Saturday Night, we had a bon fire out at the RV park Barrys family was staying at in Woodland, Washington. A gorgeous sunseted, chilly night. Then, as the boys set up the fireworks, an elderly woman shuffled over to the ledge and shouted "you cant do that. It scares my little dog." A few choice words were exchanged between the group and the woman. "Well," she concluded. "I already told on you to the park ranger and here she comes now." Sure enough the sound of a golf cart on gravel geared up in our ears.
"You can not do fireworks until tomorrow. You can not go off the property and do them, if you do them anywhere where I can see them I will kick you out of the park." So, the fireworks went away, and with much urging from the peace wanting mother, words were kept inside. Mandy and I just looked at each other. We rode in the just married car and got some good looks from passerby's and we watched some grown people dramatically act as though they were 13.
On the way home, Mandy and I shared every memory we had of our Grandma Ziebart. Then there was a bridge lift. Once the traffic started moving, one car remained still in the right lane as two people frantically squirmed around in their hot little convertible mustang. It looked like they were trying to put clothes back on. Hmmmm. Then, not 70 feet later, a man in the shoulder of the right hand side of the road was dancing ... Nude. I just looked at Mandy and said "What on earth is going on tonight?!" We agreed that the evening had been nothing short of a dream.
The next morning as I gave my aunt Jan the long version of the weekend, she said "are you sure that was real? Perhaps you dreamed it all."
Yes, that's it. I think I dreamed it all. There was no crabby lady saying we could not do fireworks. There were no adolescent teenagers. No couple in the convertible. No nude man dancing. Just a normal Saturday night.
