In the distance, fireworks began to sparkle and color the darkened Los Alamos, NM sky. Spouse uncorked the bubbly, filled our champagne flutes, we raised the glasses to the distant fireworks and toasted to America.

“To freedom! Well, sort of, that is, if you’re privileged or Scooter Libby.”

“Well, then, here’s to the Constitution! Well, sort of, when it was a document honored and adhered to by the old-timey executive branches of government.”

“Remember when our government was forthright and most of the world wanted to be American instead of wanting to blow up Americans? Guess that ideal went the way of the hoola-hoops and sock hops.”

Spouse and I realized we were getting depressed on a day of national celebration.

“Okay, let’s celebrate your family who fought in the Revolutionary War,” spouse suggested.

“I’d like to, but the ashes of my many-times-great grandfather, Drury Puckett, who marched with George Washington, are likely curdling and rolling in his Virginia grave.”

“Wanna finish off the fireworks show in the hot tub?” spouse asked.

“Bring the Rose´ with you. I’m off to get a towel!”