How did you spend your Fourth of July? I know the 4th has been long past and a post about fireworks and hotdogs and sparklers seems a little late, but you see, we didn't get any of those things on our Fourth of July. Let me go back to explain.
My typical Fourth of July was a big neighborhood bar-b-que out on the grass of a friends yard. It was kids running around in swimsuits with sticky Popsicle dripping off their chins. It was groups of friends finding ladders to put fireworks on so they seemed bigger. It was groups of friends melting the plastic top of ladders with the heat from the fireworks. It was the local cop showing how big a bang you could make through out the whole neighborhood if you threw a firework down in the storm sewer (he was such a good example). It was neighbors who would duct tape a firework to an old remote control car and drive the firework down the street while it spewed sparks and flame. Yeah, we knew how to have a good time.
If you live in the United States, your holiday was pretty close to this, maybe minus the neighbor who was intent on burning everyone's ankles with the small car that was on fire. Our holiday wasn't close to this at all. We spent our holiday in Russia, and then finished it up on an Italian cruise ship. It was kind of strange.
When we came back from our long, and exhausting day in Russia, (read about that HERE, HERE, and HERE) we found invitations to an exclusive and private event on board. An event only for Americans I started to get excited. I hadn't seen any other Americans on board other than our partners in travel (and crime) in Europe, The Point Family. There had to be some more if the Costa cruise line was going to throw us all a private party, right?
This is what our private party turned out to be. A lounge singer with an electric keyboard and hors d'oeuvres with punch and champagne. What could be more patriotic than that?
And don't let me forget the marzipan cake they had in the shape of the American flag. (Don't Europeans know that Americans don't like marzipan? Nothing could be less American than a marzipan cake. You want to make an American cake? Call up a store bakery and get the recipe for their Crisco-based, fluffy white frosting. That my friends says American cake.)
They had a recorded instrumental version of the national anthem, The Star Spangled Banner. Of course we had no flag to look at while we listened to the song.
The marzipan cake concoction would have to do.
After the national anthem things started picking up. We had a total of 11 Americans show up for this little shindig. And don't forget Holly, our English-speaking-not-American-but-British host for the party was mingling around. And I finally, FINALLY felt like there was a place in Europe where I could be as loud and funny and annoying as my little American heart desired. Solidarity my American compadres!
This little group did start to emit some laughing and noise (maybe that was just us and Mr. and Mrs. Point) and other cruisers were walking by our party wondering what was going on in there. But they couldn't come in. Why? Because it was private. Americans (and British Holly) only please!
We left the Fourth of July celebration without watching one firework and without eating one hamburger. But we were still buoyed by the glasses of free punch and the marzipan cake which turned out to be quite good if you scraped off the lacquer-like marzipan outside. As we walked out, the European guests who had gathered outside the door parted to let us through. Yeah, we kind of felt like rock stars. For the rest of the trip, we walked a little taller. And every time someone got in our way we thought, 'Excuse me, but don't you know who I am?'
My brothers and I say that we are mostly Irish. With an almost 100% Irish mother and a 25% Irish father, we consider ourselves to about 60% Irish. I've always heard about the luck of the Irish but I'm beginning to wonder. My brothers and I have had quite a few spells of un-luck. Here are a few.
Me -
I've broken my feet three times. Yep. Three. One time was jumping over a baby gate.
Rear-ended the car in front of me with a cop right behind me. Can you say ticket?
Brother #1 -
Was struck by lightning. If that's not unlucky, I don't know what is.
Broke not one, but both of his legs, in the same place. Not at the same time though.
Fell off of a house he was roofing. I don't know if this is unlucky, or just uncoordinated.
Brother #2 -
Totaled new Volkswagen (it was even Shamrock Green) driving down canyon. Went over the side and drove over rocks. Car looked fine from the top, looked underneath and it was all torn up.
Had hood fly up and hit windshield on car on the freeway.
Brother #3 -
Broke his leg. Got it fixed. Broke it again three days later.
While I taught him to drive a manual transmission, he floored my car and took out not one, but two of the neighbors fences and their deck.
So are the Irish really that lucky? Or should we consider the fact that we are only partially Irish so we don't have the full extent of the maximum potency of Irish luck? Or maybe we should count ourselves lucky that we are all still alive and have all of our appendages still attached? Hmmm... I'm not sure. I know a couple of things though. My parents should have invested in some better driving lessons for us and taken out stock in the local orthopaedic surgeon.
Happy St. Patricks Day!!!
Erin Go Braugh!!! (Ireland Forever!!!)
Today is the day where you tell the one you love how much you love them. Valentine's Day. Because of our circumstances, Matt and I regularly tell each other how much we love, appreciate, miss and cherish each other. Sigh... I know. We are so sweet. Since he already knows the things I love about him, I will tell you.
I love...
Matt's smile. It's perfect (without the help of an orthodontist). It lights up the room.
How he can put anything together or fix anything. He went to install a water heater once in an apartment and I said "Wait. Do you know how to do that?" And he just said "I'll figure it out." And he did.
How we have running jokes just between the two of us that have been going on for over a decade.
How funny he is. Even when he isn't trying to be funny.
That he is such a great dad.
That he never misses an opportunity to go to the school and have lunch with our kids.
That he isn't afraid to stand up for someone or something he believes in.
That he buys me flowers.
How from far away his eyes look brown but when you get up close you realize that they are really gold with green flecks in them.
How he never tries to change the way I feel.
That he loves to explore as much as I do.
That he will dance in the kitchen with me to Nat King Cole and Dean Martin.
That he will talk in a French accent while we eat French food.
How he never sits back and lets someone do all the work. Matt is usually the first and last one working.
That he worked two jobs and went to school when our kids were little.
How he lets me put my cold feet on his warm feet in bed.
How strong he is.
How he grows a goatee because he knows I love it.
How he wears the argyle sweater I bought him that he doesn't like as much as I do.
If something needs to be repaired around the house, he does it right away. He doesn't procrastinate.
That he holds my hand everywhere we go.
That he also insists on getting my door.
That he doesn't get embarrassed.
How he doesn't question decisions I've made.
That he isn't afraid to express how he feels.
How he will admit when he's wrong.
How he writes me love letters.
How he is exactly the right height for me to rest my head in the crook of his neck and shoulder.
That he makes me my favorite dinner almost every time he comes home.
That he will be silly.
That he will go down a slide backwards to make the kids laugh.
And I especially love that no matter how hard on myself I am, how unattractive I think I am, or how much I think I've messed something up, he is always there to disagree with me.
Christmas is over.
Plates of goodies left on the porch by neighbors, over.
Running to Target for the 15th time for that "last thing I have to get", over.
Eating cookies by the dozen without guilt because it's Christmas, over.
Trying to wrap every time my kids leave the house, over.
Keeping a stash of dollar bills in my purse for the Salvation Army bucket, over.
Listening to Andre sing to the tune of Joy to the World, 'Joy to the world, Bawney's dead! We chopped off his head! Don't wowrry 'bout the body. We fwushed it down the poddy. And wound and wound it goes! And wound and wound it goes! And WOUND and WOUND and wound it goes!', over. Finally.
