The pops and booms have started. My ole dawg, Diego, is again reluctant to lie on the front lawn, starting last evening, when the first random booms started. After the 8th season of this, although it slowed down during the lock down era, one would think Diego would learn to chill?
I have mixed emotions about fireworks. When I was young, I really liked loud music, loved to dance, was noted for driving too fast, and well, guess I was an adrenaline junkie.
The two horses here, also don't like the big booms, and now is nothing like it will be tomorrow. I am old and I never lived anywhere before where July 4th seriously sounded like WWIII, and I have lived in lots of places. But, Diego's still here, and the horses didn't develop a case of PTSD, and life went on.
And, truth be told, and I really am not going to judge what the 4th of July means to anyone, it has become an annual event that shakes the shit up in my neighborhood, and I kinda enjoy it! I never was a flag-waving patriot, always understood the flawed nation that we were and are. But, I have never forgotten that, compared to billions, I was born to privilege, even being born into blue-collar poor. But, I have never felt pride in my nation's flaws, and that is why I don't wave a flag. It's not all or nothing.
I loved white water rafting, because the experience not only got one to places in nature that were still serene, it mixed both the ethereal with the adrenaline rush. Just floating down the river, in the sun, looking up at massive cliffs and catching sight of Hawks and Eagles, and then, suddenly, in the distance, hearing the sound of water. That sound got louder and louder, until it became time to buckle up and face some rapids, when tons of water had funneled through a narrow canyon, and could care less if it took your life.