The 4th of July: My Own Personal Holiday From Hell

I hope I don’t get slammed for making this comment, but…I hate the 4th of July.

This has nothing to do with my patriotism. For those of you reading my blog, you don’t have to suddenly be afraid that you’ve been caught up in some terrorist plot to take over the world by brainwashing unsuspecting widows. I love this country as much as the next guy. My dislike for the holiday is more basic than that.

I hate loud popping noises.

I’ve always been this way. I was the child cowering in the corner of the yard with my head between my knees and my hands over my ears. As an adult, I get THOROUGHLY annoyed when irresponsible teenagers (or my inebriated neighbors) keep the party going past 10:00 PM. Because all that means is that I have to keep my windows shut and roast inside my nice, insulated house to drown out the noise.

I’m starting to think that this problem has really held me back all my life.

I’ll never forget, as a child, joining the swim team where, little did I know, I would have to meet my fear head-on. This was back in the day when they didn’t have the nice, passive beeping noise to get the race started. Nope. It was a cap pistol. So every Saturday as the sun was coming up on a beautiful Colorado morning, I would get my little 7 year old bathing suit, get over to the pool, and freeze my 7 year old butt off at another swim meet.

Unfortunately, the sound of the cap pistol scared the crap out of me so much that I would constantly false-start, so I wouldn’t have to hear it.

This little issue forced my saintly mother to walk me halfway down the block, away from the pool until it was time for my race so I wouldn’t have a complete breakdown and end up in a mental institution by the age of 9.

Finally, the swim team coach pulled my mother aside and said, “Ma’am. She’s a great swimmer. But some things just aren’t worth it.”

To this day, I wonder if I could have made it into the Olympics if I had just been born about 10 years later when the beeper came along.

Birthday parties with balloons. BB guns at camp. Those cheap little poppers that spray pieces of paper everywhere. All enemies to my sensitive ears.

My husband was never allowed to own a gun, even though he had been an avid hunter growing up. I would like to say that it was because I don’t believe in guns and I was worried that it would be a safety issue. But it was really because I knew that if he owned one, some day he might use it. And it would be loud.

So you can imagine that if I hate popping noises and I don’t like listening to fireworks on the 4th, having to purchase them for my kids just really pisses me off. As I was (reluctantly) walking through a bumblebee colored tent from hell with my kids and a buddy the other day, waiting to throw my money away on items that I was just going to light on fire (c’mon…does that REALLY make sense), my friend turned to me and asked, “So how much do you want to spend?”

I glared at him and said, “Well, I hate these things and I’m one of the cheapest people you know. How much do you think?”

Shoot. I could've been buying a purse.

The only thing that makes me feel a little better about it is that my friend who went shopping with me later confessed that he has a fear of sparklers. He worries about kids burning themselves, having inappropriate swordfights, and accidentally stepping on the discarded metal. When I think about that…it brings a little smile to my face and I feel like I’m not so weird.

I mean…what kind of a freak is afraid of a sparkler?


© Catherine Tidd 2010

It's All In How You Word It

Okay people. It’s time to put our thinking caps on. This has bothered me for years and I sometimes get the feeling it bothers some of the rest of you.

The word “anniversary.”

When we’re talking about the day our spouses passed, we always seem to put that word in quotes, don’t we? Which to me signals that it’s not really the right word. “Anniversaries” are supposed to be fun. They’re supposed to be a celebration. They’re supposed to commemorate something positive…like not killing each other in the first 10 years of marriage.

I don’t know about you, but…I can stretch this definition to include the “celebration” of my husband’s life, but “fun” it is NOT.

(I hope I don’t get called on overuse of “quotations” during this blog.)

When I looked up “death anniversary” on Wikipedia (I know…who knew there was such an official thing listed?) it mentioned several countries where it’s tradition to mark the weeks, months, years since a loved one has passed. And guess what? America was not one of those countries. Go figure.

Now, in India it said, “According to Indian texts a soul has to wander about in the various worlds after death and has to suffer a lot due to past karmas. Shraadh is a means of alleviating this suffering.”

Well, that sounds like a downer.

I personally liked Vietnam’s custom. They said “it is a festive occasion, at which members of an extended family gather together. Female family members traditionally spend the entire day cooking an elaborate banquet in honor of the deceased individual, which will then be enjoyed by all the family members.”

Now, that I can get on board with. But I’m originally from Louisiana, so anything that involves food sounds like a great idea. As long as it’s fried.

Since America is obviously not on this list (and neither is Canada or England, so for my blog readers over the boarder and across the pond, we really need to make this an international movement), I vote that we work together and come up with our own word. After all…countries that don’t even have cable TV or iPhones have, so why shouldn’t we?

I’ve been thinking about this for awhile and I’ll be the first to admit…I’m stumped. I mean, we can’t say, “It’s been one year since I experienced the change” which is really kind of what it is, but any man out there who says it will get some odd looks, to say the least.

We can’t say, “It’s been one year since our life together ended” which is, again, what it is but depending on your tone when you say it, might land you in a psyche ward somewhere.

So we need something that’s not too depressing because, being the good widows that we are, we don’t want to make all of those outside our new world uncomfortable. We need something that suggests a small element of “crazy” but not too much because we don’t want to be monitored for the rest of our lives. We need something that helps us remember our loved ones, celebrates their life, and acknowledges how different our own is now.

I know that everyone’s traditions are different and no one handles these milestones in the same way. Some prefer a quiet day to reflect and remember. Some prefer a loud party and think the best way to commemorate their loved one’s passing is to tap a keg. And some fall in between the two and like to invite friends over for a quiet glass of wine.

Given my previous posts, some of you may know where I fall. I’ll give you a hint…it involves a cork.

I realize that how we all choose to remember a loved one’s passing is as individual as the person who’s gone. But I still wish we had some other universal phrase that would explain to the outside world that we’re remembering, we’re celebrating….

We’re just really not all that happy about it.

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© Catherine Tidd 2010