It's pretty cool to read Betsy Ross and the Making of America over Independence Day. I reflected on my religious freedoms in a new way after reading about her grandparents--Quakers who came to Pennsylvania from England to escape persecution. And I feel lucky to live in a city with many options for worship--from edgy to traditional, mosque to synagogue, tiny 50-person congregations to congregations 4,000 people strong. God bless America, indeed.
We celebrated the Fourth with our good friends the H family and Mr. D supplied the usual cache of contraband pyrotechnics for our enjoyment. It was a stormy night and the mosquitoes and wet weather conspired against their plans to replicate "the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting through air." Never one to back down from playing with fire and explosives, Mr. D drove the fireworks through the mud down near the woods in the Momvan. For a brief glimmering moment we all imagined a rogue firework blowing up my slightly dented and irreparably filthy tan Momvan. Alas, no such luck. The Momvan survived, the men heard cheering and clapping from the safe harbor of the back patio. We played dice, drank beer, ate watermelon and taco dip and appreciated country livin' where a person can whoop and holler and blast stuff off without interruption from neighbors or authorities.
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