Runaway fireworks
The vase is small, white, and squatty rounded at the bottom with a clear glass rim that has a kind of ribbon effect.
I got it from my Aunt Dorothy when she and her husband, Uncle Tullos were moving to Atlanta to live with their son and daughter-in-law. They were my aunt and uncle through marriage, but that didn’t matter. They were dear to me.
My husband and I were asked if we would come over to help them pack and maybe take a few of their things back with us. Even if we didn’t need them, we would not turn down this request. The little vase was unceremoniously put in a cardboard box with some other glassware. I noticed the look of concern on Aunt Dorothy’s face.
“That was my mother’s,” she said as she touched saucers and such in the box. It was evident she cherished these things, but she could not take them with her. There wasn’t enough room for a cabinet in the space in Atlanta.
My heart just ached for her. She was the dearest soul, but she and her husband couldn’t live alone anymore. They needed help. This is what happens when people get older. At least they were going to live with family. I grabbed Aunt Dorothy’s hand and assured her that Bill and I would take care of her mother’s things and we have. That day was the last time we saw Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Tullos. I recently filled the little vase with some of my zinnias that the aftermath of Hurricane Ida blew down. I had to cut them short, and that vase was perfect for them.
I first met Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Tullos when we started having Hatcher family reunions at their place on Lake Weiss near Centre, Alabama. We’d pack the kids in the car and make the drive over usually on a Friday afternoon. The reunion was on or near July 4th. It was always fascinating to the kids when we’d leave Calhoun at 5 PM and arrive in Centre at 5 p.m. Alabama is on Central time. We’d pull in and the kids were out before Bill could set the brake!
Tents were put up. We didn’t have much luggage. This was primitive camping in their back yard with the lake as bath water. This was one of the big events the kids looked forward to every year. First it was the July 4th Hatcher Family Reunion. Then they’d start planning the late summer Emert Family Reunion. As soon as the summer was over, they’d start planning for Christmas.
The kids always had these events to look forward to.
We always knew when Uncle Hartwell and Aunt Martha arrived. All the kids, cousins from all over, would run to them, especially Uncle Hartwell. He’d be carrying big boilers of steaming boiled peanuts. “Y’all be careful,” he’d warn. “They’s still a mite warm.” All the kids loved boiled peanuts. Once the pans were set on one of the big old wooden picnic tables, little hands and just about as many big hands would reach over, under, and around each other to grab these glorious goobers of the South.
I’d never eaten boiled peanuts until I met my husband. All I can say is that a perfectly boiled peanut is pure lusciousness. They must be a little salty, with the shells soft, but still crunchy and the nut inside soft enough for a baby to eat. Mmmmm Mmmmm. Watching the kids run back and forth filling their hands with the peanuts always made me smile and sometimes laugh. They were like little birds filling their mouths as fast as they could.
We’d set off fireworks on the Saturday night before we would leave on Sunday or as close to July 4th as possible. As the years passed, the fireworks show got bigger and more awe- inspiring.
The fireworks were set off from a dock jutting out into the lake. One particular time, a firework went up a little and still “alive” fell right into a big bag of unused fireworks on the dock. It could have been terribly dangerous. People could have been hurt, but no one was. We were all laughing like hyenas.
Roman candles, bottle rockets, little twirly things, other fireworks came spouting out of the bag, shooting everywhere. I remember seeing my brother-in-law, Mike, divebomb into a bush as a Roman candle shot toward him. People were running everywhere. My mother-in-law along with her sisters and brothers were sitting in lawn chairs howling in laughter. My daughter and I were hiding behind trees. As I write about this, I start to laugh.
Thank goodness, no one was hurt. I think this was the most eventful family reunion ever. And yes, I miss those days.