Alas I miss the hometown parade and picnic of my hometown in Monte Nido, CA, where as a kid I decorated my stingray bicycle with crepe paper and streamers on those years when I had to give up the honors of riding the family horse, a black and & white pinto named Misty to my sister Tammy.

We are not traveling this 4th of July - a victim of the horrendous prices of fuel.

In later years, my Dad was the self appointed director of the Monte Nido Property Owners BAND - and hustled all his instrument-playing friends, family and neighbors to participate. I was always recruited, and after a few ragtag rehearsals we would all clamber precariously aboard the flatbed Dad had rented, and would sit on hay bales while being towed by his trusty truck-of-the-month. Playing "It's A Grand Old Flag" and "This Land Is Your Land" as well as "Yankee Doodle" among other favorites on my accordion was hilarious as we struggled to keep our seats amidst the jerking and steep angles of the flatbed along the parade route. Bystanders lined the little crooked roads, and waved, clapped & cheered, singing along as we drove by. It was completely glorious.



After the parade, complete with the huge firetruck, nearby high school marching band, local news station hero, as well as every family's parade entry designed around a theme, we would gather at the huge estate of a neighbor under the oaks. The games commenced - watermelon-seed spitting contest, tug of war, sack races, wheel barrow races... and of course the monumental raffle. My Mother always bought hundreds of tickets - hoping to win a night out to dinner at the famous rustic "Saddle Peak Lodge" just over the hill. One year she did.

We sat on a blanket cast over the sticker leaves and foxtails, eating our carefully prepared fried chicken, potato salad, deviled eggs, brownies and drippy juicy watermelon. After the hot lazy afternoon waned away, most made their way home to take a short nap, while the kids waited impatiently for the evening fireworks. We'd pile into the truck, armed with sparklers, Smokey Joes and roman candles to light off at Santa Monica beach, where we would sit on the sand watching the huge fireworks display over the pier. Sometimes it was fogged completely out, and we could only see a few pale shades of light spots through the grey. After it was over we would sit in traffic for an hour, along with everybody else as we made our way back home.

It is a most treasured memory to me now, to look back to when my family was intact, loved ones were smiling, and life was incredible wonderful on the 4th of July.