Happy Birthday America!

July 4th, a quiet day. This year is different. The Fourth falls on a Wednesday, a little island between two potential four-day weekends. With no consistent way to expand the holiday, everyone is free to come up with their own way to celebrate. As it should be… this is, after all, Independence Day.

My day is quiet. I’m still feeling the effects of Monday’s treatment; aches and tiredness and a time for reflection. I’m left alone with memories of girlhood Julys, reminiscing in my mind on festivities in my mother’s hometown.

Every summer we migrated from Brooklyn to my grandparents’ homestead in the mountains of northeastern Pennsylvania in time for the Fireman’s Day Parade and the seasonal opening of the regional amusement park. That park had been there since the turn of the 20th century, drawing city dwellers to the little lake town all summer long. By the 1950’s, it remained closed much of the year, but geared up for a brief run around the Fourth with rides and games and cotton candy and a carnival atmosphere.

In my mind, I’m there.