The Fourth (and Fifth) of July, 2005

My first holiday event was a visit to The Grammy (my mother) at the aptly named Queen Anne Nursing Home. Finding her bed unoccupied (a highly unusual occurrence), I inquired at the nursing station and was told she was at "activities." I located her in the activity center, where to my shock she was attending a patriotic sing-along being led by a middle-aged woman with full karaoke apparatus.

The Grammy, once noted for wresting the microphone from the wedding singer at many a reception, was sitting quietly until my arrival at her side. She seemed to be emboldened by my presence, and we added our voices to "Tie a Yellow Ribbon 'Round the Old Oak Tree" (a dapper gent at the the table told me "that was by Tony Orlando"--I added, "and Dawn") and "America the Beautiful." My personal moment of glory came during the finale, when the singer thrust the microphone in my face and broadcast this agnostic liberal singing "Battle Hymn of the Republic." Actually, it felt pretty good, and The Grammy thought I had been healed of both my flawed politics and lapsed religiosity.

On the Fourth I spent a glorious day out on the Middle Grounds in Vineyard Sound fishing with my brother-in-law and nephew. We usually troll for stripers and blues, but we decided to take advantage of the calm seas by drift-fishing along the rip for fluke (a large relative of the flounder). It didn't take long before we had boated enough keepers (over 17 inches) to provide dinner for everyone at the house, and the Captain of the Nautical Miles even jigged up a small bluefish. We got to make the phone call that all fishermen love to make: "We're bringing home dinner."

We cleaned the fish at the mooring and arrived at the house with iced fillets. I slathered the bluefish with mayonnaise, mustard, and black pepper and put it on the grill. My sister coated the fluke fillets and sauted them. The bluefish made a fantastic appetizer (my brother-in-law grilled it perfectly), and the fluke was a succulent entree.

On the fifth, the entire family made a trip over to the Vineyard. The three fishermen went over on the Nautical Miles (the Captain did a fine job navigating in the fog) and picked up a mooring in Oak Bluffs Harbor. The women took young Megan (2) and Joseph (1) over on the Island Queen, a large tour boat out of Falmouth Harbor. We met up for lunch at Nancy's, an open-air restaurant on the pier.

As we worked our way through the hot dogs, clam rolls, and onion rings, we noticed Joseph responding to the Bob Marley music playing. The little guy's enthusiam was so infectious that soon the whole table, and then the whole restaurant, was singing and swaying to "Three Little Birds." Joseph signaled his approval by squealing with delight and pounding on the table with both hands. It was a moment.

After lunch the ladies went shopping while the men went off "to look at the Methodist Campgrounds and Tabernacle." We did this, but found it thirsty work. The women and children somehow tracked us down in the cool, dark recesses of the Offshore Brewhaus. They must be clairvoyant or something.

Sometime during all this I turned a year older. The Coast Guard, unimpressed by the occasion and suspicious of my resemblance to another 50ish pirate, Jimmy Buffett, decided to inspect the boat. My brother-in-law is a meticulous captain, and the best they could do was find some expired flares.

They were unamused when I inquired whether they had found the bale of reefer in the hold.