FIELD NOTES: It was just BLTs...

First of July

...because I had some bacon to finish – only my firstborn son and me – everyone else was working or had gone out. I made a fire in the chiminea fire pit below the raised herb garden, after dinner, about seven, to burn the kindling that any storm or wind brings down like confetti from our annoying locust trees. It was unusually cool for July. Mylar pinwheels twirled between the lemon thyme and garlic chive, their flickers delighting my eye like a baby’s. The fountain trickled, James Taylor, then Carly Simon projected faintly from the indoor speakers and neighbors were laughing in the distance. I laughed, too, at the idea that I could put James and Carly back together again whenever I wished, like a child of divorced parents fantasizing about the past perfect. The New York Times and a few cinnamon-scented pinecones from Christmas finally gave my sticks and pinon chunks the courage they needed to carry-on on their own. I had my Polish crystal wineglass filled with California Bohemian Highway cabernet sauvignon 2005: “On its journey from the wine country hills to the Pacific, The Bohemian Highway meanders through vineyards, redwood forests and palm groves. This wine embodies the casual, free-flowing spirit you’ll find along the way.” I really wanted to toast marshmallows, a compulsion for any fire, but all I could find were mini-marshmallows leftover from a picnic my daughter had gone to. I put three at a time on a bamboo skewer so I could satisfy my craving. I thought, how sad is this, but then not. I celebrate my resourcefulness, cleverly enjoying life all by myself, like I used to as a child, my plastic Jane West and me riding off into the sunset on plastic Flame, her plastic coffee pot, frying pan, derringer and lipstick in the plastic strong box. I poke the glowing embers because it’s hard to believe they are real; they look like fake plastic electrified. Rosemary, cinnamon, pinon, marshmallows, red wine - I sniff out little beauties wherever I am. Sunday nights are melancholy because at the end of every weekend both not enough is done and too much is done. I bought a honeybee pin at the flea market early that morning to go with the yellow and black cotton sundress I found at the discount store. I just need a place to show off that dress...