First off, congratulations to Colleen and Brian on tying the knot. May the wind always be at your back or something like that. Lucky 7s are a good way to start the new life.
Now, I need to say that this will sound unpatriotic of me. I hate the 4th of July. I hate 4ths of July that happen on Wednesdays most of all—with a passion. While I like the rocket’s red glare and all, it’s the idjuts that drive me bananas. Mary and I decided to get out of dodge for Independence Day on the lake this year. We headed for our condo in Vancouver, Washington; thinking that it would be mellower, fewer high powered firearms, fewer jet skis.
Aside from fewer jet skis, we struck out on every other front. Exploding stuff interrupts my sleep in two ways. First, by being loud, bright, and concussive. Second, those bright loud concussive things upset Peaches for hours after the idjuts have passed out drunk. There’s nothing quite like a terrified doggie pacing and whining to spoil a few zzz’s. This happened on Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights.
Thinking that the fireworks shows were finally finished, we came back Thursday night and slept soundly only to have Friday provide another fireworkian extravaganza at Konocti Resort about a mile away. Peaches whined, paced, whimpered, trembled, and such in a way generally not conducive to getting a good night’s rest until the wee hours of the morning.
Happy 4th of July? Bah. Humbug.
Nullius in Verba 
In London, it’s the 5th November fireworks that go on for weeks.
I don’t have a dog, so I do the pacing and whining myself.
Fortunately, we colonists have forgotten Guy Fawkes Night and it has gone fallow. Though given our insane love of all things bright and concussive, it may catch on yet again.
I read All Things Bright and Concussive. James Herriot was a brilliant author and, from all reports, a very nice man in the bargain.
He was lousy at picking original book titles though.
After I read it I had spots before my eyes and couldn’t hear for a week.