My most favorite holiday (generally speaking) is Halloween. I won't go into detail the how's or why's - it is what it is.
However, my second most favorite holiday happens to be the 4th of July. Not because I'm so patriotic, but because of the celebration.
I love fireworks. I love cook-outs. I love the community it brings with the celebration.
The other night I heard the distinctive canisters being lit with the "foomp, foomp, foomp" followed by "boom, crackle, whistle"
Something inside me came alive. I couldn't wait to get outside to see the display. Like a child I was running out the front door with one shoe on and the other in my hand. I didn't want to get slowed down by putting on my stupid shoes.
A local club always shoots off their fireworks almost in my backyard the Friday before the 4th of July. And they're the good ones too.
I ran outside into the street to watch in awe. Clapping and giggling, I can't help myself. My inner child just busted loose. There's something about fireworks that makes me flash back to my youth.
It was that one time of the year that my parents allowed us to run around after the streetlights came on. My neighborhood would have a block party where all the mothers made their particular Jello salad, fathers burned the hot dogs and hamburgers on the grills (just as us kids liked it), and the kids ate their faces off. Running from table to table grabbing what we thought was the best at each and running down the middle of the closed street.
My favorite was the Ambrosia Salad. I can never get enough of that. I mean, what genius mixed marshmallows and fruit cup? My mother certainly didn't make that stuff (Marshmallows a meal does not make - so she said) so I gorged myself.
When it was time for the fireworks, the kids all gathered together and the parents sat in their lawn chairs and waited for the last bit of twilight to slip beyond the horizon. It seemed to take forever and then the show would begin.
It was magical. And loud. And sparkly. And wonderful.
You didn't have to get dressed up. There was no going to church. You didn't get presents - which meant you didn't have to send a "Thank you" to Aunt Lillian. You didn't have to be quiet. You ate and ran around and watched beautiful colors explode in the sky.
So this year I watched and giggled as the explosions in the sky echoed off the hills behind me and reverberated back up to me for a second wave of loud hitting my ears. I loved it. Always loved it. Will always love it.
Didn't even mind the mosquitos.
So yes, Happy Birthday America. Can't wait for next year.
ps - you can make a meal out of marshmallows. I know because I've done it.
