August is fireworks (hanabi) month in Japan, direct translation of hanabi being “flower fire”, and they are certainly serious about it. Last Saturday the show was at Umikaze-Koen, a park just a few blocks from my apartment. My morning jog takes me through this piece of seaside and already two days before the fireworks, I saw that some people had taped down their nylon sheets (bashotoru…hope I got that right…could be tori or toro…”place taking”).
I don’t know - I am one to think that place saving involves staying in that place but, considering the hot hot hot weather on Saturday, I guess we were lucky that the tarp is an adequate substitute for physical presence. We still went at 9am, got an awesome spot and toughed it out for a while. The ice cream and frequent trips to an air conditioned department store helped too.
At 3pm we changed into our yukatas (sorry…no picture yet) and oh gee…I put mine on the wrong way. It should always be wrapped with the left side on top. I guess only dying and dead people wear it with the right side on top. Fitting though (for reasons to follow).
We came back to our place around 6pm, drank some beer and then the fireworks started at 7:30. (Kind of weird…I am used to the after 9pm fireworks in Canada.) The show was incredible. Totally (maybe rude to say but fitting) ballsy and full out. The pace and variety were great.
(emotional speak to follow…if you are not up to the mush then feel free to stop reading)
It was weird though, about half way through this flood of memories of my father taking us to see fireworks came. They were all really vague because they were from my early days in Saskatoon (before age 6) but I remembered having to nap in the afternoon, looking for a good parking spot, looking for a good watching spot, and lawnchairs, and this blue plaid blanket in the family. Older family members…feel free to question the historical accuracy of that. So, I had these memories and I started thinking about the things my dad did to try to get the best for us (example being finding good parking spots) and I contemplated whether or not (and if so how much) he was aware of where I was at that particular moment. K so don’t mind the lame reflection on the dead speak but I felt really present to my memories of him and I couldn’t help but cry a little. It was weird because I have not cried in a long time and there I was, around thousands of people and I am smiling but I can’t stop the tears coming down my cheeks. Luckily, I think most eyes were on the sky.
A few weekends ago, someone said to me “I think your father will cry at your wedding” and I was like…”umm…yeah maybe…” (me thinking: he physically can’t and even if he could, I possibly might never get married). The comment stuck with me throughout the week and after that and my fireworks choke-up, I spent most Sunday thinking about all these events that I might have in my life and how I will likely cry at them because I will think about dad. I had band practice that day and I thought about how I might cry a wee little at our performance (in two weeks) because my wish to be in a band has always been backed with “and I think I can do it because my dad was in a band”.
Hmm…I wish there was some point that I was making with this but there is not much really. Just me and reflections on how my father was a wonderful person and how I contemplate how much presence he has among me and my family.
Half of me hesitated writing about this because I fear sounding like I am fishing for sympathy…but I have been like that since he died and I think in the process, have repressed and ignored a lot of emotion that I should have naturally gone through. Not that I need to “re-grieve” (heh…that sounds funny and kind of makes me want to regrieve), but if it’s on my mind I should at least tal- …..blog about it.
And now I have, it is getting late and it is time for me to catch a bus and hopefully this writing will have put some of my thoughts in place.
PS. If you have a yukata and you are really tired by the time you get home so you don’t want to fold it up…don’t hang it by a hanger in a place directly in the the line of your usual wake-up-sight because you might have bad dreams and wake up with a start and then wake-wake-up with more of a start when you see what looks like an 8-foot tall witch hovering over you but is really your 8 foot long yukata.
