What did you do New Year’s Eve?

It was a Tuesday morning, about 6:45, my normal time of awakening, and if I am lucky, it will be with an answer, a thought, or an idea. Since fantasy rarely occurs, I felt lucky that morning when my eyes adjusted to the dawn, two days before the infamous New Year’s Eve, and I had an idea.

Over my years of building a business, raising three children, many years of single parenthood and tough times making ends meet, I had what I considered many brilliant ideas. Most of the time, I was the only one who saw my diamond-edged ideas as worthwhile, but I thought this one had legs.

Things had been roiling around in my head for weeks, yes roiling not rolling, annoyed at not finding an answer. Of course, I did not really blame myself; I, like the billions of folks around the globe, could now blame the potential offspring of SARS-CoV-19, for many things; failure of delivery systems, barking dogs and screaming children as background noise on a business call, Zoom Embarrassments Beyond Bathrooms and other mishaps we could not have imagined a year ago. Yet, I can invent any excuse for a party and follow through with confetti, champagne, and chocolates. Why couldn’t I get a grip on a memorial moment for my recently deceased husband?

I have always loved to give parties, especially those surrounded by excellent food and spirits. Long before my current life, Sunday brunches with killer bloody Mary’s, followed by an afternoon of fun featuring the board game, Trivial Pursuit, de rigueur. Not just one Sunday, but every Sunday, while I was on the road for months long movie locations. Dinner parties were elaborate; china, crystal and sterling silver place settings, calligraphy-style place cards and silver napkin rings, featured a dinner to remember.

Things have changed, and the casual parties are still fun, yet a part of me misses the trappings of a time gone by and why was a simple sendoff becoming so difficult?

Yet, I had awakened with an idea, and I hatched the plan.

Going to town on this island, fondly called “Hilo Hell Day” (HHD) as most of the Vulcanite’s I have met are cooler climate folks who get distressed in the heat of Hilo, and as neighbors, are there if you need them, but not the type to drop in for coffee and a chat, thank goodness. I was off to the nearest fireworks store and the Hilo heat, two days before New Year’s and the mission, which I accepted, was the purchase of enough sparklers for the neighbors on the entire street.

The plan: our street would gather at 5:30 pm on New Year’s Eve, socially distanced in front of each of our homes, light the sparklers and think of Alan! How hard can this be? I again challenged my favorite line.

The largest display of fireworks for sale was down the hill about 25 minutes. This would be the first of many appointed rounds for me HHD (reference above) as this trip, with good planning, could accomplish everything needed for three to four weeks, except fresh veggies supplemented by the weekly farmer’s market. Even this weekly outdoor market event had been COVID-19 streamlined to include the phoned in order the day before market and the pickup, condensed to under 10 minutes, in the outdoor area; pick up, pay and go home. The days of lingering to speak to others are on hold, here on the Big Island, as in the rest of the world. Yet this market affords the locals the ability to not subject ourselves to HHD but once a month, or when paper towels need replenishing. Do not get me started with the toilet paper. It would surprise you at the ingenuity distance to town creates when one runs out of what we once considered an essential.

Sparklers equaled New Year’s Eve when I was a child in Michigan, and I never thought there would be a shortage.

First stop at Fireworks Store, sold out.

Second store sold out.

Third store sold out.

I temporarily shelved my super idea with necessary stops at the grocery, Home Depot, the bank, and the typical errands that take time and that one puts off as long as possible. Finding my list crossed off, except for sparklers, and certainly not daunted, I started my slow crawl home, car packed with necessities, yet without the actual purchase I had been so bent on procuring.

And then, to my great surprise, a small tent, erected in an empty parking lot behind a slew of Covid-closed stores, caught my eye.

A firework display featuring, of you guessed it, sparklers!

New Year’s Eve 2020 in Volcano, Hawaii was rainy and cold, yet all the neighbors stepped out of their homes at 5:30 pm, and paid tribute to a man who would have loved the event. As far as one could see, up and down the street, the tiny torches were lit and waving with the light and love he so deserved.

Days later I received notes from neighbors saying they will never look at a sparkler the same again. Alan’s memory will be alive each 4th of July and New Year’s Eve for those supportive neighbors who are a phone call away.

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