updated with photos
I can hear firecrackers popping and screaming outside our house. They make me a littler nervous actually, ever since my friends and I decided to try our hand at setting off our own fireworks one summer celebration and it tipped sideways just after we lit it and flew into a girl's stomach. She was fine, mostly, but it knocked the wind out of her. I think she went home then, and the rest of us stayed and got drunk(er). Not a big deal, but it made me realize firecrackers can be dangerous.
My parents' village (pop. 1000) celebrated its 175th birthday this weekend, along with Canada's birthday. It was surprisingly militarily themed (one of the organizers is apparently in the armed forces and called in a few buddies), and involved more adrenaline than I could ever have imagined for a 175th birthday.
[break for sleep... see you in the morning]
By the numbers:
1 man who removed both his upper and lower dentures chillin' outside the farmer's market before we left town.
1 missed parade, which was reportedly VERY long for such a short town, and apparently showcased a number of the town's used vehicles for sale, some excellent marching bands and a sickly looking camel.
3 weeks my dad spent singlehandedly building a bandwagon for his concert band to ride in the parade. Swee'pea loved playing on it in the barnyard.
1 CF-18 fighter jet flyover at 500 feet. 500 feet is very low -- and LOUD -- for a fighter jet, and its booming, heart-quaking, can't think about anything else roar is scary even knowing it was a planned celebratory flyover. The high-pitched whistling sound (the one they use in movies when a plane is crashing to the earth) that immediately preceded the thunderous boom that I imagine would accompany a nuclear bomb was even more alarming. It passed over three times and every time I hoped it wouldn't crash; when it turned sideways and white smoke flew off its wings, I thought we were goners, but it righted itself and flew back to Trenton. I can't imagine living in an area where those things regularly fly over you. They are so dark and pointy and angry-looking, they look like the beasts of destruction they are and the sound fills my heart with dread. Swee'pea, who I've always said is pretty bomb-proof, just looked out from his stroller with a quizzical but unconcerned expression.
2 paratroopers jumping into the village baseball diamond -- well that was the plan anyways. One landed in the baseball diamond, the other got snagged in a cedar tree by a gust of wind. He was ok though. The volunteer firefighters had to rescue the parachute.
3 cracks to the head: 1 when Swee'pea tripped on my foot and his forehead met the corner of a doorframe; 2 when Swee'pea stuck his hand in my very hot, very full cup of tea, spilled it all over and Sugar D and I slammed our skulls together rushing to get Swee'pea away from the boiling hot tea and under the cold tap. Swee'pea was fine; it took Sugar D and I a bit longer to recover.
1 viewing of Bon Cop, Bad Cop, which was surprisingly good. Especially for a Canadian movie. It was really funny and I also really enjoyed the acidic cinematography. I would totally recommend it.
1 enormous, bright orange moon rising from behind black spindly trees as a neighbour set off cheap fireworks over my dad's burgeoning vineyard (he's enjoying retirement I'd say).
72 raspberries on my belly: Swee'pea's first raspberry attempts were hugely successfully, producing very life-like farty sounds and generating uncountable laughs from all of us.
Weekend Reading: The Trying to Rally Edition
2 days ago