squiggly lines of fire

4th of July downtown

The glory of independence in squiggly lines of fire flying in a black sky. And I think about what it means to be free. That definition means different things to different people. To me, freedom means I can decide today to apply for a job as a whitewater rafting guide in the Pocanos (which I did). To someone else, freedom means other things.

The 4th of July has held other, more ominous meanings for me in the past. It has been a reminder of one particularly traumatic event that changed my life and who I am forever. But it has also reminded me of a beautiful moment shared with a friend in Jackson Hole, Wyoming over a pint of Fat Tire lager.

Tonight, while watching the explosives fall in a flurry of color overhead and hearing the "oooo" and "ahhhh" of the people surrounding me, I couldn't help but think of how much money was, quite literally, going up in smoke. With things so economically strapped in this country, on one hand, it doesn't make a lot of sense to watch money burn.

I also thought about how those explosives glorify war.

The kennel is quiet tonight. Foxy, our Alaska dog, is no where to be found. She hates fireworks and thunderstorms. The dogs are smart: those loud KA-BOOMs are not natural, and if they were, it wouldn't be a cause for celebration.

But tonight, I thank God I am free enough to live in a country where I can write this, where I can choose to be a whitewater river guide or a "healthcare marketing advisor." Or a dog musher.