For three or four days now, the top trending topic on Twitter was #SecondCivilWarLetters. Based on a loony statement from a provocateur that half of America was about to launch a civil war on the other half on the 4th of July, the clever folks showed how funny they could be by writing ironic letters home from the "war," with the sound of the letters spotlighted by Ken Burns in his iconic Civil War documentary series. Some were catty to the other side, some spoofed their own reputations. We have been reading aloud the tweets, laughing heartily, often at our own foibles. My favorite phrase to come out of the letters was from someone who complained about conditions in a prisoner of war camp after having been captured at Bowling Green, saying that the rations of avocado hardtack were meager. When I read it yesterday, I checked to see whether the Twitter handle @avocadohardtack was still available, and it was. I almost jumped on it. I decided that I didn't need a second handle, and I'd leave it to someone who had more energy than I to write witty bon mots.
We were invited to a Colonial Treason party for today. That's what our friend who hosts an annual 4th of July party called it this year. There were some old friends who were like family to us before we left more than 20 years ago, and some new members of that group who I'd heard about for years and only recently started to interact with. Most of us are starting to feel our age these days. Life has done a number on us, with us hiding from the sun, slathered in sunscreen and wearing big floppy hats, and checking our food for allergens (I was enthusiastically thanked for providing a cheesecake that was gluten free, and listed all other possible allergens on a label attached to it), limping around and groaning about what doesn't work anymore. Two among us were in wheelchairs, and the rest of us rotated between the picnic in the back yard and the circle of friends keeping the wheelchair gentlemen from being lonely or isolated. And with this group of people, nearly all of the conversation hovered on the edge of inappropriateness... no, I don't want to couch my language.. it was ALL inappropriate. That's why it's so fun to be with them. The men in wheelchairs were entertaining us with suggestive statements while one fed the other meat and others daydreamed about the "dozens of clicks" that could be obtained by filming this and putting it online. They fantasized about surgeries that could be invented one day to help them, and naturally they wished for adamantium implants just like Wolverine. The party host said if he had that surgery, his new superhero identity would have to be "Cripple X." This was the first time I'd met the other wheelchair-bound man, and I explained that I used to be buddies with this group like 25 years ago, and only recently started hanging around them again. He said to me, "25 years? What sort of grudge was that?"
I need to fall asleep soon, so that I can get up early and go to a sales meeting at the office, an hour from here. But it's the night when fireworks are shooting off all night long, like the ones coming from my neighbor across the street right now. The smell of exploded powder is filling my room. It's not quite as good as watching the fireworks at my friend's house tonight. There's a street that goes perpendicular to his property line, and it provides a stellar tree-free view of one of the main Aurora firework displays, from only a few blocks back. We all lined up on the sidewalk and front lawn, and watched the municipal display and the half-dozen neighbors who spent the big bucks on aerials. I haven't expended so little effort to get so much benefit in years. For the record, I think this one tonight was one of my favorite finales of all time. It was a gorgeous blend of color into color, over and over, and it was bright enough to switch off the streetlight we were sitting under. It has been a while since a display thrilled me like I was a kid all over again, but this one did, right at the end.
Low sugar (not made up with artificial sweeteners), and the compote on top was mostly from our own garden--sour cherries from up front and red and golden raspberries from the back. It was huge, and it was a hit.
As I suggested to my daughter, perhaps this is Gnomuel L Jackson?
I pulled a chair to the sidewalk, and had the best view imaginable.
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