First off we got lost on the way to the town south of Atlanta where my elder younger brother lives. So we drove around back highways for a while and I wondered, as I always do when we’re on our way down to visit them, at all the little churches holding ground at the interesections of those back highways and this time, probably because it was July 4th, thought of the names, like Zion and Mount Olive, names which have nothing to do with the land upon which the churches sit, there’s not an olive tree in sight, worlds and a great big ocean away from the Middle East but here are those names imported by Anglo-European Christians. Zion and Mount Olive.
We listened to Mexican music on our satellite radio. H.o.p. likes Mexican music. Then we listened to some hiphop then finally settled on traditional jazz.
My brother grilled. I took lettuce from my sister-in-law’s garden for the meal. She went through the trouble of making home made vanilla ice cream that she served on cherry crisp. I stepped a lot on the conversation, making comments before a story was completed. We all do. When you’re kids and in a larger family you do it for sake of getting a word in. Then you end up doing it as an adult because the kids are going to come running through any second and you’re going to be distracted to doing something else, over and over, so you grab for a chance to comment before the next interruption collapses a conversation and train of thought. Plus the way we all tell stories is to digress wildly so if you don’t make your comment on a subject right then you may not have another chance as the speaker may have digressed to something completely different in two heartbeats and digressed again to another subject in a few more and then the kids come running through and the conversation collapses. Even with just two kids running around, which was the situation.
The sky was cloudy. Would it rain out the fireworks? As it darkened we set out for the place where my brother and sister-in-law knew there always to be fireworks. A nearby park. As we drove up we saw cars pulling into the parking lot, behaving in a confused manner, and pulling out and leaving. It was a steady stream of such cars pulling into the empty lot, turning around and leaving. Apparently there would be no fireworks there this year. My three year old niece waved at me out the back window of the car while we talked about what to do. My brother and sister-in-law knew of a place not too far away, down the road, past the town square, down the road some more to the interstate and up to the next exit, where there would be fireworks. We followed them. Followed them past the town square which is a nice town square. I said it was a nice town square.
We could see the fireworks as we drove down the interstate, which was good as H.o.p. was worried about missing them, and being able to see they were already ongoing he was of course still worried about missing them. We pulled off the exit and within a short distance the place around where the fireworks display was being held was packed with cars upon cars upon cars parked here there and in small dirt parking lots and along the side of the road, and policemen out directing traffic. Ironicially, the fireworks display was being held by a church (at least I found it ironic and I thought about this some, a church doing the 4th of July fireworks). The exhibition was rivaling the one Decatur would put on when we lived in Decatur. We found a place to park and got out and strolled to where we could better view them but a stand of trees was still somewhat in our way. I filmed the ending and haven’t checked to see how it came out.
We worried about having a difficult time getting back to the interstate. Elsewhere, when the fireworks are done everyone promptly piles back in their cars and there’s a long traffic jam. Here, when the fireworks were done most of the people were still hanging out, the ones who were entrenched in the stadium area–I guess the church has an outdoor stadium or maybe it was just a stadium set up for the day, band performances etc., A band was line checking as we drove away. We had our windows rolled down, it had begun to sprinkle, I thought I heard another auto playing the same traditional Miles Davis and others jazz we’d been playing (I thought our radio was off) and thought wow someone in this place is listening to traditional jazz, but no it was just us and the sound had been turned down way way low.
The highlight of the trip was when we stopped for my brother to get gas on the way to the fireworks.
You gotta understand, we were uhm about 45 minutes south (with traffic cooperating) of where we live smack dab middle of Atlanta and thirty miles outside what used to be the southern environ of the city but is now quickly becoming the southern environ of the city. And it maintains a bit of “out yonder” distinctivenes.
There was this truck/SUV type vehicle parked parallel in front of the convenience store door. Same way as at another place we’d been at earlier. Inside there was one teen. We only saw his outline but it was obviously a teen, sitting in the passenger side up front. Doing a whiplash headbanger dance, head wildly going up and down, hair long enough and something enough that it formed and reformed thrashing mountainous points. (Martysuggests he must have been listening to Bohemian Rhapsody.) Twice he moved from this into a purposeful windmill followed by the drunk style then back to unrelenting and vigorous whiplash style.
As he was firmly, rigidly seated in his car seat it was fairly interesting.
We found this amusing.
Probaby the Man who was Dad emerged once from the store to open the driver’s door, a not very amused expression on his face, said a few words, the boy pausing, and then closed the door and went back inside. We heard no music. I guess Probaby the Man who was Dad’s Son was carrying an Ipod and earphones. Anyway, there seemed a decided “You’re going to break your neck making a fool of me and I’m tired of it” purposefulness to the dad, but as the dad entered the store again the boy went back into the whiplash headbanging dance like he was too far gone and couldn’t help himself. Then a woman emerged from the store who we absolutely believed was mom coming out to say her part, looking disapprovingly on, but instead it was someone else’s mom.
During the mid 70s (“Bohemian Rhapsody was released in 1975) I may have been a dedicated Sex Pistols, velvet Underground, Iggy Pop fan but I loved Queen. Was surrprised though to realize I liked Queen.
When something strikes me musically can stay with me. I remember I was taking photos of the cotton mill and I had just decided Bohemian Rhapsody was a great song and that Freddie Mercury was amazing. I liked how Bohemian Rhapsody dragged you from one theatrical stage to another bam bam bam. I’d been listening to it beforehand on the radio, driving over. Had previouisly ignored the song as I thought Queen all too pretty and smooth and overblown. But something happened that afternoon andclicked for me on the drive to the milll and suddenly I liked Bohemian Rhapsody.
And when Flash Gordon came out I loved it and Queen’s soundtrack.
I wouldn’t mind watching Flash Gordon again. I think we might have it on tape somwhere around here.
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