Sam

Freedom in a glass, a.k.a. Pabst Blue Ribbon ran from the tap, but I chose Sam. Sam Adams. The summer ale. I brought some to the barbecue, too.

Football and flip cup, bocce and beer pong, ball toss. I didn't play any games; though, a friend and I practiced the ball toss while attention was diverted elsewhere. We were terrible but nobody seemed to care. The mix of friends, old and new, my friend and her boyfriend and their worlds colliding came together to celebrate our nation's birth and that of a couple of friends. A Yankee Doodle dandy and another Yankee Doodle sweetheart.

I made my way down to the Mall for fireworks, adding five miles to the 14 I had already walked, and made plans to walk again on Sunday and the next weekend and the weekend after that. I packed a little. Slept a little. Laughed a lot and the weekend wasn't over.

Barry Manilow on the Mall didn't hold my attention until it was replayed on public TV and I was sorry I missed him, Aretha, too, but not sorry enough to regret spending a day in the sun, a day in the grass and breeze with friends and friends of friends.

As I drove with the roof down and wind in my hair, I listened to National Public Radio. With news and classics and shows that I could only hear on NPR, I heard that the president would host military families for a barbecue and fireworks, and that made me happy, too. It seemed a fitting way to celebrate our nation's independence.

As did the Sam. Sam Adams. He was one of our Founding Fathers. He helped lead the American Revolution and shape American republicanism. His name also found its way to a lovely summer beer.


Tag: Fourth of July