Hey Baby, It’s the Fourth of July

Early on the morning of the fourth we woke up to a strange noise. It’s been unseasonably warm here in Seattle and we’ve been going to bed with the windows open. Instead of birds waking us at daybreak, however, it was rain. There was a cool breeze coming in the window and it smelled clean. All was right with the world. It always rains on the Fourth of July in Seattle.

The break in the weather was only temporary and the day politely returned to the mild sunny weather we’ve been having. Summer is a good two weeks ahead of schedule. On the third, we’d spent the entire afternoon dawdling out at our friend Bill’s place on the island. His home is unbelievably lovely with its meandering Japanese influenced gardens and private beach front. I do not really see the appeal of having friends with money — friends with real estate, however…

Yes, I do understand the relation between the two, but on the fourth we found ourselves equally enchanted as we feasted on blackened catfish under the plastic roof on Brandy and Woody’s back balcony. I can’t vouch for their bank accounts, but they do have a cute little rented house just south of the city. The back balcony is perfect for outdoor dining and when it rained — and for a while it hailed, too — we stayed put, protected from above but still able to smell the rain and look for rainbows.

Bill was out of propane. His glamorous place on the island is a little off the grid. He still had electricity, though, so we ate snacks out of packages and made frozen pizza from Trader Joe’s in the oven. In addition to the pizza, we brought raspberries from just down the hill and for dessert we ate hot fudge sundaes smothered in fresh raspberries. At Brandy and Woody’s place, we dined southern style. In addition to the catfish, we had succotash and cornbread and slaw and mint juleps and iced tea and peach pie and pecan bars and – oh, there was so much food!

I’m of a rather ambivalent point of view about patriotism these days so celebrating Independence Day feels a bit forced. But I’m nothing if not creative with language, so I’m going to rename it Interdependence Day and make it be about potluck dining with friends. I suppose I could work myself up to a whole thing about how only in America could we be celebrating the holiday with our Greek and French and Cuban and gay and Austrian and Jewish and etc amen neighbors all dining at the same table in one big festival of food and friendship, but whatever with that.

Nope, Interdependence Day it is. On Interdependence Day, you gather your people together. Someone supplies the venue and it is absolutely perfect, no matter where it is, swanky beach front or cute urban bungalow. You put on a spread of good food which is all the better because you are dining in the company of your fine friends, old and new. You say things like, “Man, America is really fucked up right now,” and you shake your head and everyone understands. And then, you eat.

Thomas Jefferson said, “It is our duty and our interest to cultivate with all nations… a spirit of justice and friendly accommodation.” I think he’d approve of Interdependence Day.

Ours was perfect. I hope yours was too.