INTEREST? MORE THAN A SPARK.
Between Shane, Ed and Justin, we had an excellent arsenal for the 4th’s festivities. Plus one dud. Or, two? Jess had semi-explosive smoke bombs, who knew?
“Close,” says me.
Spent the afternoon with Shane baking cookies for the night’s celebration- his blue, mine red. Once there, dusk couldn’t come fast enough. Best? Watching my little dad ride off in a motorcycle sidecar giddy as a schoolboy, pearly whites on full display. And, yes, there are photos. Second? My turn! I much prefer a ride on the back, thank you very much- a test in trust, it is (care for lots of chrome, too, and preferably a Harley), but so glad I gave that sidecar a go! Like my very own personal roller coaster, most especially upon entering the freeway- up, up, up, climb, climb, climb, and awaaaaay! Back down on the residential streets, cruising through block after block of a quaint little town was a true glimpse of small town Americana, passing family after family out on their front lawns, sparklers in hand, patriotic flags waving from porch posts as the sun set in the background. Riding alongside one of the town’s councilmen gets one plenty of waves and “howdy do’s,” too.
On the downside? Nearly getting blown up. “How” you may ask? Blame it on the blow torch. Worse? Bean nearly getting blown up. And Shane, to be a firefighter one day at that, too. Take one super humongo fireworks unit, light it ala torch, watch as it promptly tips over, launching itself across half the block into the open garage containing a large vehicle where it proceeds to spin in circles under the gas tank only to then lodge under your sister’s nearby low-sitting lawn chair ready to go off in seconds. Grab one sister and pull! Next, run! And we did. Gas tank still intact, lawn chair not so much. We swiftly made the night pretty again in celebration of life continuing unmaimed with the help of closed garage doors.
Ask, and you shall receive.
I mention I like these fantastic paper lanterns due to a few too many viewings of Disney’s Tangled with Sam-a-lamma and Sophster (and Shortcake, too!). Tada! Mine.
Pigeon poop?
Had to capture Justin’s sneakers- a gangly, open, easy-going fella who said things like “kiss my grits,” his rockabilly self weighing all of a buck fifty. He repeatedly professed Independence Day as his most favorite of holidays, making him a total joy to have around, like a big kid on Christmas. He came in handy with teasing one of our resident Brits about joining in on a celebration of separation from his homeland. Long live Exeter!