This, ironically, has fallen to Jennifer and I. Gary has decided he doesn't quite care for them anymore. And mom's disapproval practically dripped from the phone.
She's not a fan of them either.
But she never was. I inherited my love of FW from my dad, who used to tell me stories of saving up all summer to buy a big box directly from the fireworks companies (in the 30s). Yeah, well, I never did that, but it's ingrained in my memory that we went out to the fireworks stands, and shot them off every 4th, and then saved some for the 1st of the next year of course.
So Jennifer and I went out to the Muckleshoot res. only to find about a gazillion people had beat us to it. The line up snaked up Highway 18 and onto 410 to the rez. Once there, it was like stepping in a combo of a war zone and a carnival, with hawkers at every stand.
"Geez," Jennifer said. "Some of those kids out out in the war zone (where the locals set off boxes of fireworks) are, what 5?"
Seems like. I was busy as the minute, trying to negotiate an intersection to turn into the firework plaza and make sure a paratrooper didn't land on the car. It didn't, it got caught up in a power line.
Once there, we did stick to our budget of $75, but it was a bit overwhelming to look at stand after stand, with mostly the same thing. We finally got our purchases, with a few freebies thrown in, and headed out.
The flaggers decided that the traffic wasn't working, so they routed us out the back, down what looked like an old logging trail that spit us out onto 410 again. Fortunately, the path worked, for those with faith that didn't bottom out, end up in the war zone (a spur of the road did snake off that direction) or get stuck in the mud or a pothole). And a caravan of cars started following me, so I just took a deep breath and plowed on.
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