On June 26, I remembered the Fourth of July. Husband and I planned the festivities, came up with the menu, and invited Todd and Trixie to join us. They said yes. All of our celebration planning occurred within a five-minute window.
This patriotic holiday—loaded with nostalgia for me—is one of my favorites, and what pairs better with nostalgia than yesteryear’s recipes? I told Todd and Trixie about our food ideas, and they were quick to comply.
“Todd says we’ll bring the ambrosia salad,” Trixie said. “And at a minimum, we need sparklers.”
I forgot what the old-fashioned “salad” contained and said so.
“I think it involves Jell-O, marshmallows, and possibly asparagus,” she said.
A quick Google search showed me variations on the dessert, and she wasn’t far off. Mandarin oranges, marshmallows, coconut, pineapple chunks, maraschino cherries, pecans, and bananas were popular ingredients. And whipped cream, sour cream, or mayonnaise held them all together.
“I thought there was elbow macaroni in it too,” Husband said.
“It isn’t saying that,” I said, reading the ingredients aloud, “but it seems possible.”
We discussed the other parts of our meal. No sundried tomato and feta brats or butter burgers with caramelized onions and gruyère this year. Nope. We’d enjoy plain ol’ hot dogs on plain ol’ white buns.
“No fancy chips either,” I said in case Husband was getting any crazy ideas. “Just Old Dutch potato chips. With French onion dip.”
We decided classic pea salad, watermelon, potato salad, Jell-O poke cake, and rootbeer floats were invited to the party too.
Todd and Trixie arrived on the big day with homemade pulled pork, sangria, and fireworks. We hustled out to the pool as the skies darkened. No hope of sunburns from our summer holiday this year, but we took a rainy dip to mark the occasion anyway.
Hours chased away the raindrops, giving us the chance to smoke up the atmosphere with fireworks that looked and smelled exactly like the 1970s. And they spun me back to the days when sparklers inspired oohs and aahs and those “snakes” stank like sulfur and stained both the pavement and our memories.
“Did you read the instructions first?” Todd said to the girls about each item they lit. “You should read the instructions first.”
Trixie struggled to ignite an extra-long sparkler. “This isn’t American’t but American,” she said when she had success.
And she danced with the dazzler in the hazy dusk.
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*Names in this blog have been changed to protect my family, neighbors, and friends in the neighborhood, and in a nod of appreciation to the beloved Swedish author Maj Lindman, I’ve renamed my three blondies Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka.