Writings in the Sand

The Rocket's Red Glare

Last night, instead of curling up in her usual spot at the end of the bed, the cat slunk up the bed to sleep in the hollow between our bodies. The reason for this sudden desire for closeness? Fireworks.

Yes, it's time for a week of amateur, backyard fireworks. These will start each night at dusk and continue long past a reasonable hour. There will be long, sustained rat-a-tat-tat-a-tat-tat of firecrackers, the ear-splitting whistle of bottle rockets and the deep, resounding boom that seems to produce no evidence of its detonation in the sky and makes you wonder if the neighbors have started mining on their property. The noise will cease somewhere around 1:00 am, just long enough for you and the cat to fall asleep, then someone who has finally found some dry matches will startle you from your sleep and send the cat under the bed with one last fiery hurrah at 2:00 am.

There are three stages of fireworks. They are like Shakespeare's seven ages of man, but there aren't as many and it's much less complicated.

When one is young, fireworks are an amazing spectacle, a magical light show of stars exploding into being and then fading into darkness as if one was witnessing the birth of the universe. The second stage is parenthood, when parents delights in showing their children these brilliant displays and holding them tightly to protect them from the vibrations resonating through their bones. Finally one reaches the third stage. This is the one I am at. It's the "enough already, I want to sleep, you're scaring the cat so knock it off, where are the police when you need 'em?" stage. It's the old, curmudgeon stage. Yes, I remember how much fun fireworks were when I was a kid, but that's because I didn't realize how annoying I was being. I've changed my mind. Ban them all!

Of course, they are all banned already. I live in the only state where every type and class of firework is illegal to purchase, own or transport to the state from some other, less anal state. However, fireworks are going off around me in blatant disregard of these laws and I have never in my entire life seen the police stop the perpetrators or even interrupt their illegal displays. The annual trip to a neighboring state to purchase these illegal fireworks is a tradition in some families. The law exists, I think, to make a statement. The state is saying: "we made hand held explosives illegal because we care about your safety, but we don't obsess over it".

So, there's nothing to be done. Fireworks are like drugs - the state has an official position but it makes no difference to the average consumer who can get what they want regardless. Except, drugs are not as loud.

I know I am just old and cranky and the proof is that I don't even feel guilty about being such a killjoy. It's no longer just a side effect of age, it's a mission.