Happy birthday America!
It's a war! It's a war! No, wait, it's only the 4th.
Ever since I was a kid, I used to love the 4th of July. Notice that I used past tense. So sit back and I'll give you a little history lesson. I moved outside the city limits with Charley and since people couldn't shoot fireworks off in the city, they would drive to the outskirts to buy from the multitude of temporary stands and then proceed to shoot their hard-earned money into the sky. In those days there weren't many people living this far out of the city. Everyone would go a little crazy like our dog, Moksha who would try and chase down the firecrackers and bite them. He would get so wild that we would have to lock him up in a room without windows until the whole event was over. But, every year we'd pull up chairs, sometimes invite friends over and have a cookout, buy the kids a small amount of fireworks (with our hard-earned money) and sit back and enjoy the madness.
But then things changed. Each year the crowds got bigger and bigger. Now there is so many cars that they create an actual traffic jam where cars creep along the freeway waiting to exit the ramp. People are no longer are just parking along the access roads of the interstate to have their little party, but driving up and parking next to our home with total disregard to our territory. They don't shoot fireworks off at their house, so they drive to mine to have their party.
When the huge crowd began to invade, the fun of the 4th began to leave me. My poor donkey, Murphy, would run around the property trying to escape the invasion of the insane. He understood that it was war. Then came the year of a drought. The crowds of people gathered as usual shooting off fireworks wherever there was a bare spot between the greasewood and the mesquite bushes with a complete disregard and disrespect for homes they parked themselves amidst. Fires started. We didn't have time to watch the fireworks that night, we were chasing little fires set in the desert surrounding our home with buckets of water in hand. We finally went to bed around midnight, then our neighbor called and said there was a fire on the other side of our house. Sure enough, a bush caught on fire. People had already jumped our eight-foot fence and were trying to put it out. Together, we smothered the flames out. Turns out that even though it was dry enough to catch the desert on fire, it wasn't dry enough for the laws of Texas. Of course, most of Texas is not a desert, but the southwestern tip is. But who cares about the southwestern tip?
But now, let's talk about the aftermath. When everyone who came to the outskirts of town has had their little party and burned all their blasting purchases leaves, do they pick up after themselves like good citizens of an ideal community? You got to be kidding yourself if you think they do. Beer bottles, cans, food wrappers, and remnants of fireworks casings remain in the wake of the celebratory war. The county does hire a clean-up crew who come out and clean most of the crap along the interstate, but the side roads are left to be cleaned by the local inhabitants, like us.
Then for ten years we were cycling during the summer months and were not at home. While we didn't see what was going on, but in the back of my mind, I always wondered if my home would be burned down in my absence. Even on the road, we would find a locale to stay put for a few days. Drunk drivers and cyclists are not a good mix. I did not want become a new test for the inebriated. Last year we retired and we no longer have to cycle-tour during the heat-stroke months of summer and have been home during the onslaught of celebrators. Last night we stayed in and just listened to the loud explosions of the assault outside. This year we are lucky, the monsoon rains started early and the desert was damp. No fires were started.
But I ask you, "Are all these people celebrating the birth of our wonderful, free nation or do they just see an opportunity to blow up things, drink, and have a party?" From my perspective, I am more inclined to agree with Murphy, it's an invasion and a war and no longer a celebration.
It's a war! It's a war! No, wait, it's only the 4th.
Ever since I was a kid, I used to love the 4th of July. Notice that I used past tense. So sit back and I'll give you a little history lesson. I moved outside the city limits with Charley and since people couldn't shoot fireworks off in the city, they would drive to the outskirts to buy from the multitude of temporary stands and then proceed to shoot their hard-earned money into the sky. In those days there weren't many people living this far out of the city. Everyone would go a little crazy like our dog, Moksha who would try and chase down the firecrackers and bite them. He would get so wild that we would have to lock him up in a room without windows until the whole event was over. But, every year we'd pull up chairs, sometimes invite friends over and have a cookout, buy the kids a small amount of fireworks (with our hard-earned money) and sit back and enjoy the madness.
But then things changed. Each year the crowds got bigger and bigger. Now there is so many cars that they create an actual traffic jam where cars creep along the freeway waiting to exit the ramp. People are no longer are just parking along the access roads of the interstate to have their little party, but driving up and parking next to our home with total disregard to our territory. They don't shoot fireworks off at their house, so they drive to mine to have their party.
When the huge crowd began to invade, the fun of the 4th began to leave me. My poor donkey, Murphy, would run around the property trying to escape the invasion of the insane. He understood that it was war. Then came the year of a drought. The crowds of people gathered as usual shooting off fireworks wherever there was a bare spot between the greasewood and the mesquite bushes with a complete disregard and disrespect for homes they parked themselves amidst. Fires started. We didn't have time to watch the fireworks that night, we were chasing little fires set in the desert surrounding our home with buckets of water in hand. We finally went to bed around midnight, then our neighbor called and said there was a fire on the other side of our house. Sure enough, a bush caught on fire. People had already jumped our eight-foot fence and were trying to put it out. Together, we smothered the flames out. Turns out that even though it was dry enough to catch the desert on fire, it wasn't dry enough for the laws of Texas. Of course, most of Texas is not a desert, but the southwestern tip is. But who cares about the southwestern tip?
But now, let's talk about the aftermath. When everyone who came to the outskirts of town has had their little party and burned all their blasting purchases leaves, do they pick up after themselves like good citizens of an ideal community? You got to be kidding yourself if you think they do. Beer bottles, cans, food wrappers, and remnants of fireworks casings remain in the wake of the celebratory war. The county does hire a clean-up crew who come out and clean most of the crap along the interstate, but the side roads are left to be cleaned by the local inhabitants, like us.
Then for ten years we were cycling during the summer months and were not at home. While we didn't see what was going on, but in the back of my mind, I always wondered if my home would be burned down in my absence. Even on the road, we would find a locale to stay put for a few days. Drunk drivers and cyclists are not a good mix. I did not want become a new test for the inebriated. Last year we retired and we no longer have to cycle-tour during the heat-stroke months of summer and have been home during the onslaught of celebrators. Last night we stayed in and just listened to the loud explosions of the assault outside. This year we are lucky, the monsoon rains started early and the desert was damp. No fires were started.
But I ask you, "Are all these people celebrating the birth of our wonderful, free nation or do they just see an opportunity to blow up things, drink, and have a party?" From my perspective, I am more inclined to agree with Murphy, it's an invasion and a war and no longer a celebration.
