Flags and Frappachinos

It would be interesting to conduct research to find whether "morning socialness" is a genetic trait, because I am the product of such a thing. Mornings, when woken before reaching a full re-charge from the previous day, are utterly awful for me. Same goes for my mother. Don't talk to me, don't try to make conversation, because I just might hurt you. One of my former roommates can testify to this. Poor girl tried to start conversations in the morning before she headed off to class. I was useless.

So when I recieved word July 3rd that I would start my July 4th at 5:40AM, I was less than thrilled. In fact, I was forced with the truth that I was already headed to bed past 12AM, just several hours before the events of the day would begin. The reason for this early awakening is due to the fact that I am a stereotype: I'm an intern. So when you need a group of people to fend off other Californians from Elyisan Park's section 9 for the Mosaic Picnic, you are awarded this steller job.

The day started off in a rush because everyone had the same idea: get up at the same time so we can pile in the bathroom. Once we rushed up and out of the apartment, we headed to the park to park ourselves on picnic tables and haul out materials for the festivites from 11-4 to celebrate America. At this hour, the question of why we were celebrating the United States in such a large manner when we have 70+ nationalities at Mosaic seemed a tad puzzling. But even so, I sat quietly with Blue Like Jazz on a picnic table among dirt and dew covered grass.

The day took a violent upswing with orders were taken from an intern at Starbucks. Now granted, I rather support the local guy who is making a buck rather than the mega-store with their own addicts for their product, but at this hour of the day when so much would be demanded, how could one say no to a Mocha Frappachino.

The day went well. The food was delicious, BBQ ribs, chicken, beans, tater salad, rolls, all the holiday fixins. Facepainting with the kids. And of course, lots of injuries. Honestly, what's a large event of outdoor action without breaking and bleeding?

The most memorable, aside from, Erwin's son breaking an ankle, was a child who rolled down this large, dusty southern California hill causing a cut on his left hand and some mighty good scrapes on his knees. It brought back many memories of rolling down the gravel driveway on my Fisher-Price tricycle and dumping it over at rapid kid speed. Only this child screamed city kid. Really. He screamed a lot. The sight of his own blood and wounds caused frantic exclaimation at decibals so loud that my parents ringed me and inquired if there was a sonic boom on the west coast. Ok, that might be an exaggeration, but you get the idea.

Poor kid. We cleaned him up, calmed him down, and finally got the kiddo at the point where he wasn't crying so much that the California drought was ending. After the end of the excitement, clean up proceeded and we headed back to the apartment to view distant fireworks.

But let us go back. Well, let me go back. I'm the one writing it. Anyway, during the picnic I was gazing across the beautiful view of people of all different ages and races gathering and interacting in the great outdoors and realized that if I could picture a little bit of heaven on earth, it would be at that moment. So mych joy, conversations, and celebrating. Raw and untamed fellowship among so many people from all over the world. One of the wonders of LA. You meet people from everyone with amazing stories that leave you reflecting for ages.