Well, here it is. July! The fireworks are over, at least those made of gunpowder. (My shivering little dog is truly grateful.)
I find I am over fireworks. Nowadays I feel that fireworks are just bombs in fancy costumes…a celebration of weaponry… and I’ve seen enough to last me a life time.
I wondered, as I listened to the explosions from the High School football field down the hill, if this would be the last celebratory Independence Day, our country being in such emotional disarray these days. Then I received an e-mail from one of my high school chums, truly the smartest person I know (we’re talking Mensa here) that brought me cheer. She is an avid reader of everything!
This is what she sent my way…
Just finished reading Fears of a Setting Sun: The Disillusionment of America’s Founders, by Dennis Rasmussen (professor of political science at Syracuse University). Most interesting. Relies largely on letters and diaries revealing how pessimistic Washington, Jefferson, Hamilton, and Adams were about the future of the U.S. Only Monroe avoided complete loss of faith in the Constitutional system they had created.
Somehow I took great comfort in knowing that this country has been here before and still survives. May it be ever thus.
As for this month’s song, it is one of the less buried. I recorded long, long ago. But it just sounded like right now is a good time for its revival. It is called HERE AND NOW and I wrote it with a fabulous songwriter named Tom Snow.
I hope it makes you smile.
As for the 4th itself in our little town, the parade was back…the kazoo marching band in all its glory, which made me very happy. I always enjoy the bunting and chairs that line the streets in preparation for THE DAY. And I am always sorry to see the chairs disappear.
Here’s the poem I wrote for them.
THE CHAIRS OF SUMMER *
It starts with just one chair
Alone…aloof…
Astride a busy corner
By a bus stop
Under a dusty oak
From Costco or Target,
Viet Nam or Taiwan
Worn white plastic
Ragged rainbow webbed
A solitary chair appears
Suddenly, surprisingly
Like the face of Mary
In a taco
A miracle of
The mundane
Tomorrow it will multiply
Magically into four…
Fourteen…forty-five
By week’s end
Four hundred plus
Bound together by bungee cords
Of anticipation
Waiting for the large pink people
Waving small bright flags
Who will plant themselves
Like sunburned petunias
Listening for that first squeal
Of high school clarinet
That rat-a-tat of
Snare drum
The buzz of fifty
Kindergarten kazoos
Flinging John Phillip Sousa
To the summer skies.
The fire truck will pass by
The flatbed filled
With princesses
Representing various
Vegetables
Pious folk on hay bales
With banjos
A float or two of bunting
And bed sheets
All will wave and cheer
Rise and go
Leaving the chairs
To sit in silence
As the sun dips
Behind the crisping hill
The sky explodes above
The football field
Then one by four by forty
They will disappear
Back to garages, closets
Invisibility
The annual migration
Complete
Until next July
Calls them out once more
To unveil their
True selves,
Their sacred
Purpose
To be
The chairs
Of summer
Stay cool! Stay positive! Stay kind!
LOVE,
Amanda
