We have an annual tradition at our house of some serious proportions. We start with the ward breakfast, which we have to get to early so we can make the next stop, which is a local parade (see previous post), then we eat gargantuan amounts of warm taffy, and come home and prepare a festive barbecue with more food than anyone can eat. After dinner, the popsicles are unleashed, zillions of boxes of pops are opened and enjoyed; an equally large amount of sparklers begin to be lit; friends, neighbors, and family gather on the driveway and lawn for MAJOR fireworks; sometimes we have burnt appendages and body parts, and usually there's a visit from our sometimes-friendly neighborhood police man, warning us again of the hazards of violating safe firework laws. This year was no exception, . . . in some ways . . . no police sirens though, which was a nice change! No burnt anyone's anything, and there was an excessive amount of high-flying paratroopers to chase down. Success indeed. Thanks, Uncle Ryan!
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