Happy 4th of July!

I’m moving to a new house this week and you know how that is! So I’ll return with more pharmacy news and views in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, here’s some Independence Day wisdom to fill the space. Have a wonderful 4th of July from all of us here at Apex Medical Placements! -CVH

You have to love a nation that celebrates its Independence every July 4, not with a parade of guns, tanks, and soldiers who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness. You may think you have overeaten, but it is patriotism.
Erma Bombeck

Better to starve free than be a fat slave.
Aesop

I have always been among those who believed that the greatest freedom of speech was the greatest safety, because if a man is a fool, the best thing to do is to encourage him to advertise the fact by speaking.
Woodrow T. Wilson

Liberty means responsibility. That is why most men dread it.
George Bernard Shaw

Patriotism is the last refuge of scoundrels.
Mark Twain

There, I guess King George will be able to read that.
John Hancock, after signing the Declaration of Independence

Immigrant Picnic

By Gregory Djanikian b.
1949 Gregory Djanikian

It’s the Fourth of July, the
flags
are painting the town,
the plastic forks and knives
are laid out like a parade.
And I’m grilling, I’ve got my
apron,
I’ve got potato salad,
macaroni, relish,
I’ve got a hat shaped
like the state of
Pennsylvania.
I ask my father what’s his
pleasure
and he says, “Hot dog, medium
rare,”
and then, “Hamburger,
sure,
what’s the big
difference,”
as if he’s really asking.
I put on hamburgers and hot
dogs,
slice up the sour pickles and
Bermudas,
uncap the condiments. The paper napkins
are fluttering away like lost
messages.
“You’re running around,” my mother says,
“like a chicken with its head
loose.”
“Ma,” I say, “you mean cut
off,
loose and cut off   being as
far apart
as, say, son and daughter.”
She gives me a quizzical look
as though
I’ve been caught in some
impropriety.
“I love you and your sister
just the same,” she says,
“Sure,” my grandmother pipes
in,
“you’re both our children, so
why worry?”
That’s not the point I begin
telling them,
and I’m comparing words to
fish now,
like the ones in the sea at
Port Said,
or like birds among the date
palms by the Nile,
unrepentantly elusive,
wild.
“Sonia,” my father says to my
mother,
“what the hell is he talking
about?”
“He’s on a ball,” my mother
says.
“That’s roll!” I say, throwing
up my hands,
“as in hot dog, hamburger,
dinner roll….”
“And what about roll out the
barrels?” my mother asks,
and my father claps his hands,
“Why sure,” he says,
“let’s have some fun,” and
launches
into a polka, twirling my
mother
around and around like the
happiest top,
and my uncle is shaking his
head, saying
“You could grow nuts listening
to us,”
and I’m thinking of pistachios
in the Sinai
burgeoning without
end,
pecans in the South, the
jumbled
flavor of them suddenly in my
mouth,
wordless, confusing,
crowding out everything else.
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