She stood at my front door, all three feet and 7 inches of her, my granddaughter. On her face was a smile and in her hand was a yellow dandelion bloom.
Here, Opa, I got you a flower. I accepted the gift with the pomp and circumstance such an offering deserved.
Yes, any other day that same yellow bloom would have served as an unwelcome reminder that weeds were overrunning my lawn. But right then that dandelion plucking was an an invaluable expression of love.
Sunday, July 12, 2015
Monday, July 6, 2015
Celebration or Reinactment
It was the 4th of July and the quiet of dusk was broken by the cracks of igniting gunpowder, explosive flashes, whistling rockets, and shouts of Hooray.
The celebration was taking place in 2015 near my home in Lewes, DE.
And yet it could just as well have been the year 1814 near Fort McHenry: muskets firing charges of black powder, glowing hot cannonballs arching through the sky, and shouts of Huzzah every time the ebb of battle changed.
Which makes me wonder if, when we celebrate our independence, we aren't subconsciously reliving one of the epic battles that got us there.
The celebration was taking place in 2015 near my home in Lewes, DE.
And yet it could just as well have been the year 1814 near Fort McHenry: muskets firing charges of black powder, glowing hot cannonballs arching through the sky, and shouts of Huzzah every time the ebb of battle changed.
Which makes me wonder if, when we celebrate our independence, we aren't subconsciously reliving one of the epic battles that got us there.
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