There will be a more coherent post later — hopefully. So, yeah, this is the dog ate my homework post.
Mostly, I’m going to try to get in some relaxing time before tomorrow, when I start preparing for the fourth.
You know the way other people feel about Christmas? or perhaps their birthdays? Yeah, I feel that way about the fourth.
My older son Robert was due on the fourth of July and has only been forgiven for missing his due date by three days because he then had the good sense of being born on Heinlein’s birthday. (Okay, so he kept me in labor for three days to achieve this. I know he planed it!)
This is probably a reflection of the fact that some other people love their country – I stalk it, hide love notes in its drawers, and sometimes (in an excess of zeal) call and breathe heavily on the phone at her. But then I spent so much time looking through metaphorical binoculars across the sea and thinking I could never have her…
For someone raised in Europe, the fireworks and unabashed patriotism of the fourth should be cringe inducing, but it is instead very liberating, like a post-modern boyfriend daring to tell his café buddies “yeah, I love her more than life, what of it?”
And if I ever fail to tear up at “the land of the free and the home of the brave” bury me. I don’t care what the vital signs say, it’s a sure indication I’ve died.