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Being but an unborn 'gote, I hesitate to offer advice unbidden. What do I know, I'm invisible?

But I've seen my sacred zygote intentions for this day degrade to a defeated bluster in ever frightening degrees since I started this grudge-holding blog, and my newly grown up zygote zealots went off to forge wilder, drunker holidays among themselves and their ilk.  One of that offspring  (get your head around that: this zygote has children?)  delivered a redwhiteandblue pie on her way out to see her fireworks.

Comforted, I ate it all by Friday.

Like the Grinch reflecting on Christmas in WHooville, I believe Sacred Fourths do not come in packages, boxes or bow pies...

Yes, listen my AmZyg's, and you shall hear: A Proper Fourth of July comes from traipsing ever down the hall to where stands The Greatest Bookshelf on the manse, containing the Greatest Books in all the Land, 

Now,

grab you off a few choice selections, then sit you down with invested members of your tribe for a brief-yet-holy peruse...

I said "INVESTED..."  

...Chocolate works.

Now, each one will pick a title, read a line or two, or a paragraph or three.

Next, discuss. Be a Miner. Mine this pile of gold for treasures; comb this symphony of wisdom for heartstrings to tug. Passions to pander. A quote to quoth. That one from the 1840's or 50's by John Quincy Adams works pretty well. You know, the one about the U.S. Constitution being the indisoluable link in the spread of the Gospel around the world;

yes, THAT one

(esp. nice when life is lived with zygote eyes shut tight against the maddening reality that it's not 1850 anymore, child porn is legal, ADULT porn is more legal, prayer's been banished from public schools, teacher's are fired for having a Bible on their shelf, and women get tattoos more often than drunken sailors.

DON'T OPEN YOUR EYES. YOU'LL RUIN EVERYTHING).

Then you explain to the Master of Ceremonies that your guests must participate in "acts of solemn remembrance" before they get their pie. (VERY, very important detail. Bribery is KEY.)

Now, watch the music start to play. . .

Ug. I opened my eyes. Back to reality.

(Peering out the belly-button, I see leftover cheesecake everywhere... and my favourite red dishtowel, still clean because I just found it. Oh, sorrows, I forgot to get out my red HOLYday FOURTH OF JULY dishtowel?

I forgot everything. 

The books. The solemn acts. 

We didn't even watch fireworks. 

Hubbo set up his internet TV to see Capitol Fourth 

before padding off to bed [i did dishes until 2AM]. )

I have lost touch with my inner patriot; my yearned for rebel with a cause.

By next year, will The Son have healed my grudge drained soul?

...I doubt it.