Exploding July 4th

July 4th is my least favorite day of the year. My nerves have never been simpático to explosions so most of the day, especially the evening, is spent with my nervios en punta, as we say. Pretty much like Darwin, whose pointed ears, enlarged dark pupils and freaked out expression sum up the way I feel, though I (hopefully) don't look the same.

Magellan couldn't care less about the cabooms and sibilant-hisses and rocket-like-swishes and pat-pat-pat-pattings that continually break the otherwise usually near perfect silence of our neighborhood. Geni doesn't like the ruckus and Rusty hates explosions, too, but will take it in stride if his pack leaders (us) are taking it in stride. My husband is immune. I am a basket case.

I also find the need that mostly boys (of all ages) find in exploding things rather annoying. How many times do you need to hear something explode before it ceases to be fun? I don't mind the sparklers (those are lovely, though I never see any anymore) but the malditos petardos like the ones that are tied to rockets and the ones that have parachutes and the ones that sound like the bombs the U.S. Navy would casually drop all over Vieques - those make me want to rush outside and shake the silly kids and throw their explosives away. Of course, I have enough self-control that I haven't done this (yet).

Still, we did enjoy watching the fireworks from an alley behind the football field of the small college near our home. The dogs didn't understand why we'd taken them out to stand still for about 20 minutes looking at the sky. But since they always enjoy being out with us, they put up with our strange behavior, helped (I'm sure) by the knowledge that they would get a treat when we returned home.

I must say, however, that no one does fireworks like Boston does them. I have never seen, in my long life of 4th of Julys, a better fireworks display than the one they put on at the Boston Commons. I guess I was spoiled by the many years of watching fireworks explode in coordination to a live orchestra playing Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture. Anything short of that seems anticlimactic to me.

For many obvious (and not-so-obvious) reasons, there is nothing I welcome more than the morning of July 5th. Not only because it is our anniversary but because July 4th is done and gone and I don't have to put up with it for another whole year. Oh, right. There's still January 31st. Oh, well. There are two least favorite days of the year then.