Monday, July 7, 2008


So, 30 weeks seems surreal. And that's pretty much all I have to say about that.

Until I was ten or eleven, our family celebrated the Fourth of July the same way every year. We went to the fireworks in our town, arriving early in the day to stake out a good spot on the lawn. We loaded up the Scotch cooler (so called because it was plaid, not as any indication of its contents) with food and drinks and brought blankets to lounge on that we only used on the Fourth of July (even though they were plaid and wool, rather than All American) and a few chairs for adults. We ate cold fried chicken and watermelon because our family friends who we went with brought both, and my brother and I never had fried chicken except with them. I remember hot air balloons and frisbee games and finally being old enough to be allowed to walk around by ourselves and check out the festivities. Sometimes people came via parachute. And the fireworks always seemed amazing -- well worth the long walk back to the car and the slow crawl to get out of the parking lot.

After my family moved, we no longer had a Fourth of July ritual. We went back to Connecticut a few times, but never back to our old town, since the fireworks were for residents only. There are a lot of Fourths that I don't really remember at all, which makes me a little sad, since my memories of my childhood Fourths are so happy.

This year, I decided to do something vaguely festive. I baked an apple pie.

We brought it (still warm) to our friends' place, where we enjoyed the Boston fireworks from their roofdeck (though without the Pops, as the radio up there didn't get AM, which was too bad). I don't see pie on a roofdeck as a likely candidate for our new ritual, but figure it will likely be the last Fourth we have before we start thinking about starting such a new ritual, so pie on a roofdeck it was. I suspect that once we have kids who are old enough to appreciate it, we'll do the Esplanade in full force, spending the full day by the river, eating fried chicken and watermelon (and pie, perhaps). Maybe with family friends and a cooler with a nickname and special Fourth of July blankets. Though likely without a long walk to the car, since Boston fireworks aren't really car-friendly. And with an F-15 flyover rather than hot air balloons. But a ritual nonetheless.

A parting shot of the pie, which didn't look so pristine for long:


Jen said...

Wow, that pie looks amazing. I am impressed.

I don't have a Fourth of July ritual yet either. I'm working on it.

Melissa said...

Congratulations on the 30-week milestone. I can't believe how quickly it's going.

I have to agree that the Fourth of July hasn't been the same since I moved away from my hometown. The rituals are gone and the holiday has become a bit sad and depressing because of it.

I'm glad you made it special in your own way. It's good to set new traditions, especially when kids enter the picture.

That pie looks delicious!

mo*reezy said...

mmm, pie.

holy crap, we are at 30 weeks!

Nicky said...

My ritual growing up did, indeed, involve watching fireworks from an apartment roof, though there was an appalling lack of pie. I graduated to the Boston Pops on the Esplanade during college -- best Independence Days ever. These days, I am also without July 4th tradition (this year, we ate bratwurst and watched Battlestar Galactica -- hardly a tradition in the making).

Congrats on 30 weeks!