Independence Day

Not the film, but the day. I know, you were hoping. So, another birthday has come and gone for our country. The United States is 233 years old this year. If the U.S. were a person, that would be beyond retirement age and well into mummification, but for a country, it’s pretty young. A mere babe. And how do the citizens of a mere babe celebrate its birthday? By setting things on fire, of course. Truly adolescent, but lots of fun.

Each year, Helen and I have a ritual: we buy up as many pyrotechnics as we can afford, pack a blanket, an aim-n-flame and some food and head to the beach. This year was no different. We arrived at Linda Mar Beach in the early afternoon. The skies were blue, but we are seasoned locals, so this did not comfort us. There was a wall of fog just waiting to roll in. Before settling down to an evening of eating and burning, we decided to go for a walk. We walked all the way from Linda Mar to Rockaway Beach. A pretty good hike involving a hillside trial with lots of switchbacks. The water was gorgeous. The camera? In the car, of course. We wandered into an antique store where I picked up a set of vintage cocktail napkins.






Then we had the all-American lunch of hot dogs, French fries and root beer floats. Feeling full, we hiked back over the hill to Linda Mar Beach. Burn off those calories!!!! Gathering our supplies from the car, we established our base camp.





We had a rousing game of dominoes (which neither of us really knows how to play), applied patriotic temporary tattoos and glow bracelets, and then began the task of building the “bunker”.

This is the most important part of a successful fireworks-lighting experience. Without a proper bunker, the wind will blow out your fuses, forcing you to get very close to the fireworks and possibly sustaining third-degree burns over most of your exposed flesh when you finally get them lit. Much like what happened to a certain individual whom I can no longer make fun of because he has passed on. (Key words: sequined glove, Pepsi commercial, Jeri-curl.) No one wants that. Using the raw materials at hand: sand, seaweed and rocks, we dug out a deep pit in the sand. (Note to self: next year, bring a dog - better than a shovel.)

Helen gets water to shore up the sides.




We are very far from the ocean.







We found an excellent flat rock to put in the bottom of the bunker so the fireworks wouldn’t fall over and set fire to the bunker. That would also be a big bummer, but not as big a bummer as burning all my hair off.




Yes, that is a clown. If you have to burn something, burn a clown. They deserve it.




The fog rolled in and the moon came out. Still, construction went on. Note the sky is still light.




Finally, the bunker is finished. We lay out the fireworks (what a haul!) and sit down to await the coming of darkness.

7:00………….7:30……….7:45….what the hell?? When does it get dark around here?

8:00…8:30…not dark yet. Didn’t we just have a solstice? Aren’t the days supposed to be getting shorter? People around us are lighting their fireworks early. Wusses. They can’t take it.

Finally! It’s time! We light up!






































Cue patriotic music! Hooray for the red, white and blue! Happy Birthday America! Whoo-hoo! $200 up in flames in 20 minutes! That’s the American way! After the all-too brief flame-out, we pack up and find our way through the clouds of sulphuric brimstone smoke and go home. I fall asleep with the faint aroma of burnt gunpowder still clinging to my fingertips. A good day.






But my holiday is not over yet. I promised my dad for Father’s Day I would take him to the Stanford Theatre to see one of his favorite movies: Yankee Doodle Dandy. On July 5 (yes, two weeks late, not my fault) we made the trip. He loved it! He had never seen it on the big screen and had no idea it was possible. Needless to day, I scored some Major Daughter Points this weekend. It was a good Fourth.