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Happy Independence Day!

Today I taught some Japanese ladies how to say “ell” (it was a bit pornish watching everyone touch the tip of their tongues to their upper front teeth). I got involved with Ozu’s A Story of Floating Weeds from 1934. Hardcore silent action. Then a second throw with commentary by Donald Ritchie. Yummy. I might get up the energy to say more about it later.

I heard sounds outside, opened the window and realized I was missing the fireworks on the Navy base, 3 miles away. Damn! I love fireworks. Good old America, I miss you.

I miss the Bolivian and Vietnamese restaurants in Washington, D.C., my grandmother’s house in Maine near the Lobstermen’s Co-op, the Night and Day Cafe in Coronado, CA, Sophia’s BBQ in Montgomery, AL, and I miss diners. Oh, diners, diners, diners. And pizza, foldy, floppy pizza. I miss the weight of the Sunday New York Times and the smell of bagels. I miss my friends and family and the home I don’t own yet.

I miss my gorgeous, immigrant, all-American, naval officer husband out there at sea. (Hey, baby, enjoy your time off the ship in some foreign port.)

I miss the horse I had when I was 13, on which I rode one day into an alfalfa field and interrupted a couple naked and screwing. I miss that one July 4th when we were in Leavenworth, KS in 100-degree weather watching some historical battle reenactment and I thought I was in hell. I miss my apartment with the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Arizona Memorial in Pearl Harbor. I miss New Orleans, especially the time when things got a little out of hand, but we were ok enough to drive home the next day listening to that Cajun radio station. I miss Ithaca, NY and NYC and Memphis and San Francisco and Santa Fe.

Do I miss America or do I miss my life? America, you give me a headache, but baby, you’re the keeper of the flame, and you burn so bright.



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