We Three Patriots

We Three.jpg

My family likes to attend a little country fireworks display each Independence day, held on the football field of a wee high school about 45 minutes east of us.  They have Elephant Ears and Shaved Ice, and there's a parade with some very shiny fire trucks.  Real Norman Rockwell stuff.

This year, I elected to stay home with Paisley and Bailey, though, for two very good reasons:

        1.    Having never spent an Independence Day with Bailey, I had no idea what he would think of fireworks.  I was worried he'd freak out, and it seemed cruel to leave him alone without knowing how he'd manage.

        2.    I only partially made my book deadline, and I'm frantically trying to catch up.  However much fun I might miss with the fam, duty calls, so there it is.

But don't cry for me, Argentina.  My neighbors, most of whom have smallies, are no slouches in the fireworks department.  These people must have special savings accounts for the piles of cash they explode every year.  God Love 'Em.  And if that weren't enough, our house is adjacent to a lake, from which a pretty respectable fireworks display is launched every year, and if you hold your head just right, you can see some of it from our north-facing windows.

Around 10PM, I completed a chapter for my 3-days-prior-deadline and e-mailed it to my editor with deep relief.  I took a little break to see what was going on outside.

As it turns out, the fireworks at the lake have grown into quite a little show.  Having left to attend the other display with my family each of the last few years, I had no idea how fancy it was getting.  I had a fairly clear view of the display through the glass window of our front door.  But it occurred to me that if I went upstairs, the window above our bed would afford an even higher vantage point. 

So I collected the dogs (who, it should be noted, did not care a whit about the noise - in fact they were a little annoyed at being woken up to watch with me), and went upstairs to see what it looked like from up there.

While I was right about the height affording a better angle, I failed to take into account the maple tree outside the bedroom window, which in the full leaf of summer obscured my view.

Never one to admit defeat, I moved our little party to the master bathroom window, which, though tiny, offered a totally unobstructed view.  Not that the dogs much enjoyed the change of venue - they liked the bed a lot better than the tile floor.  I told them to suck it up and act patriotic.  The only real drawback of the master bathroom viewing station is that in order to really look through the small window there, one must straddle the commode.

And so it struck me as I sat there, beer in hand, dogs at feet, that if our founding fathers had one real goal on this date 235 years ago, it was that no American should ever sit upon a throne.  Yet here I was, chest puffed with patriotism, eyes tearing with gratitude for the sacrifices made by my forefathers, perched, very uncomfortably, UPON A THRONE.

The dogs looked really disgusted when I laughed until beer came out my nose.