Growing up, the Fourth of July was my second favorite holiday next to Christmas. I loved driving by the fireworks stands – imagining what was new – hoping they still had my favorites from the year before. I loved laying in bed at night, listening for the sound of the smashed Piccolo Pete’s whistling away sometimes weeks ahead of time, reminding me of the sparkling celebration that I love so much.

I grew up in a small neighborhood where almost every house had kids close in age. On the morning of the Fourth, the neighbors set up long tables with red and white checkered tablecloths and faded beach chairs along the curbs for the annual Fourth of July block party. Meanwhile, my brother and sisters and I rummaged around our rooms for something patriotic to wear.

In the late afternoon, we headed down the street for a delicious potluck dinner. As I recall, there were amazing cooks and the presentation was Martha Stewart-esque. Several families brought ice cream makers and the dad’s turned the handles until the sweet cream turned to a frosty, icy delight. After dinner, the kids would play hide and seek or tag in the maze-like orange groves until dusk, while our parents socialized and kept an eye on the younger children.

Each family brought a box-full of fireworks, so the show was amazing, and bright, and sparkly, and long. After the smoke cleared, we helped clean up the street and then headed back home for our own mini Independence Day celebration - more fireworks - writing our names with sparklers - and lighting as many ground blooms at one time as possible, laughing hysterically as they danced and whirred and collided into a mass of blurry sparks.

I wish you a day full of warm memories, good food, bright and sparkly fireworks, and the blessings of freedom that we all get to share.

Happy Fourth of July!   -Denise