An Independent Independence Day

The Fourth of July is a big deal in my little town. If you live over on the east side, beyond the viaduct and close to the lake, you can feel the energy and excitement every Independence Day morning. The side streets and parkways fill up with cars, and anyone who lives along the parade route pretty much cheerfully accepts that 1) they’ll be expected to host a parade watching party and 2) a crowd of people will spread blankets and lawn chairs on the parkway between the sidewalk and the street in front of their home to watch the parade.

I used to dream of owning a home on the parade route. Everyone I grew up with, and everyone who lives in my little town, knows the parade route by heart. In 125 plus years, the route changed only twice, I think, during the pandemic, when the parade shifted to an all vehicle-only parade, and spaced itself out across town a little more. I didn’t attend those years.

But this year and last, the parade was back to the regular route. The 2024 theme centered around dogs: “Stars, Stripes, and Pawtriots” they called it. And a group of pug dog owners and their pets (parade regulars), were appointed parade marshals.

Angelic Daughter is terrified of dogs, and with good reason. When she was a toddler and we were living in the city, we had several encounters with vicious, unleashed, and uncontrolled dogs.

So my little town’s burgeoning obsession with dog ownership holds little charm for us. People bring their dogs into restaurants, grocery stores, hair salons, and a bunch of other places where dogs should not be. These dog owners simply seem to assume that everyone is going to love their pet as much as they do. News flash: nope.

So given all that, I’m all for the leash law. But my increasingly cutesy-wootsie town, which to the best of my knowledge still retains a leash law, now also has a village logo showing a child running with an unleashed dog. Sigh.

Angelic Daughter and I have developed a new Fourth of July routine over the last nearly eight years since Mike died. In the first few years, we went to the parade together, but more recently, I went alone. Angelic Daughter was just done with sirens, dogs (some still unleashed), and crowds. After the parade, we take a picnic out to the cemetery where Mike’s ashes are buried, and sit by his graveside in the quietude, enjoying the peacefulness and the lack of fanfare. Each year there are a few others out there, doing the same.

This year we enjoyed a delightfully quiet morning on the front patio, followed by a visit to the grocery store to pick up the right kind of once-a-year potato chips, and a drive through pick-up at Potbelly. When we got to the cemetery there was a very light sprinkle falling, but that just added to the sense of serenity and timelessness of the morning. We sat in our new camp chairs, using a new rolling cooler as a table, and enjoyed our special picnic lunch together. Then we came home and each of us took a nice long nap.

After our twice-a-year fried chicken take-out dinner (limited to the 4th and “kickoff Sunday” in September at church), we settled into the basement to watch “A Capitol Fourth,” another recent tradition for us. Angelic Daughter usually lasts through about the first twenty minutes before she heads back upstairs. I think even televised crowds, noise, and fanfare gets to her. (BTW, if you haven’t watched this year’s Capitol Fourth on PBS, I encourage you to do so, if you can stream of a replay of it through Smokey Robinson’s amazing performance. That man is 84 years old, and he’s still SOOOO got it. Smokey for President!)

When I was done watching the televised fireworks, I came back upstairs, brought the flag back in (because you’re not supposed to leave it up in the dark, and I don’t have a spotlight for it), and went upstairs to my bedroom to finish binge watching whatever I had been bingeing all week, and then hit the sack. A few neighbors were shooting off bottle rockets and backyard fireworks, but not in their usual excessive way. I think there’s something about this year (election angst?) that just made it all feel a little overwrought.

I don’t know if I’ll attend the parade next year. I think 63 or so years of what is essentially the same parade is enough already.

I like our independent independence day of quiet companionship by my late husband’s grave, indulgent food, and peaceful enjoyment of our front patio and backyard. There are many ways to celebrate freedom, and this year, we did it by liberating ourselves from old traditions and fully embracing new ones that feel better for us right now.

Hoping you’ve enjoyed, and are still enjoying, a peaceful holiday weekend, I remain,

your chip-and-fried-chicken-stuffed, having-another-nap-attack, not-worried-about-having-missed-anything

Ridiculouswoman

Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay