Hanging out in the back yard. Notice the ruddy cheeks in the foreground and the brown grass in the background. The drought continues! Fortunately, with new water restrictions, we are no longer the scourge of the neighborhood for refusing to water the lawn 24/7 (after needing CPR after opening the last water bill). Still, some renegades on the street can be seen in the stealth of night dragging out the water hoses. It makes one keenly aware of the sense of hearing when out running after dark, as an unexpected drenching has been known to occur when jogging along the sidewalk near certain homes with the strange good fortune of having a luscious lawn while much of suburbia grows increasingly desert-like.

For my photography-savvy friends (and the few souls who took my digital photography class at FCC last year) I apologize for the geekish date stamp on the corner, which is obviously inaccurate, as we are not Aussies.

"Remember this feeling..."

So said the conductor as he prepared to lead the Lexington Philharmonic Orchestra in the last hurrah of the evening, the grand finale, "Stars and Stripes Forever."

It had already occured to me to take a mental photograph earlier in the evening. Part of the urge to etch the evening in the stone of my memory was due to necessity, having no other means of preserving an immediate record of it; we forgot the camera in our efforts to carry to the outdoor concert a blanket, pillows, folding chairs, a cooler and a recycled grocery bag full of one of each person's favorite snacks. But more importantly, I recognized that it was one of those moments that is worth storing away and savoring in little pieces for years to come.

The thought struck me as the orchestra and the choir, the Lexington Singers, were in the midst of an impassioned performance of "Battle Hymn of the Republic." I looked around at the potpourri of people around us and realized that most were waving the miniature flags the event organizers had passed around while the crowd settled onto blankets and in chairs. I had taken full note of the crowd earlier and commented on the elaborate picnic spread nearby, complete with a folding table, grapes, sandwiches, lemonade and white wine in tasteful little cups, while the rest of us snacked on bags of chips in our laps and soda pop out of a can. I had noticed the girls inexplicably decked out in skirts and stilletos--well, I guess there could be an explanation--and the ruddy-faced, glassy-eyed guys scoping the crowd for a date (I assume; maybe there were just looking for a porta-potty). I noticed the fat baby being bounced by her daddy and the graceful little girl dancing to the music, her red-white-and-blue bows bouncing on either side of her head.

But as the music rose, and the flags waved, as I looked back across the crowd, I simply saw a group of Americans with a shared heritage--no matter where we came from. We were there together at that moment, celebrating our common ground. Too bad we tend to forget our shared footing in our rush to be king of our own little hills. Yes, I will remember. I hope they do, too.