Ken Cannon and I passed a pleasant holiday yesterday.
In the morning we ate breakfast at the ward where I was comforted to see the regulars (Rick Horne, Stuart Loosli) still flipping flapjacks with the best of them. Then we skedaddled on home where I lazed about until it was time to cheer on the Bees and watch some fireworks down at the Smith's Ballpark. We were joined by Mike Brown and his lovely wife, Kacie, whom I have known and loved since the day she was born. And now look at us! We're grownup friends together!
Anyway, I've thought about how our observance of this holiday has changed over the years. To recap--
1. When Ken and I had young kids we went to Provo on the 3rd, lit off fireworks (one of them went accidentally went up TRQ's robe once! Fortunately, no limbs lost!), slept over night, and hit the parade in the morning. We spent the afternoon over at Ruth's house where the kids knocked themselves out on the Slippy Slide and I went into a potato salad-induced coma. In the evening we returned to SLC where Kathy Berg and her neighbor Kathy Shafer used to have a monster neighborhood party in their combined backyard.
2. When Ken was made bishop, we stopped doing the Provo Fourth, which was sort of tragic in some ways because the Fourth was the Biggest of the Big in Provo when I was growing up. But we were obligated to go to the ward flag raising ceremony and breakfast, and eventually that became our new beloved tradition. We still went to Provo in the afternoon, then returned to SLC for baseball purposes.
3. And now we don't even go to Provo. Ruth is too tired (she has the right to be too tired--she's 95!) to host a family friendly Bacchanalia and, frankly, we don't mind staying home.
Holidays evolve to fit the time of life you're in and I'm pretty much okay with that.
I did spend a lot of time yesterday thinking about Becky Thomas. The Fourth was her favorite holiday. She felt about the Fourth the way I (sometimes still) feel about Christmas. I felt her everywhere. And that was lovely.