Last night it was the 4th of July.
Actually, the whole day was.
I did almost nothing that most people would think is very festive, I am sure, but I did so much for my peace of mind, and I’d trade every holiday for a YEAR for that.
I organized cupboards and sorted art supplies and folded fabric and basically made it so that I can breathe easy when I come home.
NATIONAL MENTAL HEALTH DAY FOR ME!
(all rolled up in one.)
I felt energized doing it and a trip to Bed, Bath, & Beyond (way to enable yourself to carry every darn thing on the planet, with that title) helped a lot, too.
Then, when the sky got dark enough so that I could see the stars blinking above me, TJ and I walked out to the Charles River. We didn’t quite know where to go, but we followed the crowds and ended up there.
We found the river literally studded with yachts and Boston’s fantastically uneven skyline across the way. When the sky opened up with glitter, we looked up. We oohed and aahed. I thought about how last year, I watched the fireworks over a different river–the Hudson–but with the same boy (that kind of sameness is a nice thing to reflect upon). It was hot. I was wearing peachy-orange shorts with sailboats all over. I liked TJ; I could tell he liked me, too. He spent a long time and a lot of money buying me ice cream. It was sweet and as-it-should-be. It felt like I was finally the heroine who was not starring in a tragedy.
But I know these things take time to really know.
Well, there’s been a little time now.
I mean, not a lot compared to some veterans who can count on two hands and even two feet how long they’ve loved someone, but it’s been a little time.
This year, TJ took my picture.
This year, I love him, and I know he loves me, too.
It’s a feeling that is bigger than the Charles River.
I am grateful.
And my art supplies and cupboards are organized.
Which leads me to my point: HAPPY 4th of July!