I post this blog installment every couple of years because the reminder of freedom is always timely. Life has changed for us since I wrote this in 2018—Lala is no longer with us, and we live in a new neighborhood—but the truths still hold.
Happy 4th of July!
*****
With each explosion of fireworks, Lala, our dog, presses harder against me, and I feel her trembling. She doesn’t understand there’s a celebration going on and no one’s really bombing us.
Our dog isn’t the only one who struggles; I’m told the neighborhood’s many canines quake in their coats around this time each year, sometimes even refusing to step paw outside to answer nature’s call. They’re free to go out, of course, but to them, the pyrotechnics in the night sky signal sure terror, and the endless pops imprison them in fear inside their houses.
Unlike Lala, I know I’m free. And I’m free in more ways than I live.
Freedom frames my thoughts as I drive east on Dowling Avenue, pointed toward the grocery store where I’m free to spend my money how I like before it closes early for the July holiday. On my way, I pass a house where two large tents festoon the side yard. Ribbons of smoke curl skyward from two grills. A tall slim man approaches one of them and maybe he’s holding a spatula, but who cares, because he’s dressed in exactly two clothing items: a red Speedo and an American flag worn as a cape. Husband’s at work, but I have to phone him this minute anyway, because the brand of freedom I just witnessed should be shared with others.
As I drive on, I count my freedoms on Independence Day, and like the sighting of the guy in the Speedo, they surprise me:
I’m free to live a life that doesn’t look like the next person’s.
I’m free to do the right thing, even when it’s hard.
I’m free to serve others more than I do.
I’m free to keep the words that are in my head out of my mouth.
I’m free to not worry today. Or tomorrow.
I’m free to tell people I love them, even if they may not return the sentiment.
How are you free?
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