Happy 4th of July!

As a youngster, July was a month filled with celebrations. My maternal Grandmother's birthday was on the 4th; my paternal Uncle John's birthday was on the 16th; my birthday was the 18th and my father's was the 23rd. It was a month filled with parties, fireworks, barbecues and Hungarian "Dirty Bread" (a peasant delicacy that is soooo good, but soooo bad for you).

There were Sundays at the Jersey Shore (holla, Seaside Heights!) and St. Mike's church carnival. My sister and I would spend hours in the pool - well past the pruney-fingers stage - and school seemed a distant memory.

Of course, those days are now a distant memory. My grandmother, uncle and father are long gone. I haven't been to Seaside in ages and I haven't had Dirty Bread (I can say, but not spell the Hungarian words for it) since Hector was a pup. In fact, this July 5th marks the 10th anniversary of my father's passing. Not that that's a sad thing - my dad turned out to be quite a jerk as I got older. Don't get me wrong, I loved him, I just didn't like him very much.

And please forgive me for getting a bit melancholy - I suppose that has as much to do with getting a year older as anything else. These days, I'm left with only the 4th and my birthday to celebrate in July.

I suppose the point is - have fun. Enjoy the weekend. Eat burgers and hotdogs (and Dirty Bread, if you're Hungarian) and watch fireworks and go to your local church fair and spend time at the beach and revel in the company of your loved ones. I'm spending my birthday with dear friends (we're going out dancing, no mater how much my knees may scream at me the next day) and getting new ink (if you haven't read my previous post, please do so, and vote on which design you like best). I'm forgetting my chronological age and acting as young as I feel mentally. I'm telling the people I love that I love them. I'm having fun because life can suck when you don't.

Stay sane and safe (I'd hate to hear one of you lost a finger, hand or eye - or worse - to fireworks) Holiday weekend. Tell the folks you love how much you love them. As Michael and Billy proved last week, it can all be gone too quickly.

More, anon.

Prospero

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