… Fourth of July parade.
This will be a stuttering sort of post. I’ve just pulled my gray Adirondack chair forward to the edge of my driveway and have already been caught up in a long pleasant conversation with Caroline, a new neighbor. She’s British from the sound of her, but has a big ol’ American flag on her porch, a red and white bandanna on her dog, and plenty of excitement about the parade, which will be passing by our houses shortly.
I’ve put bug spray on. I’ve considered topping up the sphagnum on my topiary bulls and rejected the idea. They look okay. I’ve walked the dog and put him inside.
Here’s Mr UD, with some more chairs. “So where are the crowds?” he asks. Garrett Park has three hundred families, and our parades are très Lake Wobegone.
The weather is not hellish! Amazing.
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Sousa marches are sounding on Kenilworth Avenue!
Mr UD is telling me about a review he just read of the new Porsche Something. “The guy says there are two problems. Everyone is jealous and hates him for having one. And it goes too fast.”
More marches! Closer!
Mr UD says he’s not that excited. “It’s not like Netherlands beating Brazil.”
Mayor in an Audi convertible greets us: “Say hello to the Deputy Mayor.” A dog of course.
Guy in a Nixon mask: “I am not a crook.” (This year’s theme is Our Heroes. I’m confused.)
Firefighters.
Albert Einstein.
Soup kitchens.
Girl Scouts.
Washington Capitals.