After a cold late spring and then a month of hideously hot weather interspersed with deluges, the weather gods granted us a 4th of July weekend of sheer splendor: clear warm days ideal for hiking and gardening. Our IP attorney and his partner, who had fascinating stories to tell about her representation of Guantanamo Bay internees, happened to have booked this weekend for a stay in the Berkshires. I think they have good karma!
I associate the 4th of July with softball, because during the years I lived in England I used to organize softball games and a traditional American BBQ for the 4th of July. This wasn’t easy, because it so often conflicted with the Wimbledon finals and because teaching English people the rules of softball was hard work. It was an exercise in translation: the women wanted the game explained in terms of rounders (a game I was unfamiliar with), while the men thought in terms of cricket (a game few Americans can comprehend, though over time I came to love it). The thing they found most baffling, and never really accepted, is that someone could be out in one inning and yet go up to bat again later in the game. In cricket, when you’re out, it’s over–but then again people stay in to get hundreds of runs.
There was always strawberry shortcake, invariably enjoyed. But I could never convince an English person that iced tea was a civilized beverage. (Personally, I was quite happy to add Pimms to my 4th of July menu.) I miss those days of international sport in London, and felt quite homesick when my friend Emma emailed photos of her son playing village cricket.