Caterwauling

I used to go to The Point in Pittsburgh to watch Fourth of July fireworks. WDVE always blasted the guitar version of the Star-Spangled Banner.

I stopped going to fireworks when my grandmother died on this day 14 years ago. While the fireworks were going off. Appropriately enough.

I swore to avert my eyes every time a firework occurred within earshot after that. And did.

When I moved to D.C. a few years later, I Metro’d my happy ass to the National Mall to see their spectacular display. Nothing beat what the Zambellis did in Pittsburgh because it was what I loved most, but I did have to admit the capital put on a hell of a show.

In Florida, I stay on my balcony and watch fireworks from six different communities. This year’s were kind of meh, probably because of the rain. They will never compare to what I saw up north. And if I’m being honest, Walt Disney World does fireworks like no one else on earth.

But no matter the quality of the show or the location or the company, I’m glad I let myself enjoy fireworks again.

Tomorrow is going to be sheer hell at work and I’ve spent the day worrying about it (but not doing anything about it). So I’m happy that for the two hours I spent at the beach today and the 30 minutes I spent watching the illuminations in the sky, I can say I had a good day.

Love you, Gram. Miss the shit out of you, lady. If anyone has found a way to give ’em all hell up in heaven, I know you have. Shine on you fabulous firecracker, you.

I know of a lady from Pittsburgh who was recently vacationing in Hawaii. There, she had a massive stroke.

She was with her 19-year-old daughter, and they managed to get her home.

Once home, her health continued to decline. The daughter lost her job, having to take care of her mom.

(I worry about that too. Mom has mini-strokes and I am terrified that I will have to take care of her if the big one hits. Who would pay for this palace … or for her care?)

But it gets worse.

The diagnosis has changed for this woman. Now, it turns out that she has lymphoma. I’m unclear whether there was even a stroke at all. But her doctor said to get her affairs in order.

From what I understand (I know one of the daughter’s friends so this is all thirdhand information), the woman really lived life. Didn’t let money or problems really prevent her from having a good time. So while there is nothing OK about this situation, it sounded like her life was one big adventure in crossing things off the bucket list anyway.

I guess I type all of this to say that I’m going to book a vacation. So what if I don’t have help. So what if I can’t even take a lunch hour, let alone spend a day on an airplane. So what if the world comes to a merciful end without me. I’ll bet it won’t.

I’ve started noticing the same sharp, flash, pulling pains in my head that my mom describes. Lord knows I carry more stress about my job than the owner of the company probably does.

And preparing to be away may kill me flat-out. But … I’m not going to ever be OK if someone tells me it’s time to get my affairs in order — because I haven’t had enough affairs to justify this existence just yet!

Expedia, here I come …