We have been listening to the fireworks from our apartment: a pepper-pot of booms and echoing crackles which the cats are enjoying about as much as your average thunderstorm. I am sure they would look marvelous from Prospect Hill. We were much too tired by the time we got home to find out in person.
We made our strawberry ice cream. We grilled an assortment of things. Last year my niece and her younger cousin chased each other around the kitchen and the year before that they shared a trampoline and this year toy trucks were the preferred medium of chaos (a garbage truck and a flying bus featured prominently). I paid as little attention as possible to the news out of D.C. except to approve when![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch told me the weather was bad. This Fourth of July is no more uncomplicated to celebrate than the last, but I realized that I have started to feel territorial about national holidays: the administration does not get to define them; does not get to use them to define America; does not have either the right or the breadth to define America. Neither does my family, of course, being one family with some friends to celebrate with, but I think we come a lot closer than a narcissist's gun show. The two trees in the side yard are growing despite the rabbits. The milkweed and the wildflowers are flourishing over the grave of Abbie the Cat. The air conditioning at least had the courtesy to wait until all the guests had gone to give up the ghost for good.
It was not particular to the holiday, but I read this evening and have been thinking about this poem: Sarah Browning, "The Fifth Fact."
Maybe I'll finally sleep tonight.
We made our strawberry ice cream. We grilled an assortment of things. Last year my niece and her younger cousin chased each other around the kitchen and the year before that they shared a trampoline and this year toy trucks were the preferred medium of chaos (a garbage truck and a flying bus featured prominently). I paid as little attention as possible to the news out of D.C. except to approve when
spatch told me the weather was bad. This Fourth of July is no more uncomplicated to celebrate than the last, but I realized that I have started to feel territorial about national holidays: the administration does not get to define them; does not get to use them to define America; does not have either the right or the breadth to define America. Neither does my family, of course, being one family with some friends to celebrate with, but I think we come a lot closer than a narcissist's gun show. The two trees in the side yard are growing despite the rabbits. The milkweed and the wildflowers are flourishing over the grave of Abbie the Cat. The air conditioning at least had the courtesy to wait until all the guests had gone to give up the ghost for good.It was not particular to the holiday, but I read this evening and have been thinking about this poem: Sarah Browning, "The Fifth Fact."
Maybe I'll finally sleep tonight.
