fireworks

I wonder why fireworks affect me so much? Why are they so profound in my emotions? Tonight Martin, Jaybird and I watched a fabulous fireworks show over Galveston Bay. I realized, while sitting there, that memories were blazing through my mind, bringing me such joy that I never wanted it to end. I remembered when I was a very little girl, sitting on the hood of a 58 chevy with my mother, trembling from the sound, but knowing that I was safe. The booming noise of each explosion rattled my nerves, but I could not look away. The colors were hypnotic. I wanted the noise to end, but not the beauty. I remember too, taking my children to a Fourth of July fireworks exhibition in the parking lot of a mall. It was so hot that night, but we were clustered together, sharing a very rare treat of Chic-fil-et waffle fries and cold soda. Little Otto loved those waffle fries, and each time I see them, I remember the joy on his little face as we shared our food and the fireworks. I am fortunate to live in an area where each Friday in June, the Kemah Boardwalk puts on fireworks for about 20 minutes. I can hear them from my house, and can watch them if I go just a short distance. Tonight was just such a night. Each explosion thrilled me, both the big circles of sparks and the smaller ones. I told Martin that I thought we must live in paradise- but now, reconsidering, I guess paradise does not have mosquitos! Something else occurred to me, and that is that I think most of us take fireworks for granted. I mean, you don't have to pay to see them, we expect them on the Fourth of July and New Years Eve, and we don't consider who is behind this marvelous show. Who pays for the fireworks to be shot off for us? Who has the guts to light the fuse? We don't think of those guys, do we? I do appreciate the effort it takes to entertain us with fireworks, and most especially, I love the thrill of the boom, the sparking color and the rush of joy as I remember fireworks that have given me such joy throughout my life. I love fireworks, but I don't like them up close. I never have. My brother used to shoot bottle rockets at me, and I would run screaming in terror, only to have his maniacal laughter torture me. He would drop little firecrackers in my path, and sneak up behind me to pop those little snappers in my ears. My husband loves to be up close and personal with fireworks, (I think it is a testosterone thing). He feels the more the better and the louder the boom the more the thrill. My boy loves them too. His boy loves them. I just have to bear with it when they all get together to shoot, explode, combine and enjoy the thrill of fireworks in their hands. I swear, there is no hesitation to light a cluster of finger damaging horror, only to run at the last moment before the physical damage can be done. I am scared to death to even attempt some of those stunts. One year, I had gone shopping and finally been able to buy some brand new towels for the house. At last, the towels would match, and I rehearsed the speech I was going to give, threatening anyone who would grab a new towel to use on a car, clean up a dog's mess or take outside to sun in the yard. Yes indeedy, I was going to be the towel police, and when I had company, I could proudly point out that yes, I have plenty of matching towels, washcloths and hand towels for their use. Driving down the street to my house that day, I noticed an ominous spiral of smoke coming from somewhere close to where I lived. It turns out that the smoke was the result of someone, (and I never did find out if it were children or spouse, they would not rat each other out) who had shot some bottle rockets across the street, only to find that the bottle rockets did not make the proper altitude and landed in the neighbors garage, setting something on fire. I jumped out of the car, panicked at the thought of a fire, when Martin came streaking by with a bucket of water, and was followed by two little boys who had the "crap, someone is in big trouble" look on their face. When Martin saw what I was carrying to the house, his face lit right up as he grabbed the bags of my lovely new towels and ran across the street with them. Without hesitation, and oblivious to my screeching objections, he dunked the towels into the water and began to beat out what was in acutality a very small fire. The little boys grabbed towels too, and dunked and beat. The fire was easily put out with no structural damage at all, but my new towels were ruined. Martin pointed out that I could wash them, but in my mind, they would never be the same. They ended up in the garage to be used on a car, clean up a dogs mess, or to sunbathe on. I reiterate, that I love to watch fireworks in the sky, but I hate them up close and personal. In any case, fireworks are a joy to behold, and a prompter of memories throughout my lifetime, whether good or bad!