To most it looks like a mere festive Christmas cookie recipe book. I had big, specific, colorful dreams when I headed to the cashier hugging what I considered a bound album of memories to make with the firstborn in my belly. I strangely treasure that book, a link to an unswayable, idealist, young version of myself. It isn't of much use for it's intended purpose though since I have never been able to bring myself to actually cook from it, even with our subsequent able-bodied children. When I stumbled on the book a couple of weeks ago it was the surprise tripwire making me acknowledge the source of my recent edginess, July 5th inching closer, the 2 year anniversary of Lydia's death. My emotions were closer to the surface than I realized.
Independence Day is much like that cookbook. To most it's a celebration, beach time, fireworks, cookouts by pools, pinterest explosion of patriotic colored desserts. It's even bigger than that as a tribute to our freedom. No one need apologize to me for their festivities by any stretch, maybe some day I'll be able to join you. Right now at my address there are no festivities, it's still overshadowed as primarily the date these pictures were taken.