Beef and Beer and Blowing Stuff Up

Ah, I have survived the war reenactment that was disguised as Fourth of July. The smoke has finally settled and my poor asthmatic lungs can breathe again... This small town takes its fireworks quite seriously. For five solid hours there was not more than a five second break between illuminating bursts of color. Even the poor street lamps of my cul-de-sac could not break through the smoke and sulfur. They looked like fuzzy little doughnuts sitting on a cloud of black. Pretty they may be, and awed were my children by the sheer volume and constant brilliance, but I was glad when it was finally over... five hours is a loooong time. I did have to laugh at the great show of testosterone out in the paved circle. Men blowing up things... smoke and fire...grilled meats....beer.....pure joy. If ever there was going to be a Holiday that was specifically geared towards men, this must be it. My car looked like a volcano had spit all over it the next morning. Cardboard shrapnel is littering my garden beds. Ok, I don’t mean to sound like I hate it because I don’t. I like all the pretty colors and the look on the faces of my boys was priceless but "excessive" is the word that comes to mind. Anyway, I will go and clean the flowerbeds, wash the car and continue oxygen therapy for my lungs while my Hubby plots on how to blow something even bigger up next year and just how much raw meat our grill can handle at one time. (: