Here in North Portland, sometimes I feel as if all we are is a glorified border town for Vancouver, Wash. You cannot buy “the good” fireworks in Oregon… but you can in Washington! So everyone drives over there, loads up, drives back, and on the Fourth, my entire neighborhood looks and sounds like it’s exploding. Yes, it’s illegal, but the cops don’t mind so why should you! Lock up your daughters is all I can say.
(This was not Wacky Dog’s favorite holiday, especially since “the festivities” start in June and end around mid-September.) (Dear departed Wacky Dog, I’m sorry I called you “stupidass,” you weren’t. You just didn’t like the bang and pop, that’s all.)
Also, Vancouver, Wash., as you may or may not know, is home of “the biggest fireworks show west of the Mississippi.” They shoot ’em off from a barge in the middle of the Columbia River.
God Bless the USA. Now let’s get into the habit of not bombing other countries, what say?
Damn. I’m ready to get back to what America originally stood for, which was what, exactly? Something about “your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…”?
We went to our friend’s house last night, and God love him for inviting us because we were right on the Columbia and that close to the best fireworks ever. Also, we went swimming in BOTH of the pools at his condo, and hot-tubbed. And had yummy snacks and ice cream sodas.
He invited us back to swim, anytime, and to watch the Christmas Ship Parade go by.
I hope he adopts us.