Star Spangled Dancer

An ageless anthem with a poetic twist

Sometimes a craving hits me so hard, it knocks me to my knees—a yearning not for sizzling summer barbeques or a slow dance beneath the stars, but for the golden kind of love I stumbled into late in life.

Holidays explode like fireworks, certain days impossible to forget. This year, as summer solstice melted into July, my mind raced through years of celebrations, coming home to one of the brightest times of my life—my twenty-one years at Century 21, a bustling real estate office where I partnered with the head honcho as his right-hand gal.

For over a decade, the Fourth-of-July holiday took on a life of its own, turning our tidy, buttoned-up office into a star-spangled wonderland. Days before the annual parage, we pulled out dusty crates overflowing with a hodgepodge of decorations, trinkets scored over the years at yard sales, thrift stores and (our favorite) the Oriental Trading Company. Every year, I’d dig through the glittery goods like a kid in a costume truck, unpacking a treasure trove of cardboard firecrackers, spinning pinwheels, dangling streamers and a twinkling flag that smelled of fairy dust and warm summer nights.

“Party-in-a-box,” Larry, my boss, said jokingly, a twinkle in his eye. “Every year I think we’ll toss this stuff, and every year they still sparkle.”

“You got that right.” I shot back, untangling a string of red, white, and blue lights. “Another parade, another holiday, another fun trip down memory lane.”

I couldn’t argue that party-planning on someone else’s dime was my wheelhouse. I’d coordinated our annual gala so many times, I could do it in my sleep. Some years, it literally meant sleepless at Century 21, decking the halls into the midnight hour, bedazzling every corner of the walls, inside and out. Under the moonlight, we’d unfold mismatched chairs and office stools, arranging them in front-row seats for our VIP’s. We marked out turf, claiming our spot on the parade route, unraveling flags and bright blue banners, red caution tape and hand-painted signs announcing “Reserved for the red, white and you.” Our shaded terrace became the coveted spot for watching rows of elaborate creations floating by—castles, pirate ships, storm-troopers, marching bands and Grand Marshalls waving from fire trucks, tossing water balloons to the cheering crowds.

For being small peanuts, our town sure knew how to put on a parade.

By the morning of the Fourth, our Century 21 office exploded into a full-blown jubilee. Guests rolled in on red carpets—old timers, newcomers, and hometown legends, waving mini flags and sparklers, all decked out in star-studded sunglasses and feathered fedoras, ready to paint the town. Like old friends at a reunion, they swapped high-fives, snapped selfies, belting out patriotic tunes in off-key voices. The highlight of the event—a smorgasbord feast rivaling any five-star resort—trays of mini sandwiches, watermelons carved into turtles, skewers made of marshmallows, cherries and blueberries, buttered corn-on-the-cob, and a dessert buffet, sweet enough to make your teeth ache.

Our fearless leader weaved through the crowd like a seasoned showman, slapping backs, tossing out nicknames and spinning tales so outrageous folks laughed before the punchline. Larry never disappointed with his trademark flare—custom trousers, one pair emblazoned with Canadian flags and another with a bold display of stars and stripes, swapping between pants when no one was looking. Larry was the brother I never had—argumentative to the core, defending me to the end, with a wit and a smile wider than an old mountain road.

I would have listened more carefully and taken more photos, if I’d only known the last time would be the last time.

In 2021, after 21 years at Century 21, my life shattered. The world of real estate suffered a severe financial hit during the pandemic. My husband developed a disease, fought with bravery, and despite all his best intentions, passed away in March. In late summer, our real estate franchise folded. And then, the last domino fell—Larry, the captain of the ship, my confidante and friend, unexpectedly died at the end of the year.

Within months, my husband, my boss, my income, my identity, my security, my courage—all gone in a blaze, fading faster than a sky full of fireworks. There was no fire extinguisher large enough to douse my grief.

So, nowadays, when folks ask me about plans for the Fourth of July, I’m slow to reply. Behind me are the carefree days of party planning and rock-and-rolling. In front of me is a calm quiet, avoiding people and parades, nestled in my safe haven, soothed by videos and playlists of the past. Rewinding the songs, wrestling with my emotions, writing the wrongs, content to sit down with a cup of chamomile tea and a couple of cats.

And yet, sometimes I look up.

I remember the colors we launched into the sky, superstars and superheroes having the time of our lives. I remember pulling a party out of a box, finding life and hope in yesteryear’s treasures. I remember trips down memory lane, some in anguish, others in bliss, recapturing the magic. In those moments, freedom rings. Not the kind you shout from rooftops, but the other kind—freedom from despair, freedom to reflect, freedom to feel joy again.

And I rise. Not with wobbling knees—but with a new resolve—lifted up by memory, grateful for the golden kind of love that once lit up my days.

Sometimes, a craving hits so deep it inspires me.

And so, on a midsummer night, with a nostalgic yearning for my hometown heroes, I spun a new twist into an old song, composing a simple ballad honoring a unity that never fades. Singing in an off-key voice, I whisper this hymn like a prayer, believing the words like the truth.

Star-Spangled Dancer

Oh Self, can you see?
In your own inner light
What so proudly you dared
To believe while you’re dreamin’

Whose dark thoughts and false starts
Through the perils of night
O'er promises lost
In a search for new meaning

In the throes of despair
Grief bombs bursting in error
Gave proof to your heart
That the Light is still there

O say does your Love tango
Dancing with the brave
For in setting yourself free
You arise with new grace