Happy Independence Day. And if you do not believe in that, then, Happy Fourth of July.

Everyone has a fourth of July. It’s right there between the third and the fifth, so none of your lip now. . . .

Hub found a bunch of old bottle rockets when we were cleaning out the garage, so we’re going to shoot off a bunch of them from the deck later tonight. Our deck is covered with many years’ worth of black burned Fourth of July spots. Isn’t everybody’s?

Please tell me your deck is covered with black spots too?

I’m afraid to ask about your sidewalk, because, well, mine has a lot of black spots on it from those “snakes” the kids used to burn when they were little. I like the spots, because they make me remember those giggling little kids, watching the coiling black snakes with big laughing eyes. The kids, not the snakes.

I’d rather have the spots, and the memories, than a pristine household.

And now, I’d best go run the sweeper and prepare a festive holiday meal, as my sweet MIL will be here in about twenty minutes for supper and I haven’t lifted a finger about it yet other than to slice some strawberries and put them in a bowl.

If you make your guests wait long enough, anything will seem good, right? Starving people aren’t very picky.

Have a wonderful holiday, everyone. Please be safe, and happy. Don’t step on the hot sparkler wires on the ground. Watch out for the tiny kids; sometimes they bite and keep them out of harm’s way.

I love you all. Happy Independence Day!