4th of July

I have mixed feelings about the holiday. The current state of our country is horrendous and terrifying. The hand basket we are all traveling in seems to be getting closer to its destination every single day. I am beyond angry that those who could turn things around refuse to do so. I am baffled that there are still people who support the evil that is being done. And on days when I can manage to read the news I despair for our country. 

My family and J.'s family have very long histories here in the US, with family from both sides arriving before 1776. If family lore is correct, one of my ancestors was part of the group who dumped tea into Boston Harber. Both of our families have ancestors who fought for the North in the Civil War. I am in possession of my great-great-grandfather's fife.


My ancestors fought for freedom and for their country who was on the side of freedom. Freedom from tyranny, freedom from slavery, freedom to speak openly, freedom from abuse. They would not recognize the country as it is now. 

I love my country and what it has stood for. I also freely acknowledge that it has fallen short of its great aims much of the time. Freedom of speech is one of the great checks and balances that have kept urging the county to live up to its intents. 

Tonight I celebrate what our country has been and I mourn what it currently is. I have no idea if it will last another two years, much less another two hundred and fifty years. 

As I end, let's remember some good. 

The New Colossus
Emma Lazarus 

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

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