Independence Day

As M suspected, it was sunny up in Breckenridge this morning, despite being gloomy in Boulder.  We drove west on 70 across The Great Divide and when we emerged from the Eisenhower Tunnel, as if we had journeyed from Kansas to the Land of Oz, we had blue sky and a 4^th of July parade, which was in full swing down Main Street with Corvettes, flags, kids, dogs and firemen.  The folks of Breckenridge do have the USA spirit. 

After quite a bit of searching we finally located our favored Breckenridge independent coffeehouse, The Crown, and found a great seat in an alcove just inside the front door with a fine view of the red-white-and-blue hubbub continuing on the street below.  The Crown has antique mirrors set into carved dark wooden hutches and four stone cupids mounted in a row on one wall and two crystal chandeliers. It is a fine place any time of the year.

On our way back to the car later we passed firemen in the middle of the still blocked off Main Street letting groups of thrilled children handle fire hoses, each group pointing at the other and just close enough to get everybody a bit wet. 

Parades are different now than they were when I was a kid.  Today parades have lots of shiny red and blue streamers and glitter and decorated high tech baby strollers and Corvettes.  When I was a kid, all the girls and women got together and spent many hours in the days leading up to the parade making flowers out of pastel Kleenex—you stacked together the tissues, tied them in the middle, then fluffed them out to make pale pink, green, blue or white blossoms.  These were painstakingly woven into the chicken wire shapes built over the vehicles used as the bases for the parade “floats.”  Then, on the day of the parade, the prettiest girls in school graced these floats, sitting high atop them in their pastel prom dresses and slowly waving to the crowd with white-gloved hands.  One girl got to wear the crown—having won the honor of being queen for a day.  Was I ever one of these girls?  No, I was on the sidelines wearing denim, peace symbols and a go-to-hell hat.

Also—we always had multiple marching bands in their uniforms playing Sousa and there were always pom-pom girls and baton twirlers and there was always a drum major leading the parade and marking time with his staff.  Humanitarian men called Shriners wearing red fezes drove little motorcycles in little circles along the parade route. 

Today, none of this was in evidence—nary a piccolo player nor a tuba blower nor a drummer nor a Shriner could be found.  But there was still a lot of hooting and cheering and American spirit, all the same.  The parade concluded with a spirited reading by a man dressed in 1776 garb.  When we first heard the voice coming over the loudspeaker I wondered whether we might be hearing a modern-day Tea Party diatribe, but in fact it turned out to be the actual  Declaration of Independence, indeed a radical document if you ever heard one.  Happy 4th of July!