Old news

It’s Friday, July 3, already blazing hot at 11 AM, with the kind of dense, still, tropical humidity that makes it a real summer day. I’m trying to make the best of a summer that isn’t like any other summer. Last year, on this very day, I spent the day preparing for my son’s graduation party, which we held on July 4th because why not? For the past dozen years or so, I’ve spent part of every Saturday in June and part of July at a graduation party, but  I haven’t been to a single graduation party this summer.

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Still, it’s a three-day weekend. I can watch “Hamilton” on Disney Plus. I can reserve a lane and swim for an hour. I can read about Elizabeth I. I don’t have to meet with anyone via WebEx, Teams, or Zoom. And of course, I can do this.

When I started with this idea that I would write every day, 7 days a week and 365 days a year no matter what, it almost immediately became the proverbial millstone around my neck. My whole schedule, my whole to-do list, and now I have to do this, too? And of course, being me, I allowed daily writing  to become a compulsion-driven source of stress and anxiety. But three or so years in (I don’t know, actually--maybe it’s been longer), and this is almost always the easiest part of my day. I almost never struggle to find something to write about because I can write about anything or nothing.

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Independence Day, July 4.  It's 9:30 AM and I am the only one awake in the house. I'm reading all about a scandal involving people at the very highest levels of power. There are a lot of steps to retrace and a lot of witnesses to question and a lot of correspondence to scrutinize and a lot of people who need to answer for what they knew and when they knew it.

Lady Amy Dudley probably died of natural causes or suicide but we can't rule out murder for hire commissioned by her husband Robert. Queen Elizabeth I will probably have to lay low for a bit and cool things off with Lord Robert, unless she wants to end up back in the Tower, watching someone else take the throne.

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My son and I have a swim lane at noon today. Later on, we'll eat hamburgers and fresh watermelon and strawberries, and I'll immerse myself in more tales of power struggles turned deadly. And when Aaron Burr finally shoots Alexander Hamilton, I'll return to Elizabethan England, there to remain until at least Monday. It's Independence Day 2020 but I don't plan to follow events beyond the 18th century until next week at the earliest.

I told you that I could write about anything or nothing. If you kept reading after that, then you can’t say that you weren’t warned. Caveat emptor, and Happy Independence Day.