guest room and bath, I had moved to a wonderful, bright room that opened to the dining room. I’m sitting here now, as I write my week’s addition to thewisdomyears.org, enjoying the beautiful, well-lit room. I always sit in a wing back chair, one of two that had been in Jeff’s mother’s living room before she passed. I love my space – “a room of one’s own.”
As I moved from the dark room down the dark hallway from the kitchen, the perfect place to hang the altar I’d received as a gift arrived, along with the larger, bright space. As I write now, I sit in my favorite place, the open window on my right, and the beautiful wooden altar in my view. At the beginning, after the altar had been hung, I took my time finding just the right objects and pictures to sit on its shelves. The ribbons I hung outside to be blessed by St. Brigid hang at the side, a beautiful, colorful origami helmet in a clear box is carefully set on the top shelf. I enjoy the altar, sometimes getting up from my comfortable chair to take something down, to move a small china vase.
*
Last weekend, our nephew Rainier, Lia and Celeste, who is six years old now, in the first grade, visited us on a sunny Sunday afternoon. They have exchanged houses for a few weeks with a couple who has roots in Seattle. We enjoyed a barbecue together, sitting in the early summer yard, lush green this time of year. Lia had brought the last of an apple pie, and Jeff delivered large pieces of pie to each of us, apple pie with a topping of vanilla ice cream. Soon after we’d finished supper, it was time for the family of three to go home; ever since she was an infant, Rainier and Lia have a bedtime ritual, an early bedtime for Celeste. The ritual keeps everyone sane! – and allows for smooth days with busy schedules for the whole family.
And so Lia and Rainier and Jeff and I gathered their belongings and helped them fill their car. Celeste came up to me, her small hand holding two tiny flowers in her fingers. She raised them so that I could see, offering the gift to me. I looked at the gift as I took the flowers into my fingers. “Oh!” I said: “I know exactly where these go!”
Celeste was curious then as we walked into my bright office and stood in front of the beautiful wooden altar. I took a tiny clay vase off a tiny shelf and carefully placed the gift in the vase. “There!” I said: “It’s perfect! Thank you for the gift, Celeste!”
I stood back to admire the addition to my altar. Celeste stood at my side, looking up at the vase that held her gift. Then, she looked at me. She surprised me; she moved to face me and opened her arms and hugged me, her arms fitting around my waist. Then she looked up at me. “Thank you,” I said.
A cloud of witnesses.
Driving Through Chester
Rainier was going with Lia, a young woman who lived in the same apartment that they rented together with several other young women in San Francisco. At just the right time, Rainier and Lia started dating each other – and that was it. They were a couple. It was 2012.
Rainier lived with us in Oakland for the first few years of his studies at San Francisco State University, before he’d moved out to live in the City during his last year of school. He’d come to live with us almost from the day he’d graduated from High School on Oahu, calling to ask us whether the offer of a home with us we’d made some years before was for real. It was for real, and we were glad to have him. He lived in a small porch-like area with windows on two sides in a second story duplex before we moved into the beautiful Craftsman Style home we’ve owned and lived in since. In our home, Rainier’s space was down several steps from the kitchen, a small room with a low ceiling and access through sliding doors to the garden. During the move to our new house, he’d offered a strong helping hand. He’d joined us as we gathered a few friends to our new home for a house blessing.
While he was in college, Rainier had taken up bicycling, first using a second hand bike he’d found in the basement of the duplex on Sunnyslope Avenue, graduating to another bike and into a group of cyclists in San Francisco, competing for Mike’s Bikes by traveling to races. Now he’s got a stash of bicycles and parts in his workshop in the yard of his home in Seattle.
When the time to go out on his own came, Rainier moved to San Francisco, where he shared part of an old house with several young women.
We knew from the start that Lia was Rainier’s true partner, and we have enjoyed their company together ever since. Jeff officiated at their wedding. During COVID, we’d made the trip from our place in Oakland to their home in Seattle several times to spend time with them and their baby girl Celeste, born on the first day of COVID sheltering in place – March 17, 2020. Rainier and Lia and Celeste became the children of our own we did not have.
*
After they became a couple, we invited Rainier and Lia to join us at our friends’ Paul and Lana’s place in the Warner Valley, 5 hours north of the Bay Area, for a few days. The four of us had fun together: we watched the budding romance. When our visit was over, we packed up Jeff’s Forester and headed back to the Bay Area. We stopped in Chester, at the southern end of the Valley, dropped off a few days’ worth of garbage in a big garbage can in a driveway, and started West out of Chester toward Highway 5. We left the town limits of Chester. Jeff noticed first. He didn’t say anything to us, but he watched a police vehicle driving along behind us. Jeff is not one to speed, but he watched the speedometer anyway.
Just as we left the town limits, the red lights of the squad car went on and we pulled over. The four of us sat silent in the car as the officer came to the window and asked to see Jeff’s license. I’m sure the officer could read the faces of anyone he pulled over, because that day, he took his time to explain that we’d been seen dumping garbage in town. “I’ll give you a choice,” he said. “You can go back and get that bag of garbage, or I can take you jail.”
“We’ll go back to pick the garbage up,” Jeff said.
We were silent as Jeff turned the car around and watched as he didn’t go a bit over the speed limit as we returned to Chester. We found the garbage container where we’d deposited our garbage less than an hour before. Jeff stopped the car. Rainier got out to get the bag of garbage. We were silent, but I’ll bet we were watched by the neighbors who’d – apparently – watched us before.
And we were mostly silent on the long ride back to San Francisco.
When we drove into San Francisco, I’d taken the wheel, and we were almost at Rainier and Lia’s place. At the same moment, we all burst into laughter, unable to contain it any longer. We all burst into the laughter that followed our entanglement with the Law in Chester.
And you can bet we’ve told that story to one another many times since that fateful day…
A view of Warner Valley now, Mt. Shasta in the distance. After fires several years ago, damaged trees stand amid trees that had escaped the fire. Paul and Lana’s first cabin was destroyed in the fire; the homes on either side of the cabin that burned still stand. Photo by Mary Elyn Bahlert, 6/9/26.
