we drove around downtown tonight. we didn't have anything to do. when we'd driven through it once, we turned around and did it again. milo wanted to. i rolled my window up most of the way, even thought it is HOT, because the other day when we were downtown some drunk scary man came up to my window and needed some money. i scrambled for some change with my heart beating because he was A. scary and B. drunk. anyway, not a big deal. but now my window stays up a lot. so we're driving and we're just talking about life and about our hopes for the future and about how freaking amazing the fourth of july is in utah/idaho. true. and i suddenly had this really clear recollection of a summer in salmon, idaho when i was about ten and setting off fireworks at my great-aunt's house. you know when a memory is so nice and lovely that it hurts? that's how it felt. and then we started talking about heaven and how i hope there are still thunderstorms and good books in heaven. james has promised me that this is so.
we came home and the kids are watching scooby-dooby-do and the crickets are chirping and it is SO HOT IN OUR HOUSE and i read an article about how dugout dick just died. does anybody else remember him? he was a man who chose to live in a bunch of caves in idaho and shunned modern conveniences. we visited him a lot when i was a kid. he's another lovely memory from my childhood. i don't think i really "got" him when i was younger. why he lived like that. but i get it now. i wish the world was full of people like him.
anyway, kind of a boring friday night. but i'm wondering if in ten years i will look back and think about my life in the west indies and hurt with the loveliness of the memory? it seems kind of impossible but you never know.