interrupting daily tribulations for the sake of daughters

I never quite got into the 4th of July. Rockets red glare, bombs bursting in air – I understand patriotism, but feel that those particular images are not altogether something I can wrap my soul around. I tend to more get into the food of it (so predictable): tarts with blueberries and raspberries over the years have played well. July 14th (Bastille Day) is cool as well, considering all the food options (if you can get yourself to not think about how many times the word "blood" and its derivatives appear in the words of their anthem).

In Poland I celebrated July 22nd with the rest of the pack (one way to do it: purchase lots of sweets from a Polish chocolatier that carries the name "22nd of july"), only to have the national holiday switched on me when I left the country. I'm not even sure which date acts as the new "flag was still there" equivalent, but it does not matter -- I am not going to be swept away into a feverish belief that on that day my allegiances should be to Poland and Poland only, though I am happy to honor her many victorious moments of the past by eating, say, poppyseed cake.

Still, this year, I am hot on the 4th bandwagon. It is a loooooong week-end if you take Monday off and so people living far away can actually come and visit you. I'm especially thinking of daughters, the ones who live on the coast.

I was waiting this afternoon for my latte at the local café and I noticed for the millionth time the poster right there, by the counter.





A girl giving a gift to her mom. For me the gift is her arrival. Their arrival. The blog post will be (mercifully?) shorter today. All spare minutes are devoted to the preparation for, cooking for and being with daughters.