by Sheree Shatsky Meadow Marie My mother and I celebrate Christmas on July 4th. We decorate the palm tree in the front yard with bird feeders and hang a bat house from the tallest frond. “Watch out for the bats,” my mother says, holding the ladder. “They sleep the day away in the tip top.” I adjust the kerchief tied over my mouth, my defense against bat guano, ebola, bleed out, death. I shiver away the thoughts in the 100 degree heat. “I know, I know,” I say. My reply sound