Fireworks make me cry

We met at Chris' after their baseball tournament was over and had the family picnic there. This was the most perfect weather for a July 4th that I can remember. It was hot during the day and just cool and pleasant after dark. This place (not in city limits, not a lot of fire danger, lots of lakes, many Native American reservations) goes bonkers on the 4th. Very reminescent of '50's Peabody, KS. Thoroughly bonkers. Our family pyros are scattered, so we're much tamer and lower-key than when the Granddaddy of all pyros was around. We do have a new generation of pyros in the making, however.

Chris & Ward's backyard is large with plenty of room to sit in chairs on the deck and watch the pre-teens' bombs bursting in air. The youngest generation, sitting safely on the mommy's laps, ear plugs in their baby ears, were bawling at the loudest bangs. The grownups were eating until they were miserable, until a few mosquitos brave enough to stage attacks caused us hasty retreats into the safety of the kitchen. I'd rather miss the show and clean the kitchen than become feed for a herd of those carnivores.

And now I'm home to try to sleep off that apple cobbler I really didn't need, fan set to "hi" in the window, with the bombing of Berlin going on in the background. It doesn't really stop until well after midnight.

As I drove past my empty house, watching fireworks above the trees all around the lake, tears welled up for the past years of seeing Warren so happy on this day. He just wanted to share our "park" with everyone he knew. And now it is no more. I think he would be sad to know I quit having his event when he died. Maybe next year I'll be able to find it deep within me to host another 4th of July celebration, just in case he's looking down on Lake Morton, so he can be happy that I'm sharing his earthly joy with his loved ones once again.