Things that made me smile (so far) this week

• Remembering what flowers I chose for the wedding, and still loving them
• My mother reminding me to mail the wedding invitations later this month (did she really think I'd forget?)
• Getting $5 off the dry-cleaning for no apparent reason
• Receiving 3 free mini desserts at Carraba's
• Successfully saving a super tiny baby frog from the garage
• Enjoying tea and blueberry bread as a mid-morning snack
• Noticing, a week late, that I did not change my desk calendar to July

Let freedom ring, let the white dove sing, let the whole world know that today is a day of reckoning.... it's Independence Day

What July Fourth Means to Me, written by Ronald Reagan

For one who was born and grew up in the small towns of the Midwest, there is a special kind of nostalgia about the Fourth of July.

I remember it as a day almost as long-anticipated as Christmas. This was helped along by the appearance in store windows of all kinds of fireworks and colorful posters advertising them with vivid pictures.

No later than the third of July – sometimes earlier – Dad would bring home what he felt he could afford to see go up in smoke and flame. We'd count and recount the number of firecrackers, display pieces and other things and go to bed determined to be up with the sun so as to offer the first, thunderous notice of the Fourth of July.

I'm afraid we didn't give too much thought to the meaning of the day. And, yes, there were tragic accidents to mar it, resulting from careless handling of the fireworks. I'm sure we're better off today with fireworks largely handled by professionals. Yet there was a thrill never to be forgotten in seeing a tin can blown 30 feet in the air by a giant "cracker" – giant meaning it was about 4 inches long. But enough of nostalgia.

Somewhere in our growing up we began to be aware of the meaning of days and with that awareness came the birth of patriotism. July Fourth is the birthday of our nation. I believed as a boy, and believe even more today, that it is the birthday of the greatest nation on earth.

There is a legend about the day of our nation's birth in the little hall in Philadelphia, a day on which debate had raged for hours. The men gathered there were honorable men hard-pressed by a king who had flouted the very laws they were willing to obey. Even so, to sign the Declaration of Independence was such an irretrievable act that the walls resounded with the words "treason, the gallows, the headsman's axe," and the issue remained in doubt.

The legend says that at that point a man rose and spoke. He is described as not a young man, but one who had to summon all his energy for an impassioned plea. He cited the grievances that had brought them to this moment and finally, his voice falling, he said, "They may turn every tree into a gallows, every hole into a grave, and yet the words of that parchment can never die. To the mechanic in the workshop, they will speak hope; to the slave in the mines, freedom. Sign that parchment. Sign if the next moment the noose is around your neck, for that parchment will be the textbook of freedom, the Bible of the rights of man forever."

He fell back exhausted. The 56 delegates, swept up by his eloquence, rushed forward and signed that document destined to be as immortal as a work of man can be. When they turned to thank him for his timely oratory, he was not to be found, nor could any be found who knew who he was or how he had come in or gone out through the locked and guarded doors.

Well, that is the legend. But we do know for certain that 56 men, a little band so unique we have never seen their like since, had pledged their lives, their fortunes and their sacred honor. Some gave their lives in the war that followed, most gave their fortunes, and all preserved their sacred honor.

What manner of men were they? Twenty-four were lawyers and jurists, 11 were merchants and tradesmen, and nine were farmers. They were soft-spoken men of means and education; they were not an unwashed rabble. They had achieved security but valued freedom more. Their stories have not been told nearly enough.

John Hart was driven from the side of his desperately ill wife. For more than a year he lived in the forest and in caves before he returned to find his wife dead, his children vanished, his property destroyed. He died of exhaustion and a broken heart.

Carter Braxton of Virginia lost all his ships, sold his home to pay his debts, and died in rags. And so it was with Ellery, Clymer, Hall, Walton, Gwinnett, Rutledge, Morris, Livingston and Middleton. Nelson personally urged Washington to fire on his home and destroy it when it became the headquarters for General Cornwallis. Nelson died bankrupt.

But they sired a nation that grew from sea to shining sea. Five million farms, quiet villages, cities that never sleep, 3 million square miles of forest, field, mountain and desert, 227 million people with a pedigree that includes the bloodlines of all the world. In recent years, however, I've come to think of that day as more than just the birthday of a nation.

It also commemorates the only true philosophical revolution in all history.

Oh, there have been revolutions before and since ours. But those revolutions simply exchanged one set of rules for another. Ours was a revolution that changed the very concept of government.

Let the Fourth of July always be a reminder that here in this land, for the first time, it was decided that man is born with certain God-given rights; that government is only a convenience created and managed by the people, with no powers of its own except those voluntarily granted to it by the people.

We sometimes forget that great truth, and we never should. Happy Fourth of July.

YAY for long weekends!

Fourth of July weekend is upon us. Last year we went to the Magic Kingdom and watched fireworks with more than 70,000 people. It was extremely fun and patriotic and I probably cried a little. It also took about 45 minutes to get out of the theme park! We are not doing that again.

We're going on a road trip! Off to Pompano Beach tomorrow to see fireworks and get out of Orlando. Fireworks on the beach might not have as all-american a backdrop as Magic Kingdom or the nation's capital in 2007 (see above) but it will more than suffice. Warmth, sand, fireworks, ice cream -there must be ice cream- and that special someone? Sounds good to me! I now leave you with a fun 4th of July quote, Alex Keaton style.

"Republicans believe every day is the Fourth of July, but the democrats believe every day is April 15.” -Ronald Reagan

Quality Quotables*

My mother sent me two fun quotes today in an e-mail. I have always been a big fan of quotes for various situations, and it inspired me to start a new posting topic (and category). Sometimes a good quote sums up a situation better than a blog entry, anyhow. And in honor of my mother, a quote from her that is also about her!

I believe that always, or almost always, in all childhoods and in all the lives that follow them, the mother represents madness. Our mothers always remain the strangest, craziest people we've ever met." Marguerite Duras, French writer

*Inspired by Jeopardy! category 'potent potables'

A for Effort?

You may recall we embarked on a movie watching challenge at the beginning of June. The goal was basically to watch as many movies as possible, so as to get a great value out of our Netflix subscription. In the past 30 days, we have watched eight films.... so an average of 2 per week. Not bad, but in no way something to write home about. Our plan was thwarted by the fact that we (mostly Michael) watched a million episodes of Heroes via the "Instant watch" queue. For most people this means watching movies and TV shows on the computer screen. And that used to be us. We started Heroes in the fall, instant-watching on the computer. But apparently that's not good enough for us anymore. When we got our Blu-Ray player earlier this year, Michael purchased the one with built-in Netflix, thus allowing all instant watch programing to come through the big screen. I was indifferent to the feature, but he was super-pumped. To wit: He has watched 30 episodes of Heroes via the instant watch feature just this month- And the month is not over yet!

I do not like them, Sam I Am

If you read this blog have ever met me, then you know I hate eggs. LOATHE and DESPISE them, in fact. (I will eat a fritata, but that's a story for another day) But this post really isn't about eggs. I just wanted to use a clever title that was also food related.

For as long as I can remember, I have been the maker of lunches. My own, my sister's, my mother's. I probably would have made Dad's too, but he never asked and got up and left for work so early that it would have to be made the night before. This lunch-making began in about 4th grade and I haven't looked back. I guess at the age of 9 Mom thought it was OK for me to wield a butter knife to spread peanut butter and jelly or the mustard for the turkey sandwich. I got the gig not necessarily by being the best lunch-maker, but by being the person who was always ready first. This was sort of a dubious honor in my house because being ready for school way before everyone else meant I also had to help Mom find her black shoes/earrings/a safety pin to de-clump mascara or Al find her shoe/homework/hairbrush/clean clothing. I also had to wake Al UP but again, that is a story for another time. Once I helped the organizationally challenged members of my family locate the necessary items for school that day, I made them lunch. Sandwiches, soup, lunchables, salad, leftover pasta, etc. I did get better over time, which did nothing to help me get out of said task.

Side note: When I graduated from high school and went to college (out of state) Al was a junior in high school. She did not have lunch ONE DAY of her junior or senior year because I was not there to make it for her! Don't worry she didn't starve. Mom gave her lunch money to buy both of them Panera or Taco Bell or whatever else. I'm pretty sure they were both super pumped when I got home in May and high school went till June because they had a month of lunch.

Flash-forward to post-college 2005. I moved to DC and continued to make my own lunch. (and Al and Mom were probably still starving) Michael walked home for lunch (so lucky!) and was responsible for his own fare. I'd occasionally remind him of the 1/2 can of soup I left for him, but remained rather uninvolved overall.

Then we moved to Florida. Working from home allowed me to eat lunch at home this time- score! But because I got up when Michael did, at 6:30, I decided to be a dear and make his lunch for him while he showered and I made the tea. (He never once asked me to make him lunch, but every day thanks me for it on the way out the door. Such a sweetie) Everyone in his office was (and still is) supremely jealous of the fact that his lunch is ready when he leaves for work. My sister's current roommate recently learned of my lunch-making (for both Al and Michael) and said "She makes his lunch EVERY DAY? No wonder he's marrying her!" I like to think it's because I do his laundry, too. Quasi-relatedly, I also bake cookies and routinely send him to the office with them. A co-worker actually said "Jules makes you lunch and bakes cookies?! I want to marry her!"

Anyway- the reason I started writing this now excessively long blog post is because I'm eating lunch right now (it's 2:15, which is late for me) and it's not one of the best lunches ever. You see, it's Friday. I grocery shop on Sunday. This results in kick-ass lunches on Monday and Tuesday, with lunches progressively declining throughout the week. We had pizza last night and despite his insistence that I could have the leftover pizza and he'd grab a sandwich from Quiznos, I gave the 2 leftover pieces to my future husband (THAT SOUNDS SO WEIRD TO SAY!) this morning and decided to make a salad with the remaining 'spring mix' greens and raspberry dressing I have leftover from my delicious strawberry and feta cheese and walnut salads earlier this week. But since I am out of both strawberries and feta, I decided to add protein with Tyson's pre-cooked chicken cubes and add almonds just for kicks. Yeah. Not the best combo. I think the greens and chicken would have been OK with the bottle of dressing I keep in the work fridge, but for some reason I thought 'spring mix = raspberry dressing' which might be true if you don't add the chicken. Obviously, I should have taken Michael up on the going to Quizno's thing but I was very grossed out by having pizza for lunch knowing my co-worker was bringing McDonald's breakfast for everyone. And my 'less than 3 months away from your wedding' self told me I really should have 5 consecutive days of salad for lunch, and if I wasn't going to, I certainly shouldn't have McD and pizza on the same day.

Bottom line- I am glad it's 2:15 because I don't have that long to wait until dinner. Yes, a vast majority of my thoughts revolve around my next meal. It's been like that for a great while, and I am not ashamed.

Remembering the King of Pop

I have posted the greatest music video of all time in honor of the very sad news this evening. For all of his weirdness, Michael Jackson was a hell of an entertainer. I was never a rabid fan, but I certainly enjoyed all of his music. I hear him often on my morning runs, and have yet to see a Super Bowl half-time show as good as "Heal the World" in 1993.