FIREWORKS

4th of July means fireworks. Every adult, myself included, becomes a kid around fireworks. We look forward in anticipation for that day when fireworks displays will be going off once the sun goes down. In my early years 4th of July meant a family reunion at my grandma Ramsay's house in Molalla where the cousins would get together and play games and attendthe carnival, while the uncles parked cars in an unused piece of land behind grandma's house for fair-goers, rodeo-goers, or for the big parade. Meanwhile the aunts took over the kitchen and came up with scrumptious pies. Oh there were meals as well,  but those pies. And those three nights of the 4th of July weekend were rewarded by a spectacular pyrotechnic display. Later in about 4th or 5th grade I learned (or rather survived, a fundamental lesson in what makes a solid propellant, and what makes a huge bang, thanks to a used Estes rocket engine tube and my dad's 12 Guage shotgun shells. Over time a childhood friend, Lonnie and I got the brilliant idea to place that spent engine capsule/M-80 in the 2nd stage of one of those Estes rockets. The parachute charge would set off a Jet-x fuse which would set off the fireworks high up in the air. Five seconds after the first stage burned out we expected a blast.That did not work out as planned. It's not that the bomb failed to explode, it's that something, perhaps a crack in the Jet-x fuse, caused the explosion to happen much later, just above the Pirkles house across from Lonnie's driveway. Close enough to rattle the windows. 

That's the problem. Too often fireworks turn an adult of indeterminate age into a 9 year old. Usually the change happens in men. Women seem to be more careful.There are stories out there. Some tragic: Not that many years ago, I remember reading about a boy, playing with firecrackers who was holding the firecracker in his lips. Something happened and the kid slipped, fell on his butt and swallowed the firecracker, necessitating a rebuild of the kids digestive system. We may be sure that he is now a maga. Another instance of this reversion to childish stupidity was a man who lit a firecracker while holding it between his thumb and index finger, while mansplaining. A finger he no longer retains. Human males have too little evidence of what might be called good judgement while recreating. Sit by a marina where they rent jet-skis. Or motor boats. Or look at the leader of the neighborhood fireworks display. Some, the rare ducks, will carefully choreograph the fireworks display, having water nearby and paying attention to the possibility of fire in the area surrounding the fireworks display. More often, the fireworks are planned by the local neighborhood men in somebody's garage, supplemented by copious amounts of alcohol. The result would look something like Trumps display to mark the demise of his National state fair that fell flat on its face for many reasons, mostly having to do with his being the worst example of mansplaining. He was so eager to have the greatest fireworks display in world history. The result was a spectacular display of ignorance. It was so bad the next day that there was, in the nation's capital, a "fireworks-caused smog that hung around the capital mall. A further touch of irony, among those floating clumps of algae in the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pond, were the debris of fireworks set off with no plans for where the singed cardboard parts go when they blow up. Sort of like like when Trump invaded Iran for no particular reason, and with no amount of planning.

What causes this reflection is a trip to my favorite winery where we went the night of July 4th. We had gone to our favorite winery to listen to a Greatful Dead cover group, a subject for another time, and the chance perhaps to view the fireworks displays of three towns encircling the winery. An added possibility was perhaps to see the aurora borealus, which were behind cloud cover the previous night. Aside from the distant sound of explosions, and occasional flashes, it was all pretty tame, so we left. The drive back along River Road was uneventful. An occasional Starburst shell among the trees. I was taking a friend home in South Salem. It is here where we encountered explosions, and confusion, and an old man's bladder problems, coupled by a fairly high degree of bone-chilling tension. Okay, there's no bone chilling in these days of global warming, in July. But it was tense. 

I must say in my defense, that I was the designated driver and took my responsibilities seriously. I had a wine slushy, and lots of water. Plus a sparkling apple cider, suitable for a Bible Baptist. It was dark, the signs were hard to read in the dim light of the trees on liberty Road and we missed a turn, setting ourselves in unfamiliar neighborhoods. In each 'hood' a ladder was set out in the street beyond a driveway. It was festooned with fireworks, the very metaphor for potential amazement with a dollop of danger. In some of those neighborhoods it was no longer the potential for explosive luminescence. Starbursts were going off all around us, flower firecrackers, and even the loud bang with blinding light of the big boom, directly in front of the car. Along both sides of the street were lawn chairs filled with family members  seated before the curb for better viewing, i guess. All of this slowed our progress through the neighborhoods. In the meanwhile, my bladder was getting ready to leave a wet reminder. Finally, after missing another turn because we couldn't read it, we were in the entranceway of a school. I stopped the car, stood behind it seeking the necessary relief, then zipped up and resumed our search for a street that was familiar. The goal was finally attained and we pulled up to her driveway. Fireworks illuminating the skies. The next day I was still tense, as if suffering from PTFD; Post Traumatic Fireworks Disorder. I suppose I have aged out of fireworks displays.