Fireworks, barbeque, grilling out, and enjoying company with people you care about. These are the things that comprise of most people's Independence Day celebrations. Yesterday I headed to the lake with some friends, some of which I had not seen in over a year when we graduated. It was a great day for going to the lake, not too hot, kind of overcast. That oppressive/legendary, muggy, southern heat had escaped us. Later that day our family had more of a laid back/low key get-together at our house. We had smoked chicken, and just had a good time being together, partially because we didn't really discuss Grandpa's injuries sustained in a fall over a month ago. But I was once again taken back in time when my younger brother just could not wait to set off all the fireworks that he had bought up at the little store at the top of the road. I still remember nearly ten years ago when almost all of the cousins of mine who lived on this road would gather at our grandparents pond to shoot off the fireworks once it got dark. I loved those nights where it seemed as if we could not possibly run out of bottle-rockets. The smell eventually built up so badly from so many fireworks going off in the area, and all over the mountain that you could still smell it the next morning. For several years after that until my early sullen teenage years, I was alarmingly obsessed with shooting firecrackers. We were kind of dangerous with them, because I recall a day at the bluehole when we had a kid "pinned to the rock" because we were shooting bottle-rockets at him. Time seemed to stand still for a second as I could almost look at a mirror image of myself cautiously lighting the fuse, then running away. What broke the moment and brought me back to reality? -When a bottle-rocket almost hit the very porch I was sitting on.
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