Hometown Holiday Memories on the 4th of July

It’s time to strike up the band and fire up the grill!

Yep, it doesn’t seem possible but Fourth of July weekend is already upon us.

Just a month ago it was Memorial day sneaking back into town as we were busy putting our winter coats away and digging out the air conditioners during that little May heat wave we suffered through...then...turning around and dragging all those winter coats back down—again—and pulling those same air conditioners out of the windows—again—while we fired up our boilers with temps dropping back into the 40s.

 Ahhhh...May...ahhhh June.

So hot...so cold...so hot...so confusing

But such is the way of springtime, and now summer, here in my hometown and, I suppose, the rest of the northeast...but who cares about them.

Which is the nice thing about small town living,

Despite all the division, noise and hub bub spinning out of control in the real world, we small towners have an opportunity to step back, from time to time, and put all the insanity aside, if just for a weekend...and, even better, a holiday weekend.

And the holidays are what make small town living special; are what brings neighbors together.

It’s difficult to dwell on the negative—even though just saying the word “dwell” has such a nice ring to it—while watching lines of happy kids in scout uniforms marching down the Avenue in formation...or something that resembles a formation.

It all depends on whether the kid carrying the flag gets distracted.

Oh, the Drama....

Some people love the drama.

They claim not to, but they do.

We all know them, these “Drama Peeps”.

There’s not an incident too small or insignificant that can’t be turned into some sort of personal trial.

“My shoe lace came untied just as I was on the corner, crossing the street, and that horrible countdown clock began clicking off the seconds, so I had to run across with only one tied shoelace, all the while worrying over the untied one, flapping all around as a tripping hazard. I could very easily have gotten run over by a bus.  It was awful!”

To which you might reply...

“Maybe you should look into Velcro.”

To which they’d reply, because Drama Peeps, never listen to what you have to say....

“Then...on top of all that what do I find on the bottom of my shoe....some sort of disgusting green gum, which I’m sure was packed full of horrible diseases!”

To which you might again reply...

“Did you say green gum...and what corner was this exactly?”

“Now I’m going to have to throw these perfectly good shoes away, and they’re only 6 years old...possibly 7...maybe eight.”

“Was it spearmint or something fruity?”

And on and on it goes.

It’s as if the “Drama Peeps” need the drama in order to justify their being; adding some measure of import to their day to day activities.

The Perfect Imperfect Gift

Looking for the perfect dad day gift for the dad who has everything?

Well, then what are you doing here, messing around on-line???

But if you're looking for the perfect imperfect gift for the dad, who I'm pretty sure doesn't have this...give him a copy of "the Zombies Have Big Heads"...which is guaranteed to leave him scratching his own head...which is always fun...except at the dinner table, because it tends to be a little unappetizing....

And while you're at it, why not pick up a copy for a friend? It's a great way to introduce them to "The Freelance Retort"! 

I mean, why should you be the only one to suffer...?

Now only $7.99 Print - $3.99 Digital or $8.98 for both

Available Here

A guaranteed page turner, since that’s the only way to read the whole thing.

Just sayin....

And Here

Hidden Compartments

The thing that fails us most in youth is to realize... everyone was once young, too.

In fact, the old are no different than the young; they just keep their youth tucked away in hidden compartments only they can understand.

Toddler, pre-teen, teen, 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, 100 and beyond.

Every moment, every minute, every day, week and year.

Every memory, every emotion...stamped, catalogued and stored away in each of these sacred spaces.

Yeah...okay. Maybe “sacred” seems a bit over the top, melodramatic.

Perhaps, even schmaltzy.

But I think it applies, here.

What else would you call the place where the particles of your history are stored?

Youth awaits us, early on, with self-centered confidence; a world of days much too vast to contemplate.

All ours to use; never to lose.

Blowing by with endless energy and dreams.

Building, building...ever building, towards whatever we might imagine.

And before us, if we should stop to see, the old step carefully through the receding tide, stoop to pick a shell, simply admiring its miraculous twists and turns.