Regardless, I know that stupid tumor has it worse. Glug glug, Toomie (I calls it Toomie now). Drink up all that yummy cancer killing poison! It's the Fourth, and this one will be your last. I've rung the bell, and have enacted my own symbolic Paul Revere warning.
In order to promote a sense of normalcy, I'm still squeezing in bike rides. This morning I rode out with one of my brother in laws, took an easy stroll, got a bite to eat, and stopped by his house on the way back to see the family. My nephew was busy trying out some yoga moves.
Then I rode home, and was greeted by my aunt and uncles, who came over to help us square away some homeowner type tasks (THANK YOU!). A bit later I was able to sneak a photo of some baby birds who've been chirping away like they're expecting a Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom highlight. Momma bird had just come by with some food and hooked them all up, a la Alicia Silverstone style, so they weren't too camera shy.
Later, we took a trip over to a neighborhood court, where some families get together each Fourth, and hang out. I was fortunate enough to help set up the kids donut eating contest donut line.
Not too shabby of a Fourth. Happy Independence Day America. I will remember this Independence Day not of Bill Pullman as America's President flying fighter planes to attack alien spacecraft, but as a day upon I continued my treatment to make me independent of Toomie...that greedy evil little bastard. For you I have to say "The surgeons are coming! The surgeons are coming!"