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Happy Independence Day, Americans!

Remember that the British lost their asses to USA again in the War of 1812, which actually ended in 1815 with Andrew Jackson, victim of British torture and abuse in his childhood.

Salad Daze: Shakespeare put the words in Cleopatra’s mouth in Antony and Cleopatra.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aXfuQqkwa5I

“Salad days” refers to the age of callow youth, when one is inexperienced and very green.

Carefree, happy days of yesteryear are what I’ve always thought it meant. The best of times.

The context in which I’ve encountered the term “salad days” has always been consistent with it being an early life stage, approximately late adolescence into early adulthood, rather than a time or season of the year.

“Back in his salad days, Ralph was quite famous for winning bar bets with his pet anole.”

How are you feeling, Stoaty? I do hope you’re all better today!

Uh, not to be unpatriotic or anything, but we didn’t really “win” the war of 1812. The Brits burned our capital and thwarted our intent, which was to turn Canada into more happy states. We’d have had a state of Quebec…oh, maybe we DID win.

Catchy little tune written by some Canucks to commemorate it.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o7jlFZhprU4

Open fires, explosives, alcohol! Yessiree. It’s like a normal weekend in Portland.

And now half the population doesn’t even know why we celebrate it. Something about beating the Nazis during the Civil War I think.

My DAR Patriot, William Pentecost, survived the Battle of the Waxhaws (aka Buford’s Massacre), and was saved from dying by Andrew Jackson’s widowed mother, and her sons Andrew and Robert, who hauled him (and others) back to their home. Pentecost was 17, and had his arm cut off at the shoulder by a saber attack, and endured 11 more saber stabs during the very short “battle.”

Seven men in my family were named Andrew Jackson—maybe more, but I haven’t explored every family line. Pentecost received war bounty land in Georgia, and not only survived, but thrived, living to age 77. He became a Methodist preacher, establishing seven churches in Georgia, and his home church has been in continual service since he founded it. My son and his family visited the church site and cemetery last summer, where W.P. is buried with his first wife. My granddaughter, a new DAR Daughter (at age 19), put flowers on their graves (I cried).

A bunny trail: While working on my family genealogy, I’ve been continually surprised by how many men and women remarried. William had three wives, and his father had two (fathering more children with his second wife). One day I realized that a man or a woman needed a mate to simply survive. If you wanted to live, you married.

(Sorry—I get carried away.)

Wonderful history, Deborah.

The granny I was named for married three times. Part of the reason was that, as a woman, she lacked certain legal rights. I have in my possession a receipt for the purchase of two slaves (!) and it had to be cosigned by her husband.