Spiritually I did well today. I got all my readings and prayers done at the appropriate times. I definitely served as a prayer warrior in Mary’s army this Independence Day.
While I haven’t fasted, I have eaten modestly, drunk plenty of fluids and -so far- haven’t had even a sip of Coca Cola.
Sadly, I napped rather than exercised. My intentions were good, but my walking buddy at first cancelled, then tried to reschedule for later when I had determined it would be too hot. I had intended to ride my recumbent bike, but, like I said – I napped.
The TV has been off most of the day and I am three chapters into Ron Chernow’s new biography of Ulysses S. Grant. I am finding out my knowledge of him as man, General and President has been very narrow. I am trying to imagine Lin-Manuel Miranda turning this one into a Broadway play as he did with Chernow’s “Hamilton.”
The rap Civil War battle scenes could be epic.
Hopefully it will be much better than the musical adaptation of “Gone With the Wind” I saw many years ago in San Francisco. Actually no hope would be involved. Nothing could ever be worse than that theater experience.
Let’s just say an uncooperative horse live on stage during the “Atlanta is burning scene” – not a good casting choice.
Speaking of the Civil War, I had much fun last night crafting my #SecondCivilWar, #SecondCivilWarLetters and #secondcivilwarpotluck threads on Twitter.
Sadly my call to arms for someone to churn homemade ice cream to go with the apple pie went unheeded. It is so hard to throw a good Civil War potluck these days.
I am sure Alex Jones and his Infowars crowd were disappointed at this pointed lack of success to muster the alleged overthrow of our current President he warned of over the weekend.
What was he expecting from a group made up of us snowflakes anyway? We wield sarcasm, not rifles. But we wield it well.
Now I am watching the PBS concert “A Capitol Fourth.” I am waiting for my neighbors to start setting off their firecrackers in about an hour and contemplating a small bowl of plain popcorn with a soupçon of sea salt and just a tiny, tiny 3 oz glass of soda.
It has been a far cry from the hot, languid summer July 4ths of my childhood, which featured swimming in the lake, grilled hot dogs, sparklers and getting cherry bombed by the neighbor boy and his pals.
I also usually was burned to a red crisp by bedtime, smelling of Noxema generously applied.
But there was home churned ice cream. And we were all quite civil as we ate it.