I called my parents yesterday and caught them at the end of dinner. They had hamburgers, corn on the cob, and potato salad. "It's tradition," my mom said. And of course, my dad blasted his weird 19th-century version of the Star-Spangled Banner as a chamber-music waltz on the stereo first thing in the morning.
What did I do? Well, I vacuumed. (Hey, that's a big deal.) I, once again, couldn't muster the energy to try another new church. I think we had nachos for dinner, or else a very late lunch that turned dinner into a much more casual thing. I can't remember, that's what's really weird.
I read a couple more chapters of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix to my son when he got tired in the evening, and then the teenagers across the cul-de-sac started setting off fireworks, and we all watched them until after 10. I think he was awake until 10:30, running from one side of the house to the other to see as many of the fireworks being set off around us as he could. We briefly talked to him about what Independence Day is about, why we celebrate it. Of course, there's no explanation for why we set off fireworks—I'm pretty sure that it has more to do with a love of explosives than with a particularly strong feeling about independence. Is it true that, in some other countries, fireworks are a traditional way to celebrate Christmas?
Vegetarian and celiac, hamburgers are not a viable option for me. We don't even own a grill, though our downstairs deck seems to have been made for grilling on. We spent the day together as a family, celebrating our interdependence. Hey, now there's a tradition.
[Hey, I called this category "Random musings." I reserve the right to be as random as I damn well please. Thank you very much.]
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