Happy Fourth!

There's always a bit of confusion when a holiday like The Fourth of July lands on a Sunday.  Do you celebrate on the actual day, the day before, the day after...?  For me, the confusion is amplified by the fact that our traditional activities have evolved. Actually, maybe they haven't evolved as much as they've fizzled out a bit.

Let's just say that July 4th was always a big deal when I was growing up in Fillmore.  In fact, it was even a big deal when I moved away.  I know that I am not unlike many other people, many of us return year after year...  The Mister didn't exactly see the draw of the Fourth of July in a small town.  Luckily, he was always a good sport and went along with it.  In fact, he started attending the festivities with me even before we were married.  

There's something All-American about a hometown parade, games in the park, fireworks on the baseball field...  I'll never forget those amazing days full of Popsicles, watermelon slices, games in the park, talent shows, and falling into bed after the fireworks (with a blooming sunburn).


Now that my parents have moved away, Fillmore just isn't the same for us.  Sure, we could still drive down for the day, but it isn't the same without a shady backyard to hang out in...  Ice cream maker slaving away, mom's pasta salad chilling in the fridge, water fights, and evening sparklers...

And it makes me sad to think that my kids will miss out on all of that.  Sadly, we no longer see fireworks light up the sky.  We don't decorate bikes and wagons for a kid-powered cruise down Main.  We don't throw balls at the Dunk Tank, eat Navajo tacos, or ride on the bouncy wagon.  We don't sit in the back of a pick-up truck and cheer the fire trucks, cheerleaders, and football team.  It certainly isn't the Fourth that I remember.  


This year was especially quiet for us.  Maybe we can make up for it with some fun festivities tomorrow.  I guess this is our chance at a Do Over...  Maybe it's a good thing that July 4th fell on a Sunday this year...

Happy Memorial Day!

After a fun day out on the lake with my family, I'm enjoying a relaxing evening at home.  The kids are freshly scrubbed and in their jammies.  The friends have all gone home.  I'm sunburned in a warm glowy kind-of-way, as opposed to the miserably fried kind-of-way...  And as I just said to The Mister, I love holidays that fall on a Monday.  We got to enjoy all the fun and togetherness of a Saturday, but tomorrow we don't have to rush off to church meetings and obligations...  It's a bit of a perfect scenario.

Memorial Day has always been meaningful for my family.  While we spent today on the lake, I remember many a Memorial Day spent driving from one cemetery to another to clean the family headstones and place mums or other florals upon the graves.  In the past few years there have been several additions to the graves that we visit...  Not only have some of our loved ones passed away, but through genealogy, we have identified other lost family members.  I joke that I don't want to take over the "older" generation's commitment to the cemetery pilgrimage...  But the truth is, I'm glad they do it, and I hope that somehow it will continue to get done.

And for those who have served, and who continue to serve our country, Thank You.  You, too are remembered today.  And I'm certainly grateful for all you have done to serve me, my family, and our glorious country.

I miss June in a small town.

I rolled out of bed this morning to meet a friend for a walk. As I started up the hill to our meeting spot, I heard sounds from down the street. I paused to listen for the source, and identified it as voices coming from the canyon. For some reason, I was disappointed that it was only voices.

I grew up in a small town. I don't mean a smallish suburb of a city, I mean an actual small town. I lived in a rural area--cows in the pasture--a traditionally quaint town. We had no traffic lights, and very few (if any?) 4-way stops. You had your choice of Duane's or Pioneer Market for groceries. The kids all cruised Main on the weekends...

Many small towns have charming or unique traditions. For some it's the dedication of the football fans. Others revel in basketball season. There are even communities committed to preserving the past through reenactments of historical events... I guess it takes all kinds, and that's what makes a small town something special.

Holidays are a unique experience in a small town. For my hometown, The Fourth of July was always an exceptional experience. In fact, people who had long moved on would return for the festivities of the Fourth. The preparations began well in advance of the seventh calendar month. And June marked the beginning of the parade preparations.

Our Fourth of July Parade has always been an impressive spectacle. Anyone who is (or has ever been) a member of a local athletic team, a member of a club, an elected official, a volunteer firefighter, a religious representative, or who has attended the local high school, has a favorable chance of participating in the parade. I remember performing with a marching group at the beginning of the parade, and then changing clothes so I could ride on a float in the later half of the parade. In fact, there were years when I pondered the possibility that everyone would be in the parade, and there would be no one left to watch the parade.

I remember rolling out of bed on chilly, June mornings to meet at the school. The Drill Team was practicing their parade routine. The Cheerleaders were practicing their chants and planning their float. And the Marching Band was practicing their marching and their music. The early hours of those June morning were often filled with strains of music from the offending sources. We used to laugh at the blunders of the tuba players. It wasn't something they could hide--they practiced while marching together all around town! I recall the year that Axel F (from Beverly Hills Cop) was the Sealgae's musical choice. Those poor people who lived along the blocks surrounding the school! I still feel sorry for them.

But those were the sounds I half expected to hear this morning. I even had time to calculate that it was that time of year... I realized that I actually hoped to hear a refrain from the marching band. But then I remembered my location. I'll miss the extravaganza that is the Fourth of July in Fillmore, Utah. I'll miss the dunking tank... The pancake breakfast at the Legion Hall... The dance... The games in the park... The talent show... The patriotic performers... The Navajo tacos... The greased pig race... I'll miss it all. Or maybe I won't, maybe I'll just have to make the drive and enjoy my hometown holiday! But until then, I'll certainly miss the preparations.

Happy Memorial Day

I think it's safe to say that I come from a patriotic family. My grandfather was a Colonel in the Air Force. I remember him displaying the flag from a bracket and pole next to the front door of his house. My dad took up the tradition as well. We always flew a flag on important occasions.

Many people view July as the month for patriotism. And I remember our family gatherings on the Fourth of July. I remember that my cousins and I stopped at every flag along the street to say the Pledge of Allegiance. But more importantly, I remember Memorial Day. And I knew the meaning of that holiday as well.

I don't think there were many kids my age who knew the reason behind this holiday. They identified Memorial Day only because it heralded the coming of summer vacation. But I learned the meaning at a young age. In fact, I served as Miss Poppy for our local American Legion Auxiliary post when I was about eight years old. That year, I visited several area cemeteries, gave speeches, and placed wreathes on the flagpoles. To this day, I try to make my annual contribution by purchasing a veteran-made, paper poppy. I know it might seem like an insignificant gesture to some, but to me, it isn't.

My family had a Memorial Day tradition of it's own. Every year we made the trek to scattered cemeteries to place flowers on the graves of family members. Fillmore, Hinckley, Spanish Fork... Those were the important destinations for our family for the weekend. And as we tidied the headstones, and placed flowers and wreaths, we were reminded of who these people were, and why they were significant. I can't say I always enjoyed the hours-long car ride, but I recognized it's importance. And I did learn our family history in a way that made those far-gone people seem relevant to me and my life.

I know my mom worries that this tradition of placing flowers on the graves will die with her generation. And while I can't promise to locate all the family markers, I do recognize the importance of the tradition. And I won't ever forget the stories that my grandma shared with me. So, don't worry mom... When the time comes, I'll do my best to honor the tradition. Thanks for sharing it with me.