Almost 15 weeks in quarantine. Next week it will be July already, and this year there won't be public firework displays or parades. We'll each quietly celebrate at home, possibly in our groups of ten, perhaps alone. In place of fireworks, I will watch the peonies blooming in the backyard, and instead of beavertails bought from a food truck, maybe I'll make deep-fried scones with honey butter. The pipe band can't march, but hubby might stand in the driveway and serenade the neighbours. We won't have a big barbecue bash for the family or go to the lake, but I can float peacefully in my pool while the sun comes up.
I don't mind having a quiet holiday this year. It's good now and then to have a time of introspection, when you can just count your blessings and reflect on all the factors and history and people and sheer luck that combined to land you where you are now. I'm in a good place, and stopping to appreciate it and be grateful is just as patriotic (or more so) as waving flags or parading.
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