Independence Day (Ferron)

From yesterday's Writer's Almanac:

Today is Independence Day. On this day in 1776, the Second Continental Congress unanimously adopted the Declaration of Independence, and the United States officially broke from the rule of England. The colonists were trying to persuade other nations of Europe to be on their side, so they included a long list of complaints about the king. The document said of the king, in part, "He is, at this Time, transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to complete the Works of Death, Desolation, and Tyranny, already begun with Circumstances of Cruelty and Perfidy, scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous Ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized Nation."

Twenty-four years later, in 1804, the explorers Lewis and Clark had the first Fourth of July celebration west of the Mississippi. They were traveling through a part of the Midwest that is now Kansas. They stopped at the mouth of a creek on July 4th, and named it Independence Creek in honor of the day. To celebrate, they fired their cannon at sunset and distributed an extra ration of whisky to the men.

There were unofficial celebrations of Independence Day from its first anniversary, but it really became a popular holiday after the War of 1812. On the frontier, it was the only time of the year when everyone in the countryside gathered together in one place. There would be parades and speeches, and the prettiest and most wholesome girl in the village would be named the Goddess of Liberty. Politicians would get up and call the king of England a skunk and challenge him to a fight. Drunk men in the streets would get into fights and call each other Englishmen. Soon, events like groundbreaking ceremonies for the Erie Canal and the Baltimore and Ohio Railroads were scheduled to coincide with July 4th festivities.

We're actually honoring the Fourth of July today rather than yesterday (although last night we did watch the PBS concert/fireworks on TV) - we bought an inexpensive grill at Home Depot and will cook out hot dogs and hamburgers, and round out the meal with corn on the cob, potato salad, fresh fruit and a patriotically-decorated chocolate cake. There will be 10 of us (immediate family, significant others and a few friends) - we'll also celebrate two (July 2) birthdays: my husband's and my brother's girlfriend's.

After clean-up time, my husband and I will head back over to my sister's to spend one last night together before he flies back to Florida Monday evening - it's going to be so hard to say goodbye (don't go there yet, Susan!)...

SONG: Independence Day by Ferron

BOOK: Summer: A Spiritual Biography Of The Season by Gary D. Schmidt, Susan M. Felch (editors), Barry Moser (illustrator)

POEM: A Warm Summer in San Francisco by Carolyn Miller

Although I watched and waited for it every day,

somehow I missed it, the moment when everything reached

the peak of ripeness. It wasn't at the solstice; that was only

the time of the longest light. It was sometime after that, when

the plants had absorbed all that sun, had taken it into themselves

for food and swelled to the height of fullness. It was in July,

in a dizzy blaze of heat and fog, when on some nights

it was too hot to sleep, and the restaurants set half their tables

on the sidewalks; outside the city, down the coast,

the Milky Way floated overhead, and shooting stars

fell from the sky over the ocean. One day the garden

was almost overwhelmed with fruition:

My sweet peas struggled out of the raised bed onto the mulch

of laurel leaves and bark and pods, their brilliantly colored

sunbonnets of rose and stippled pink, magenta and deep purple

pouring out a perfume that was almost oriental. Black-eyed Susans

stared from the flower borders, the orange cherry tomatoes

were sweet as candy, the fruit fattened in its swaths of silk,

hummingbirds spiraled by in pairs, the bees gave up

and decided to live in the lavender. At the market,

surrounded by black plums and rosy plums and sugar prunes

and white-fleshed peaches and nectarines, perfumey melons

and mangos, purple figs in green plastic baskets,

clusters of tiny Champagne grapes and piles of red-black cherries

and apricots freckled and streaked with rose, I felt tears

come into my eyes, absurdly, because I knew

that summer had peaked and was already passing

away. I felt very close then to understanding the mystery;

it seemed to me that I almost knew

what it meant to be alive, as if my life had swelled

to some high moment of response, as if I could

reach out and touch the season, as if I were inside

its body, surrounded by sweet pulp and juice,

shimmering veins and ripened skin.

QUOTE: "You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence... with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness." ~ Erma Bombeck

Mothers, Daughters, Wives (Judy Small)

For my mom, my stepmother-in-law and for all the mothers out there, most of whom continue to believe that peace is achievable - "study war no more" indeed...

From UncommonGoods.com:

Who are the mothers of Mother's Day? Before President Woodrow Wilson made it an official holiday in 1915, Mother's Day wasn't about flowers and cards, but instead it was a tribute to women's peace-making activities.

Mother's Day is actually a marriage of two separate campaigns that began during the Civil War. The first version of Mother's Day is attributed to Anna M. Jarvis of West Virginia who participated in Mother's Work Days, in which women's brigades worked to improve critical community sanitation. In 1868, Jarvis established Mother's Friendship Day, which encouraged women to ease tensions between North and South once the war was over.

The second mother of Mother's Day was Bostonian Julia Ward Howe, author of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," who called upon all women to band together to abolish war. Her Mothers' Peace Day celebrations took place for several years in Boston and other cities until the end of World War I.

[Added 5/12/08: For These Stars, Mom Rules by Donna St. George, Washington Post Staff Writer - thanks, AW, for the heads-up on the MCC list! ]

SONG: Mothers, Daughters, Wives by Judy Small

BOOK: Not One More Mother's Child by Cindy Sheehan, John Conyers Jr. (Foreword)

POEM: Prayer Chain by Tim Nolan

My mother called to tell me

about an old classmate of mine who

was dying on the parish prayer chain—

or was very sick—or destitute—

or it had not worked out—the marriage—

or the kids were all on drugs—and

all the old mothers were praying intensely

for all the pain of their children

and for life—they were praying for life—

in their quiet rooms—sipping decaf coffee—

I bet they've been praying for me at times—

so I'll find my way—so I won't rob a bank—

I'll take them—the mystical prayers of old mothers—

it matters—all this patient and purposeful love.

QUOTE: "Mothers are not the nameless, faceless stereotypes who appear once a year on a greeting card with their virtues set to prose, but women who have been dealt a hand for life and play each card one at a time the best way they know how. No mother is all good or all bad, all laughing or all serious, all loving or all angry. Ambivalence rushes through their veins." ~ Erma Bombeck

Uncle Dave's Grace (Lou and Peter Berryman)

A bit of levity for the upcoming holiday... :-)

SONG: Uncle Dave's Grace (Lou and Peter Berryman)

BOOK: We Gather Together... Now Please Get Lost! by Diane deGroat

POEM: A Turkey Speaks ~ Author Unknown

I have never understood

why anyone would

roast the turkey

and shuck the clams

and crisp the croutons

and shell the peas

and candy the sweets

and compote the cranberries

and bake the pies

and clear the table

and wash the dishes

and fall into bed

when they could sit back

and enjoy a hamburger.

QUOTE(S): "Thanksgiving dinners take eighteen hours to prepare. They are consumed in twelve minutes. Half-times take twelve minutes. This is not coincidence." ~ Erma Bombeck

"Coexistence: what the farmer does with the turkey - until Thanksgiving." ~ Mike Connolly

Break the Cup (Buddy Mondlock)

My favorite chapter from the book below seems to sum up my attitude after this last week of struggle:

"See the Glass as Already Broken (and Everything Else Too)

This is a Buddhist teaching that I learned over twenty years ago. It has provided me, again and again, with greatly -needed perspective to guide me toward my goal of a more accepting self.

The essence of this teaching is that all of life is in a constant state of change. Everything has a beginning and everything has an end. Every tree begins with a seed and will eventually transform back into earth. Every rock is formed and every rock will vanish. In our modern world, this means that every car, every machine, every piece of clothing is created and all will wear out and crumble; it's only a matter of when. Our bodies are born and they will die. A glass is created and will eventually break.

There is peace to be found in this teaching. When you expect something to break, you're not surprised or disappointed when it does. Instead of becoming immobilized when something is destroyed, you feel grateful for the time you have had.

The easiest place to start is with the simple things, a glass of water, for example. Pull out your favorite drinking glass. Take a moment to look at and appreciate its beauty and all it does for you. Now, imagine that same glass as already broken, shattered all over the floor. Try to maintain the perspective that, in time, everything disintegrates and returns to its initial form.

Obviously, no one wants their favorite drinking glass, or anything else, to be broken. This philosophy is not a prescription for becoming passive or apathetic, but for making peace with the way things are. When your drinking glass does break, this philosophy allows you to maintain your perspective. Rather than thinking, "oh my god", you'll find yourself thinking, "ah, there it goes". Play with this awareness and you'll find yourself not only keeping your cool but appreciating life as never before."

P.S. I've googled myself silly and can't seem to find Buddy Mondlock's lyrics anywhere - do yourself a favor and go to his website to familiarize yourself with an extraordinary songwriter (soft voice, huge heart... :-)

SONG: Break the Cup by Buddy Mondlock

BOOK: Don't Sweat the Small Stuff--and it's all small stuff by Richard Carlson

POEM: Advice to Myself by Louise Erdich

Leave the dishes.

Let the celery rot in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator

and an earthen scum harden on the kitchen floor.

Leave the black crumbs in the bottom of the toaster.

Throw the cracked bowl out and don't patch the cup.

Don't patch anything. Don't mend. Buy safety pins.

Don't even sew on a button.

Let the wind have its way, then the earth

that invades as dust and then the dead

foaming up in gray rolls underneath the couch.

Talk to them. Tell them they are welcome.

Don't keep all the pieces of the puzzles

or the doll's tiny shoes in pairs, don't worry

who uses whose toothbrush or if anything

matches, at all.

Except one word to another. Or a thought.

Pursue the authentic - decide first

what is authentic,

then go after it with all your heart.

Your heart, that place

you don't even think of cleaning out.

That closet stuffed with savage mementos.

Don't sort the paper clips from screws from saved baby teeth

or worry if we're all eating cereal for dinner

again. Don't answer the telephone, ever,

or weep over anything at all that breaks.

Pink molds will grow within those sealed cartons

in the refrigerator. Accept new forms of life

and talk to the dead

who drift in though the screened windows, who collect

patiently on the tops of food jars and books.

Recycle the mail, don't read it, don't read anything

except what destroys

the insulation between yourself and your experience

or what pulls down or what strikes at or what shatters

this ruse you call necessity.

QUOTE: "My theory on housework is, if the item doesn't multiply, smell, catch fire, or block the refrigerator door, let it be. No one else cares. Why should you?" ~ Erma Bombeck