Happy Patriots Day

This is one of my favorite holidays. That is strange, I know. Daddy's favorite was the 4th of July, over his birthday, over Thanksgiving etc.

Mostly this is my favorite since I moved to Lexington where we reenact the battle at the exact time that it was fought. I have only missed this once in 16 years, because we were away.

Our Sr. Youth Group sets up their booth right in front of our church and they sell coffee and donoughts starting at 4:00 am. (we had an interesting discussion at 5am, about the spelling and pronunciation of donuts).

We also had some interesting discussions last night as we set up the booth, which BTW has been around for at least 20 years. They want to repaint it or build another one. I think every group wants to repaint or build another one, but lack of inertia takes over and the next year we drag out the rickety frame from behind our boiler in the church. A new group each year, figures out how to set it up with very little guidance and a few markings on the actual structure. The tarp that goes over the frame is really gross, but it is also very endearing. I actually think we could replace the tarp and make the whole thing more aesthetic, BUT, is that why we are out there at 4am, to look aesthetic. Actually at 4am, nobody is paying attention to the tarp, because of darkness or last of caffeine. It is when the bloody British are strolling by 5 feet in front of the booth, on their way to Concord, having shown us who is in charge, that the tarp looks grotty. Maybe we should never change it for that very reason.

So by now, the whole structure has been put away for another year, tucked behind the boiler in the boiler room and next year, a different group of youth the Sunday before Patriot's Day, will drag it out, figure out how to assemble it, curse the lack of direction. They will stand under it once again, and serve caffeine and lard to that captive audience of viewers of the battle.

This year I watched from inside the church, out the balcony window. This is perfect for me, to not hear the shots, but it allowed me to declare once again to myself how evil and silly wars and battles are . . . and how sad them are in retrospect.