J is for July Fourth —The Year the Celebration Never Ended

The Fourth of July used to be my all‑time favorite holiday. Family parties with star‑spangled tablecloths and food of every description, parades where half the town’s children marched down Main Street while the other half sprawled along the tree‑lined route—those are pleasant memories now, tucked into the scrapbook of my younger days. Days when Don and I always had someplace special to go. Even before I met him, the Fourth meant a party at my folks’ summer cottage. My good memories of the holiday are endless, including the night I got my very first kiss from a boy—under a fireworks display, no less. Sweet.

Time marches on, and the only thing certain is that nothing stays the same. People move. People die. People divorce. People marry into new family units and spend their holidays elsewhere. The big family parties I loved for so many years petered out decades ago when the ones who organized them left this earth and no one stepped into their shoes. Such is the natural order of things. Whoop‑de‑do. Happy fricking Fourth of July.

If it sounds like I’m feeling sorry for myself, I’m not. I’m gearing up for a walk down Memory Lane to the happiest, biggest Fourth of July of my life—1976, the Bicentennial. Don and I were six years into our relationship then, still acting like kids even though we were in our thirties. I remember that summer as a blur of bluegrass festivals for us and the Ford administration for the nation. It was the year Rocky came out, along with One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, one of our all‑time favorites. Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” topped the singles chart, and Barbara Walters became the first woman to co‑anchor the network news.

And then there was the spectacle: more than 50 tall ships from 20 nations filling the Hudson River for the celebration. A laser beam—via satellite!—cut a star‑spangled ribbon to kick off the nation’s two‑day party. That was a huge technological marvel back then. And for every dignified event, there was something quirky to balance it out—like guys sporting red, white, and blue dyed beards, or the landing pads built for UFOs that never bothered to show up. I was so disappointed!

Don and I threw ourselves 150% into the Bicentennial spirit. We went a little crazy buying ’76 souvenirs, convinced we’d someday get rich off our collection of commemorative coins, china, jewelry, McDonald’s containers, and even dry‑cleaner bags wishing America a happy birthday went into a wooden Anheuser-Busch commemorative beer case. I made myself a long, flowing hippie‑style dress out of Bicentennial fabric, and I loved wearing that thing. When I downsized to move to my CCC, I discovered—duh!—that the souvenirs weren't worth much because everyone had saved them. But remembering our enthusiasm still makes me smile. We even signed a copy of the Declaration of Independence that now sits in a time capsule. That was also the summer several nearby towns opened their 100‑year time capsules, and of course we attended those too. I loved 1976.

I wish we could stay young and carefree forever. I wish people didn’t have to die or move away. I wish our country didn’t feel so fragile right now. But since those wishes can’t come true, I’m grateful for the memories that keep me company. ©

Cottages and Long Holiday Weekends

It’s no secret that I had a hard time getting through the first two 4^th of July holiday weekends after Don died. I was bored, lonely and envious of people on Facebook who rode off at sunset to see the fireworks and who got mustard stains on their sandals from eating hotdogs at the beach. Woo was me. I could hardly stand myself. I used to say the 4^th was my favorite holiday because I loved the small town parades and spending time at either my folks’ cottage or in later years at Don’s brother and sister-in-law’s wheelchair friendly cottage. We were never without an invitation for a red, white and blue themed potluck and opportunities to swap stories around a warm circle of family. Those parties have dwindled out in recent years as the older generation passed on and cottages got sold. Still, I miss my favorite holiday traditions and I didn’t look forward to spending another long weekend with just my memories and the dog to keep me company. He's shallow and his storytelling abilities suck but don't tell him, he thinks he's perfect.

Enter The Plan: 2014. The plan involved diving into a project that would take up a lot of time. This 4^th of July that project was to chalk paint a doll bed and table and chairs set that I used to play with when I was a little girl. The bed will get used for a dog bed for Levi and the table and chairs will go at the end of my dining room in place of a 1940’s coin-operated motel radio/bed stand that I’ve got up for sale. I’ve never liked the radio, as quirky and fun to talk about as it is. It was Don’s and it’s time to let go and claim a bit more of the house as my own. What a project! My childhood furniture had been down in the basement and it grew mole after my flood last year. So I had to scrub it down with bleach water one day then I painted it with a sealer the next day, and after that I spent time two days in row painting them with two different colors of chalk paint. A chalk paint project isn’t done when the paint dries. Next comes the distressing and waxing to give the pieces that “shabby chic” aged look. The Plain worked. I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself, imagining the whole world was off having fun in the sun.

But I did manage to get some sunshine on my head and water on my feet recently. Three second cousins I used to babysit in my teen years, their mother, my oldest niece and my brother got together for an afternoon at the cottage where we all have special memories attached. It used to belong to my parents and when my dad died five months before my husband’s stroke, my niece bought the cottage then she presented my brother and me each with a key so we can come and go as we like. It’s not wheelchair friendly and since the ‘key ceremony’ I hadn’t had many opportunities to use the cottage so I christened my use of the place this week with my little cousins’ party. We had so much fun bringing my parents back to life through conversation and photos and recreating our many boat rides down the channel aka the jungle back in the old days. I even served the homemade peanut butter cookies and lemonade that I remember fondly from my youth. My mom and dad were like grandparents to my cousins---two sets of twins---so they were at our house and cottage often. I was also their 4-H leader and their “adult” supervisor on camping trips when I was in college. (No, I didn't teach Animal Husbandry or how to make blue-ribbon winning pies. I was teaching the fine art of apron and moo-moo making.)

I stopped by to see my sister-in-law on the forth. She’s ten years older than me and used to own the wheelchair friendly cottage where I took part in many holiday potlucks. She jokingly calls me Mother Superior because she thinks I give such sage advice when we get to gossiping about her family. I wish she would have asked me for advice before she sold the cottage. I would have told her, “No, F-ing way should you do that! It will scatter the family!” But she didn't ask and maybe that's a good thing because she would have died of shock to hear the F word coming out of me, her "wise nun" who always knows the right things to say. (Don't I have her fooled.) Like I said, I miss the old traditions---families on the 4th, food of all descriptions, the fireworks, the boat parades and even the mosquitoes because they liked me best. But life changes and we must do the same. Roll with the punches. Adapt. Keep a stiff upper lip. Can you think of any other platitudes I left out?  So, all long holiday weekends from now on will be project zones here on Widowhood Lane. If I remember. I'm old and I might forget. ©
 

After the first coat of soft blue, the next coat was a cool gray.

The finished dog bed. Levi needs to do a better job making it.

Happy Fricking Forth of July

The Forth of July used to be my all-time favorite holiday. The family parties featuring star-spangled table clothes topped with food of all description, the parades where half the town’s children marched down Main Street while the other half sprawled along the tree lined way are all just pleasant memories now of my younger days. Days when Don and I always had some place special to go. Even before I met Don the forth was party time at my folk’s summer cottage. My good memories of the forth are endless including it marks the day I got my very first kiss from a boy…and at a fireworks display no less. Sweet!

Time marches on and the only thing certain in life is that nothing stays the same. People move, people died, people get divorced, people marry and join different family units to spend their holidays with. The family parties I loved for so many years petered out in recent years as the ones who always organized them left this earth and no one took their places. Such is the natural order of things. So here I sit with my package of kosher beef hotdogs and that’s my big Forth of July party-for-one plans. That and I plan to make croutons today with cranberry walnut bread with mango infused olive oil and all-spice. Whoop-de-do, happy fricking Forth of July! 

If it sounds like I’m feeling sorry for myself, I’m not. I’m gearing up to take a walk down Memory Lane to the happiest, best and biggest Forth of July in my life---1976, the Bicentennial. Don and I were only six years into our relationship at that time and still very much acting like kids even though we were in our 30s. I remember 1976 as a summer filled of bluegrass festivals for us and the Ford administration for the nation. It was the year the movie, Rocky, first came out along with One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, the latter movie being one of our all-time favorites. Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody was top on the singles chart and Barbara Walters became the first woman to co-anchor the network news. And it was the year when over 50 vessels from 20 nations filled the Hudson River to help our nation celebrate its birthday. Do you remember the laser beam via satellite that cut a star spangled ribbon to start our nation’s two-day party? That was a HUGE technological thing back in the day. Then there were the landing pads built for UFOs that never showed up for the party. For every dignified and classy event going on that forth of July, there was an equal number of quirky stuff like guys sporting red, white and blue dyed beards.

Don and I got 150% into the bicentennial spirit and we went crazy that summer buying ’76 souvenirs. We were convinced someday we’d get rich with our collection of everything from commemorative coins and jewelry to MacDonald’s containers and dry cleaner bags that contained birthday wishes to our nation. I even had a long, flowing hippy style dress made out of material that commemorated the year. I loved wearing that dress! I still have it and a wooden box put out by a beer company in 1976 that is filled with all our bicentennial stuff. If I live another 13 years, to when it all turns 50 years old, it might have some valve. But I doubt it. We weren’t the only ones making the souvenir manufactures rich that year. But it was fun and crazy and it makes me smile when I remember all the stuff we did that July…like traveling many miles just so we could sign a copy of the Declaration of Independence that now resides in a time capsule. It was also the summer when several 100 year time capsules were opened in near-by small towns and we attended those as well. I loved 1976! Some day I should finish that Bicentennial quilt I have third quarters done.

I wish we could stay young and care-free forever. I wish people didn’t have to die or move away. But since those wishes can never come true I’m glad I have great memories to keep me company when everyone but my dog is out of town.  ©