Forth of July in Washington (the other Washington)

For four days every year my city sounds  a lot like what I imagine a war zone sounds.  Yes, it's that special time of year where we celebrate blowing things up.  No, that's not right.  It's that special time of year where we celebrate Independence by blowing things up.

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The rockets red glare, blue, green and gold shoots right over the top of my house.

The mortar shells leave blast patterns on the pavement.

Dogs get PTSD.

Cats, well.  Cats are born needing therapy, aren't they.

Washington has quite a rage of legal fireworks compared to the neighbor state of Oregon.  And if that isn't enough, the local Indian Reservations sell fireworks that, while legal on the reservation, are not legal anywhere else - this doesn't stop everyone from buying them and using them, however.  It's a manly, red-neck, white-collar challenge to acquire enough explodage to shake the neighborhood and concuss the brains of babies everywhere.

I love celebrating my country.  I love remembering battles fought and won.  I love honoring the freedoms and protections granted by our Constitution, (and thankfully not it's too altered, yet, by our Federal Courts.)

But I don't understand the amount of money spent to get the thrill of the BOOM in your very own front yard.

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And it will crescendo about midnight on the Forth.