My maternal grandmother was literally born on the Fourth of July. She died relatively early, and so one of my aunts hosted a yearly family reunion on that day with grilling, snacks, and lots of tchotchkes (knicknacks and toys) for the kids—everything from giant Uncle Sam hats to light-up star earrings to small stuffed cats with American flag wings. I still have some of these in the crevices of my home.
Years later we took up the gauntlet and began hosting our own July 4th parties, open invitation with a fireworks show at the end. This year the heat was tyrannical to the point of sickness, yet many brave souls joined us, including a bevy of nuns taking a summer course at the local college. We believe their prayers warded off a thunder-and-lightning hailstorm that shut down power in the nearby town but which passed us over with merely a sprinkle.
