Open Book

Independence Day

Let's just get it out there: this is the strangest 4th of July weekend I've ever spent. For the first time in my 47 years on this earth, I am home alone, giving a whole other vibe to Independence Day.

It's weird. I mean, this is my mother's birthday weekend. And since the occasion so nicely coincides with our nation's birthday and the typically associated long weekends that go with, we are usually a jumble of family, fun, food and fireworks this time of year. So I'm walking around a little dazed, bumping into furniture and what have you, wondering how it came to pass that I'm sitting at home in front of my computer in an empty house instead of decked out in red, white and blue, buzzed, and nearly ready to cut some cake with sparklers for candles.

There's no big THING to explain it, beyond situational circumstance and choice. The husband has to travel to a well site that evidently doesn't feel the need to follow the normal cycles of the lunar calendar when planning its drilling milestones, and - (insert groan here) - I didn't want to kennel the dog on a holiday weekend. He's just too new, and too much of a puppy to go dumping in a cage for three days while I go gallivanting off, having fun.

I know, I know. I'm a sap. Sue me.

My parents have still had a steady stream of company. My brother's family was there Friday and Saturday, and my son, bless his heart, drove down this morning for a couple of days. And I plan to go down next weekend, when things are less unsettled here (translation: when the husband can be home to take care of my baby puppy.)

So...it's all good.

But that doesn't make it any less strange.

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So how have I spent my own personal weekend of independence? Like a slug, pretty much.

Well, that's not entirely true. Yesterday, I Murphy Oil Soaped the entire first floor of the house and took Jake to doggie school - all before noon. Last night, I read, watched the race, played fetch (as the tosser, not the chase-ee), scrubbed the upstairs bathroom, and organized a bunch of digital photos. 

But today? Yeah...slug, pretty much.

The only "plans" on the agenda today involve grabbing a lawn chair (for me) and a steak bone (for the dog) and trekking the one block over to the riverfront to sit under the bombs bursting in air during tonight's fireworks display.

Part of me is annoyed with myself for not doing anything more productive than read fifteen chapters of a book and cry my eyeballs out over 'The Secret Life of Bees' movie that showed up on my TV. But another part of me is rolling its eyes and saying, "Oh, STFU and enjoy it, you moron." Today, I must admit, I've been letting that part get her way.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

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The fireworks are just about four hours away. Jake is napping, and I think I might finally go take a shower. Then, I'm going to whip up a mini-pitcher of cranberry vodka and orange juice, take my book outside and enjoy the last of the daylight before the night skies began their explosive extravaganza to help remind me what this day is really about. As if I could ever forget.

Here's to freedom; to life and to liberty.

And here's to happiness.

For me, it's the little things.

A cup of coffee on the porch in the early hours, in those cool dewy moments before the heat arrives. A nudge from the cold nose of a puppy, who loves me unconditionally. A juicy, ripe nectarine for breakfast. A series of body stretching, psyche bending yoga poses to work out the night's kinks.

A seedling of an idea, reaching for daylight.

A smile, tugging at the corners of your heartstrings.

A quiet mind in a rare moment of stillness.

A waiting day, ripe with the promise whispered by a morning.

A life, full to overflowing with the wonder of small things.

However you may choose to define it, here's hoping you never stop pursuing it, with everything you are.

A cup of coffee on the porch in the early hours, in those cool dewy moments before the heat arrives. A nudge from the cold nose of a puppy, who loves me unconditionally. A juicy, ripe nectarine for breakfast. A series of body stretching, psyche bending yoga poses to work out the night's kinks.

A seedling of an idea, reaching for daylight.

A smile, tugging at the corners of your heartstrings.

A quiet mind in a rare moment of stillness.

A waiting day, ripe with the promise whispered by a morning.

A life, full to overflowing with the wonder of small things.

However you may choose to define it, here's hoping you never stop pursuing it, with everything you are.

Life is but a fleeting moment in the annals of time and eternity...

1. In a break from Thursday Thirteen tradition, a small homage. Today's first line is a quote taken from the first floor speech newly elected Delegate Robert C. Byrd ever gave on the floor of the West Virginia House of Representatives, in 1947. 
2. It has been an interesting week 'round these parts, and promises only to get more interesting before the week plays itself out. Senator Byrd's passing has thrust the spotlight on our state - again - and the plans to honor and memorialize the gentleman who served his state for a remarkable 57 years, 176 days are as dashing, dignified and bold as the man himself.
3. A staff photographer from the Washington Post ambled into my store today, searching for some "local color" to add to the paper's coverage of Byrd's memorial. He came to the right place, I have to say, and he was quite gracious and down to earth about the whole thing. Although he seemed a little shocked - or maybe disappointed - that the whole city wasn't draped in black, with posters of Byrd hanging in every shop window, people huddled around an old black & white television set at the corner barbershop. I think he ended up being satisfied with what he found at the bookshop. Who can know.
4. Skimming through Byrd's autobiography, I learned a few things about this man who has been the only Senator people of my generation in this state have ever known. A few things that surprised me, actually. Things I would've thought I'd know, almost by rote, just by virtue of being from West Virginia.
5. For example: did you know he was born Cornelius Calvin Sale, Jr.? In North Wilkesboro, NC? I always assumed he was a native West Virginian. But in fact, he was sent to live here with an aunt and uncle upon his mother's death when he was only one year old. They renamed him Robert Carlyle Byrd, and planted his roots firmly in the Mountain Mama's soil.
6. Did you know he was valedictorian of Mark Twain High School? Or that he earned his law degree in while already a US Senator, in 1963? But didn't earn his undergraduate degree until 1994 - at the age of 77 years old? How incredible is that?
7. Did you know he married his sweetheart when both were only 19 years of age? Erma Ora James was the love his his life through their nearly 70 years together, and lit his heart's way still in the years after her death, in 2006. 
8. Of course you know about his ties to the KKK, of which he was an active member for a little more than a year. How could you not, as every undereducated, unprincipled and classless Internet life form out there would have you believe this dark chapter of his life's story should be the sum total of your remembrance of the man in full. It saddens me to realize that while Bob Byrd showed three generations how a human being is more than capable of true remorse, evolution and growth, many opt to stay small of mind and charity in the name of partisan points.
9. Regarding his experience with the KKK, Byrd was open, honest and forthright about all of it, accepting no less than complete responsibility for his own actions at the time, and owning the shame he grew to feel at his 24 year old self's ambitious immaturity. As recently as 2005, Byrd said, "I know now I was wrong. Intolerance had no place in America. I apologized a thousand times ... and I don't mind apologizing over and over again. I can't erase what happened." He also knew it would be bold print in every obituary written about him. He grew well beyond it, as a man and as a human being, much the same way I imagine many of us have grown beyond some of the incredibly stupid, thoughtless things we may have done in our youth.
10. Senator Byrd cast more than 18,000 votes and had a career attendance record of 98% - both figures unlikely ever to be matched. He was a Constitutional scholar, the historian of the Senate, and a leader, by every definition. He served his state, and his country, with a work ethic and a principled character we should all aspire to in our own lives.
11. He had a near savant propensity for bringing federal dollars home. The King of Pork, he was. And to the citizens of one of the poorest states in the union, who saw these dollars spent on highways, bridges, universities, schools, libraries, hospitals, science centers, tech centers, research centers and more, the title was hardly an insult. It was an honorific. If you need proof, you should know that there are at least thirty federally funded projects in West Virginia that bear his name.
12. As a big mouthed advocate of Congressional term limits, I have long had my issues with Senator Byrd. But while I am anxious for my state to gain some progressive new leadership and some vibrant new blood representing her people, this wily old veteran posed a true conundrum for the likes of me. Because I also know that without someone of Byrd's stature and prominence, seniority and experience working on our behalf, there is a justifiable fear of seeing our battered state lose ground we can ill afford to give away.
13. Now, alas, the thing is done, and a new day dawns in the world of West Virginia politics, both locally and nationally, as we endeavor to fill the all too real vacuum Byrd's passing bequeaths us. It's a bittersweet time. But there is never any shame in looking backward to move forward, and in that vein, I'll close with a quote that defines this man in my eyes.

"I have the best job in America because I represent you, the people of West Virginia."

Senator Robert C. Byrd, I thank you for your service. May you rest in peace, sir. Godspeed.