Last week was the Fourth of July. If you live in the USA, that is sort of a big deal, since it is the day we celebrate the birth of our country. We go out in the yard, blow some stuff up, and barbeque burgers on the grill as a patriotic gesture of our love and respect for this great nation.
If you live outside the US, then it was just another Thursday. You, of course, can still go outside and blow some stuff up, but it will no longer be a celebration. It will simply be vandalism.
For the Fourth, this year we invited several friends and family members to our home for the festivities. I fired up the grill and cooked burgers and hot dogs, provided plenty of sodas and alcohol, and even set up our inflatable pool for anyone who wanted to swim.
A quick side note: our pool is only two feet deep and eight feet wide, so by “swim” I mean sit in one place and try not to move around too much so the water doesn’t all splash out.
Most of the invitations were met with a series of questions. Things like: “Will there be fireworks?” “Can I bring some fireworks?” and “What kind of fireworks do you have?”
Unfortunately, I live out in the country. My house is surrounded by acres of dried brush and scrub trees or, as some people call it, “kindling.” Any attempt at lighting fireworks within a ten-mile radius of my home would most likely result in a smoldering pile of ash that used to be the house. Because of this, I advised everyone that fireworks would not be part of the activities. Most people were okay with this development, however, many of the teenaged members of our family suddenly remembered previous engagements they had made elsewhere.
I don’t mind. I prefer the kids go light someone else’s house on fire. It’s makes less impact on my own insurance.
For the younger children, my wife’s cousin came up with the wonderful idea of bringing glowsticks to the party. When it got dark, the kids broke open the glowsticks and proceeded to decorate the entire yard with multi-colored lights. It was quite the display. Plus, I didn’t have to worry about fires when somebody threw a couple of the light sticks up onto the roof. Of course, I still have to figure out how to get that litter off of my roof, but that is a problem for another day.
Maybe I can grab the burned out glowsticks in December when I’m up on the roof stringing lights for Christmas. Of course, I’m kidding about that. I never took the Christmas lights down from 2017.
The best part of the evening was right before the sun set. A friend brought a really nice bottle of Irish whiskey to my home as a gift. Although this was supposed to be an American celebration, I decided in the name of international relations to allow the foreign alcohol to come to the party. That turned out to be a very good decision.
Although no fireworks got lit that night, myself and several other guests certainly did.
I shared a few cigars with those that wanted to partake, poured several shots of the whiskey, then sat back to watch the kids bludgeon and whip each other with glowsticks. My rapidly blurring vision made the whole spectacle even more magical as I stared at the flashing red, blue, green, and yellow lights.
At one point, I thought I had begun to hallucinate as a blue disk of light began to float around my chair. As it turns out, somebody had put a ring of glowsticks on the dog and she was just running in circles trying to get it off. I would have helped her, but with a cigar in one hand and whiskey in the other I was already fully occupied.
I have my priorities.
I think, in general, the evening was a success. Everyone appeared to have a good time. I ate too much and I drank too much, which I believe is completely appropriate. If the good ol’ U. S. of A. represents anything, it is excess and self-indulgence, and I am certainly the poster child for both of those.
Perhaps the only downside is now that the Fourth of July is over, there are no more holidays to celebrate for a couple of months. The closest excuse to party is Labor Day which doesn’t come around until September.
I did notice on a calendar that Canada celebrates Civic/Provincial day on August 5th. Which makes me think of another great American tradition: Cultural appropriation.
Happy Civic Day, eh?
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