Thursday, July 03, 2014

Third of July

A gentle rain falls outside my window. You don’t get much gentle anything, let alone rain, here in the foothills of the Front Range, so it’s a nice holiday treat. If the locals decide to chance the $500 fine setting off fireworks here in this Land of the Free—as they did on New Year’s, to spectacular effect—at least no one can say they were trying to set anything on fire. 

To be fair, this is a very dry area that catches fire very easily, so I understand the municipal fireworks ban. But as others have pointed out, the city limits are probably the best place to set them off. More asphalt, more fire hydrants. This year we have rain. So how about it?

Naturally, it’s not so much about safety as it is about collecting $500 fines, among the other “fees” those fed into the tentacles of our court system have to pay. So what might very well happen here is I might enjoy watching other people break the law, and forget everything I saw when asked by an officer of said law.

I’m not saying it would happen. Sometimes one does feel rather forced into these awkward positions, though. 

To think that these people setting off fireworks are outlaws celebrating the day a band of outlaw colonial aristocrats declared themselves free of the taxes tyranny of the Crown. Sweet irony, and so many layers of it, too.

I know, it could be worse. This could be North Korea, etc. I, for one, am grateful for this quiet, rainy night on a ridge beneath the Colorado Front Range. I’ve got my beer, my brats, my chips. No need to get on the road. So far they can’t pull me over for drinking in my own house. Yet.

It’s a fine weekend marking the middle of the year, the middle of summer. As with anything else, wherever you are, it is what you make of it. All my fireworks are digital. I’ll try and make something pop.

Fourth of July Weekend is go.