Today is the seventh anniversary of the day that Kip and I met in person (we'd been e-mailing and IMing for months). We spent hours talking at a restaurant/bar, and by the time we left, it was raining buckets. While I stood there contemplating running through the rain to my car, Kip stepped forward and kissed me in the rain and sealed both our fates.

(Think I'm kidding? Andrew is standing beside me right now, sounding out each word that I type.)

FOURTH OF JULY

Kip and Andrew and I headed out early for the parade in Eagan. Until this year, all we had to do was get up and walk down the street and set up our chairs and blankets; this year we actually had to *drive.* But we still felt clever because we parked in the lot of our old townhouse complex.

The Eagan parade, which appropriately enough proceeds east on Yankee Doodle Road, is a big draw for a lot of the folks in this part of the Twin Cities, and it lasts for almost two hours, during which all three of us acquired a lovely sunburn. We saw bands, pageant winners doing the patented beauty-queen wave (we waved back in similar fashion), political candidates and many schools and day-care centers. Andrew's center was represented (we had the chance to sign up but decided we were too fond of being sedentary to march in 90-degree heat for two hours), and when they saw him, several of his teachers broke ranks to come over and bestow candy upon him. He ended up with a huge haul. Do they throw candy in parades in other parts of the country, or is that a Midwestern thing? I don't remember parades being a kind of sugary movable feast when I was a kid, but Kip says he does.

Several groups of Boy Scouts marched past toting huge squirt guns; Andrew offered himself up whenever any of them aimed in our direction, and he was pretty soggy after awhile. One of the little spawns of Satan (Kip says he was a Webelo, whatever that might be) squirted me right in the eye, though I'd not given him any indication that I would welcome such an action. I hope the little shit falls in a hole somewhere.

I had a brush with greatness when Al Franken's posse came past. I was already wearing an "Al Franken for U.S. Senate" sticker on my shirt (Al's advance team canvassed the parade watchers before the parade got under way), and one of them came over and thanked me for wearing it and then introduced me to Al's son, Joe, whose hand I shook. (I inquired about Al's whereabouts; Joe told me he was up on northern Minnesota's Iron Range, an historically Democratic enclave.) I told Joe that Al had my vote; I refrained from telling him that I'd been watching his father on "Saturday Night Live" since the show began back in the dark ages of the mid-1970s, longer than Joe has been alive. He seemed like an engaging young man and an asset to his father's campaign.

Kip refrained from 1) wearing a Franken sticker, 2) shaking Joe's hand or 3) saying anything to them, choosing instead to just smile politely while we were schmoozing. I feel safe in saying that he will cancel out my vote for Al.

TASTE OF MINNESOTA

We spent yesterday afternoon and early evening down on Harriet Island, ducking raindrops and listening to music and eating. We drew several conclusions after attending Taste of Minnesota three times this year:

1) Musical talent is not necessarily a prerequisite for performing at Taste of Minnesota.

2) Whoever decided to replace the Sweet Martha's Cookies stand with a no-name chocolate-chip cookie stand this year should be forced to confront Skorponok in the desert (see below).

3) There is a dire shortage of mirrors in the homes of many of those attending Taste of Minnesota this year.

I should also point out that when my sister Jennifer (she of the "Why do birds suddenly appear?" remark of a few months ago) first moved to Minnesota, and we asked her to accompany us to Taste of Minnesota, she looked puzzled then said, "Minnesota? Tastes like dirt."

FIREWORKS

The same thousands of people who converged on Eagan for the parade came back at dusk to see a truly spectacular fireworks display, and those numbers included us. It was really amazing.

TRANSFORMERS ...

rock! We took Andrew to the 8 p.m. show on Tuesday. Unbeknownst to him, we'd made arrangements for his best friend from kindergarten, Arbaz, and his dad to come too; they met us in the theater. Arbaz and Andrew acted like it was no big deal; they just took it for granted that they'd see this movie together, because they were, after all, the biggest Transformer fans in Mrs. Bodeker's kindergarten class.

It's a very fun movie. In addition to non-stop action, there are plenty of funny bits aimed at those in the pop-culture know. Shia LeBoeuf is very appealing, and Josh Duhamel, the pride of Minot, ND, also turned in a fine performance. My favorite character, however, was Bumblebee. I particularly appreciate his taste in music. And I have no wish to run into Skorponok any time soon, so I'm staying away from deserts for the time being. Unless someone gives me a free trip to Las Vegas, and even then I'm going to avoid Hoover Dam.

Yes, let the truth be known: I am a 48-year-old woman with the sensibilities of a 12-year-old boy.

WHAT I'M READING

Several books that my lovely and generous friend in Boston, Constance Martin, sent me (spoils from the book expo): Cecelia Ahern's new book, "There's No Place Like Here;" Julie Halpern's new YA book, "Get Well Soon;" "Who Stole the Funny?" by Robby Benson (yes, that Robby Benson, he of the moist eyes in the 1970s; the photo on the back of the book makes it appear that he's gotten much better looking as he's aged); and also "Last One In" by Nicholas Kulish, about a gossip columnist who gets punished for a journalistic infraction by being embedded with the Marines during the 2003 invasion of Iraq (it's fiction, I'm sorry to say).

WHAT I'M DOING THIS WEEKEND

Kip and I both have tomorrow off. We're going to go to a movie. We don't know which one yet; I just hope whichever one we choose, we won't be subjected to yet another preview for "Superbad." (On the other hand, "I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry" looks kind of funny.)

The rest of the weekend I plan to seek out air conditioning and iced tea whenever possible; it's supposed to be 95 here on Saturday.

I'm wishing everyone all the iced tea they can hold, with convenient access to a bathroom.