Independence Day is not one I typically acknowledge or celebrate. Usually we are at the ranch keeping trespassers at bay. Or we might shoot up to Diamond Lake to visit the folks at their summer cabin for the evening and watch the incredible fireworks display blasted out over the lake. I do love fireworks, they make me giddy. I clap and swoon over the particularly lovely sparkles dashing in Technicolor across the sky. Last year we just happened to be in Bend, getting ready for our late July departure to Africa. I’ve never been in a city, that I can recall, for the 4th and though we didn’t do much, we did have friends over for a BBQ and to watch the pyrotechnics launched from Pilot Butte, a few blocks from our house. What a treat that was to have rainbow fires dripping from the heavens directly overhead.
At 9:30 this morning we headed to downtown Bend to hang my “Faces of Africa” photo collection in a swanky store, North Soles Footwear, which is next to the community patio where my Art Walk display would be that evening. Still a mile from the heart of the city we started running into heavy traffic, even on the quiet residential streets. Then, all the major roads around the two downtown main streets were closed. It seemed the July 4th parade was about to begin. We finally found an illegal place to park only 3 blocks from the shop so I stayed with the van while Bob made three trips to the shoe store with arm loads of large, framed photographs. After he left with the last load I finally found a permanent parking place about a mile away. For the last 3 blocks of my walk back to the store I had to step out in the street and join the parade that was now in progress. The sidewalks were crammed with families, kids on bikes with red, white, and blue streamers and tassels dangling; older folks were camped at the edge of the sidewalk comfortable in their folding chairs, a few teenaged Goths and punks hung around acting defiant and bored, though they seemed to forget their growling attitude when the silly animals with tutus on and fancy wagons rolled by. No matter how much colorful tinsel the parade bikes and cars and wagons and baton twirlers and horn blowers were festooned with, I couldn’t help but find the Goths and punks much more dazzling and interested to look at. They were decked out in long black coats and skin tight jeans, wrapped with yards of chains and pierced with shiny metal in eyebrows, lips, noses, cheeks, tongues, chins, and a dozen body parts kept hidden by layers of black. Most of these rebellious kids had bright green hair, or dark black with gray or pink accents. Purple seemed quite popular with the girls and a few joined the spirit of the day with red, white and blue striped do’s.
Out in the street, where I could hurry along, I wove my way between dogs with Independence Day dresses and top hats on, cows with necklaces the colors of the Stars and Stripes, parents pulling kids in red wagons free of other decorations save the waving of small flags. I guess they just wanted to be in a parade. Most of the people in the street were waving at the crowd lining the route, and most of the folks tightly packed on the sidewalks waved back. Handfuls of candy and gum were tossed about, most of it landing in the gutter to be scarfed up by the goats and dogs, which made up the majority of the parade entrants. Occasionally I wound up behind a jam of tricycles, ferrets, farm animals, mini tractors and toddlers that I couldn’t wend my way through so I had to slow down and wait for an opening. I figured I might was well enjoy the parade so I smiled at the crowd, wearing my brightly printed sun dress from Spicy Bambu, and tossed about my best beauty queen wave.
The horde of people bundled into downtown was certainly in the thousands. I had no idea there were so many people in Bend, nor did I realize that the Bend Fourth of July Pet Parade was so popular. Most of the people, whether in the parade or on sidelines were, decked out with some sort of sparkly, red/white/blue costuming. I couldn’t help but feel proud of America (which I don’t equate to our political administration). I even teared up when they National Anthem was played (I think that is what they were performing). I took those moments to be thankful to live in a free, democratic society, and acknowledge how glad I am that I was born into this privileged, powerful country. I am a white woman from a middle-income family in the 20th/21st century. I’ve always been able to do whatever I wanted and that is the best kind of freedom I can imagine. Almost everyone in America has this freedom available to them. But how many people take advantage of it and design their lives to fit their dreams. Just about everyone could make some dreams come true here in America, even those born to poverty have opportunities to grow beyond where they started. But it takes hard work, probably some sacrifice, and it takes having the right goals. I no longer dream of being Jeannie, living in a plush, bejeweled magic bottle stuffed with pastel pillows. Nor, do I aspire to owning a huge home and having millions of dollars. My dream is to have enough money to expand my freedom so I can explore the physical and spiritual worlds that beckon. I want the time to pursue a career in words and photographs. I want to be healthy, super fit, and have great, loving relationships. In my vision of a dream come true I would live a simple life surrounded by nature with mountains, streams, forests and cerulean blue oceans and white sand beaches at my side.
Did I mention we bought our plane tickets to the Philippines last week? Bob flies out of Portland on September 19. I’ll follow ten days later. I wanted to spend a bit more time with autumn settling upon the mountains, streams, and forests of the Yamsi Valley before jetting off to the island of Siargao where our little cabaña awaits, sitting 100 feet from white sand beaches and cerulean blue oceans. We’ll be home in time for Winter Solstice and the best of Oregon’s skiing and surfing season.