Tuesday’s gone

If the names Duke Lavery and Sean Donely mean anything to you, IM me and we’ll chat.

It seems the older I get, the less time I get to spend with aunts and uncles and cousins. The less I see certain friends. The difference may be ever so slight sometimes. But still, I recognize it. So these days, when I do get to see them, I cherish those times.

Lil’ Bootay was home from South Carolina for the 4th. It was good to hang out with her Saturday night. The evening’s activities included dinner and bowling with friends. And for some unbeknownst reason, me doing my best Joey Gladstone impression, making funny noises whenever I passed the ketchup, salt, and sundry other condiments and amenities to anyone.

Got to spend a lot of time with family the past few days. Saw my Dad on Saturday. Driving home, I realized that since I’ve moved, I only see him maybe once a month. And then, it’s usually just meeting at a restaurant to eat. My parents aren’t old, but… I feel like I need to make more of an effort to see him.

Overall, the weekend (meaning Friday thru Tuesday, even though I had to work Monday) was filled with much good food, multiple cookouts, and finally, last night, fireworks. Mom called and said some family was getting together at my fave aunt’s house to shoot fireworks and that my uncle from Galveston was supposed to be there. I realized I had not seen any fireworks yet, and wanted to see my uncle, so I put on my pants and went.

I don’t know how it is where you live, but here we put on our own fireworks displays. We know all the major fireworks by name. And what most of them do. We also know there has never been a firework created that you can’t hold and/or throw, no matter what the warning label may say. Those labels are for children. Not wise, experienced pyrotechnicians like ourselves.

Some may say that’s dangerous. I say, you haven’t lived until a firecracker has gone off in your hand. Until you’ve accidentally caught a field, tree, or some structure on fire. Until you’ve driven down a country road and had bottle rockets shot at your vehicle by some future fireworks aficionado.

It has been my experience that these displays involve the males–I would differentiate here between men and kids, but when it comes to fireworks, the difference is negligible–picking out and lighting the fireworks. While the females sit in the yard or on the porch and watch. They may also occasionally applaud. Or maybe that’s just my family.

As I was driving to my aunt’s last night, there were many of these homemade displays along the way. When I arrived, I chose to sit and watch rather than participate in the re-creation of the discovery of fire with the other males.

As they shot the final fireworks of the night, the grand finale as it were, I turned to watch my seven-year-old cousin. She watched in wide-eyed amazement at the loud, colorful displays. All the fireworks in the world couldn’t compare to the look in her eyes.

It was a perfect way to wind down the holiday. Although I ended up missing my uncle by seconds, according to everyone there. My last remaining single cousin, who is getting married next month, was there with his fiancee. She is the sweetest thing. As much as I hate to be the last single cousin, he could not possibly have done any better.

They had been to New York recently. My cousin told me they ate at the diner that Monk’s on Seinfeld is modeled after and he thought of me. I like that I’m the biggest Seinfeld fan that any of my friends or family know. Really like it. Probably more than I should.

Driving home last night with the radio up and the sunroof open, I just wanted to keep driving. Take a detour and put in another CD and just keep going. To somewhere. Anywhere. But it was already 11:30. And I had to work this morning. Nights like that, I wish would never end.

But they always do.

“Are you alone? Can you talk to an old friend? Right or wrong, I had to hear your voice again. Unwritten law, protocol, says to leave the past alone…”