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Fourth of July

 We considered seeing "Jurassic World," but the reviews were so bad. The reviews said this: "If you vomited, then ate your own vomit, then had diarrhea, that would be Jurassic World."


So we saw "40 Acres." I was drowning in post-nasal drip--and I was half-awake--but I appreciated that Danielle Deadwyler was so unappealing. It takes boldness to make your protagonist insufferable. This told me that someone behind the camera had a vision. The movie was made *not* for the sole purpose of creating multiple paydays.

By chance, we realized that the local fireworks were visible through our upstairs window. And I learned something. I learned that fireworks really *can* inspire awe. They can't--for me. I don't think any real thought or creative work is involved in a fireworks display. And I feel *compelled* to seem impressed--which is irritating. But my kids were enthralled. In the ensuing days, they asked for an encore performance--as if I could snap my fingers and turn the fireworks into a nightly event.

"You really should consider seeing a doctor," said my husband. "When my allergies were very, very bad, I saw the doctor, you remember....and he really worked a miracle....It was some kind of nasal spray, I think....it had a green shell..."

I knew that this speech was coming from a place of love.

The lights went off; we'd all made it through our Fourth. Can it be that Danielle Deadwyler still hasn't won an Oscar? This is something to await--with eagerness--in the years to come.
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