THE DAY AFTER

Yesterday morning when Big Bore and I were slurping coffee on the front porch, we were commenting that the neighborhood didn’t seem quite as “4th of July bang-up noisy” as it was last year. We were trying to figure out why that might be. Is the economy so lousy that fewer people can afford to purchase a truckload of fireworks? Most of the hotshot boys in the neighborhood are now driving their own vehicles, so I figure they have decided buying gas to cruise around town is more important to their social lives than setting off Black Cats.

After dark, we drove out to a hill west of town to watch the fireworks, far enough away so my goofy ear wouldn’t flip out. I tried taking pictures of the rockets red glare, which were about two miles away, but all I got were six shots of fuzz balls, and then the batteries went dead on the camera. I call this blog picture “Exploding Bird,” as the red portion appears to have a beak at the top. See it? No? Use your imagination and it will fly out and peck at you. The green part=tail feathers!

By the end of the night, I decided we’d spoken too soon about the neighborhood being tame on noise this year. From dusk until a little after midnight, we were in a war zone. The good news is: there’s just one more day of fireworks and then we’ll get back to some peace and quiet. Tomorrow I’ll get to do my own version of The Declaration of Independence. I’ll breathe a sigh of relief, crash out on the hammock, remove the earplugs, and do my best imitation of Mel Gibson portraying William Wallace in the movie, Braveheart. Remember that one? FREEDOM!!!!