For the fourth, for Steve

Ok, beer, illegal fireworks and Nelson just don't work quite like one might expect.

After a day of cleaning house and packing for the beach, we went off to Matt and Pam's for a Fourth celebration. It was a wonderfully green event in their back garden- tents and bunting and too many deserts for the number of people. We've had rain most days the last week, and the grass looked and smelled like ripe cucumbers. Their pumpkins, squash and peppers are coming in fast, like all of ours are around town.

We had a lovely cook out only interrupted by one downpour, which just led to all the men moving vast canopies over the grills and watching the rain and smoke collect dangerously under it. And, of course, a rain storm and the general wetness of the week, gave me free license to go to my care for firecrackers, shooting fountains and a pack of 40 rockets that were never my intention to buy. While passing through South Carolina, as required by man-law, I had to purchase a friend $40 worth of illegal fireworks and did so for myself, of course. With the very judicious purchase of only exploding fountains and firecrackers, the ancient man behind the counter of the freeway store informed me that I had bought enough to get a very large package of highly explosive projectiles- imagine bottle something about 5 times the size of a bottle rocket and about 10 times as erratic in it's flight path. Oh, and they don't just pop at the end. Some explode. Some shower sparks. Some shoot off parachutes. A few, I think, will take down small aircraft.

Thank goodness I had been so careful in my personal choices. Thank goodness I was dumb enough to take these to Matt's house for the fourth, where we could set them off in a crowded back yard with about 40 people milling about.

Now, a few things about Nelson (ne Robbie, aka splodie pants, Rob, Nels, hey you): 1) he very much enjoys fireworks; 2) he loves to say (no, shout) the word 'illegal'; 3) he absolutely loves to shout 'illegal fireworks everybody!!' as he watches his dad shoot rockets onto Matt's neighbors' roofs while the neighbors are there drinking beer and saying things like 'I think that's headed toward my roof'.

But please, I had not meant to buy these rockets. Honestly. They were my 'bonus' for buying my friend fireworks (thanks Steve, and I did give you some, just not the ground to air ones). But beer prevails. And there is no peer pressure for a 40 year old man quite like the peer pressure of 7 year old boys shouting "awesome!! Do it AGAIN!!" So, really, when it comes to it, I had little choice.

Into the wine glass goes this fat pen sized (like an executive pen- a real fat one) rocket. I snap a match. Fizzzz... run.. whishhhh. "Cool! AWESOME!" SMACKPOPBANG. "whoah, that one went off low." Another in... fizz ... oh, run! whishh pop! oh, weird, that went off low. "Dad! I felt something hit me!" "Quite now, want another? Are we done?" "No, Dad, that was awesome! COOL!"

Fizzzzz... oh, run! BAM! "oh, that went only ten feet. Oh well." FIZZZZ run! wissssssssssssh. "Wow! That's like 200 feet!" "Where'd it go dad?" "Beats me..."

Greigor: " I think that went toward my pool"
Dad: "well, that's better than the roof"

WHISSSSSSSH BAM!

"Oh! was that supposed to do that?"

BAM!

I only made it through half the pack, but you get the idea. We wrapped up about the time I had one go up 20 feet, pop and come right back to the crowd. Luckily the one older fella there got out in time. While Nelson yelled again about how illegal this was I went over and apologized to our local Circuit court judge and explained as to how I was probably done for the evening. He agreed it was about time to go watch the town fireworks from a safe distance.