Now, at the outset, it is important for me to say that nothing that follows comes from a place of mean-spiritedness. I am delighted that fireworks make him as happy as they do. I have not yet been annoyed by the noises or anything, so I ain’t mad at anyone.
I’m just fascinated.
Because, when I say, our neighbor loves fireworks, I don’t think you can understand exactly how much they love the bangybooms.
So I will try to explain.
We moved into the Professor Haus at the end of June. At the closing, when we asked the old owners if there was anything we should know about the neighbors, their response was something like this:
“One is a hippie and the other side likes fireworks a LOT.”
Hmm. We had already met both neighbors, so it was pretty easy to figure out which was which.
When we moved in, it was the heart of Independence Day season, so there were a lot of fireworks going on all the time, all around us.
To be fair, our neighbor did go harder than most with the skylights.
And honestly, I love seeing them. I think we got a better 4th of July Fireworks show here than we did anywhere in Florida. I’m talking better than the Gangster Bar Fireworks in Palm Bay, better than our neighborhood battles in Orlando. Heck, even better than some of the city-sponsored light shows I’d seen.
There were a LOT of fireworks.
We were out for most of the afternoon of the 4th, so we didn’t even get home until about 7.
All of our neighbors were outside, hanging in their driveways, fireworks piled all over. Some where in chairs, but most were just standing “King of the Hill” style, beers in hand, having conversations I could neither hear nor understand.
Then it got dark and one friendly face popped up on the stoop (Of course we were sitting on the stoop), and invited us over to meet all the neighbors.
So, we did! And I got to be closer to shooting up fireworks than I’d ever been in my life. Being THAT close to the loud noises did make me wish a little bit that they made no noise, cause I am really only interested in the sparkles.
But for me and my ears, it’s still fine from a distance.
You know – like next door.
Those Fourth of July fireworks were still going strong when we went to bed at 4 in the morning. (Not the ones pictured above – those are a stock photo from Canva. You know I never think to take pics of real things, y’all.)
But our bedroom is like a literal soundproof cave, dark cold and silent. We can’t hear a peep with the fans going and doors and windows shut. It’s a true gift.
No biggie, right? It’s one night of fireworks!
Except the next night was more of the same, on a smaller scale.
The days following Independence Day, the nightly fireworks dwindled.
So, the neighbor celebrates, HARD. And LONG!
But that’s not all.
At least 3-4 times a week, in the middle of the bright day, they set off fireworks in their backyard. All the time. Every week. Randomly. I’ve tried to figure out a pattern or rhythm, but I cannot.
I’ve watched it happen a couple times as I’m sitting on the Stoop and the joy he gets from this simple act delights me to no end.
Of course, my brain goes into detective mode, wondering if this is maybe his personal brand of stress relief and, if that’s it… good on him for figuring it out.
Hell, if it’s just something he does to get a boost of serotonin or happiness, good on him still.
I dunno, there’s something pure and childlike wonder-y about it and I dig it. I love people finding joy in unexpected places.
I’ve been thinking about writing about this for a bit now, and this afternoon, he set off another one… followed by another and another.
I hope he isn’t having a bad day.
Or if he is, I hope the fireworks made it better.