The day was nearly over. I had watched a little TV, but it was all shut down while I sat in the cool basement, scrolling through the internet before heading up to blog and then go to bed. Alfred had been crawling all over me, wanting to cuddle. I had even fallen asleep sitting up a couple times, and woke to find Alfred stretched across my middle, holding my arms down. He was very needy. But in the quiet, once the TV was off, we could finally hear what was going on outside the house. All around my neighborhood there have been random pops of black powder, while people play with the fireworks that are legally obtainable in this part of the county, in this state (more than I recall Colorado allowing back when we were in college). I don't think about those sounds much. I've lived close to army posts too often, where the sound of gunfire off in the distance is such a common occurrence, I barely even heard it. I lived in a few rough neighborhoods in my day too, where one is a little more attuned to that sound, but unless it's followed by shouts or sirens, it's quickly forgotten. Alfred is not so calm about it. He freaks out even when there are computer animated graphics of fireworks on TV. When they started tonight, and could be heard clearly, I looked down to see Alfred hugging the carpet, belly-crawling to hide under the lap blanket that was loosely draped across my knees, making a tent between the ottoman and the floor. Poor little chicken cat. He does this with thunder too. This next week is going to be hard on him.
We had planned on going to see the fireworks at Folsom Field on Tuesday, a tradition Mr S-P grew up with, that we tried to pass along to our kids. At least one wants to be there for them. (Foster daughter says she and her new husband aren't all that into fireworks, so they might skip out.) For the first time in decades, I was planning to suggest we buy some of our own to shoot off in the street one or two nights this week. I've traditionally been a tightly-wound wet blanket when it comes to personal fireworks, but now that I'm full of new coping skills (mostly found in pharmaceutical bottles and directions from my doctors to take it easy when life gets to be too much), I feel like I might be flexible and calm enough to have them in my own personal space. I don't want to spend too much money, but a few aerials and Roman candles might be in order. (I didn't participate the first time the kids and men folk played "Harry Potter dueling with Roman candles," but I think now I can play along. Doubly so considering we are supposed to re-watch the very last movie in the series this weekend with our neighbors.) I believe it won't be a hard sell to convince the kids (of all ages) that we need to have some brightly colored explosions of our own.
I didn't take many pictures today. My doggies are in the mountains for a few days while their papa builds stuff with the lumber we carried up on Monday, and I got a lovely picture of them sent to me. It's quiet around here in their absence, not counting the firecrackers up and down the street. I focused on throwing a few emails around, getting a massage, and buying stuff I needed, plus one or two things I had no idea I wanted. There was a free tasting at the liquor store, and a bottle of herbal liqueur asked to come home with me. There was a sale on hair color, and now I think I might have to go full mermaid (I now have four colors to blend for the tips of my hair, not just two). And I am ready for the gigabit internet service as of this afternoon, with a new modem that can handle the blazing hot speeds. I'm still feeling like a whole lot of things are happening around me, as fast as I can process them, and then some. It's exciting, and almost slightly scary at times. But not quite.
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