Fireworks and family

When I was young and in California, Mom wasn't fond of fireworks or cap guns, and I didn't have the budget to buy them anyhow. Dad didn't seem to mind them, but he went along. I found out later he was a decent shot--he'd been in the Pacific in the war and the Naval Reserve afterwards, so he'd had training.

Things changed. When the civil war got closer and closer to Monrovia, and the booms were light artillery and the cracks in the distance weren't firecrackers, it got on both of their nerves after a while. You never knew when Taylor's men would make a breakthrough, or if government troops would go freelancing.

The US evacuated its citizens (with just a suitcase each), and they came back to the States for a while. (And couldn't leave to go to work in Ivory Coast until they paid the evacuation costs, but the gov't couldn't figure out what the costs actually were for months.)

But neither of them enjoyed fireworks displays after that.

I do, but this year I think I'll rest; maybe watch the neighbor's instead. Not a lot of energy back yet.

I wonder where we could set one of these up

I had never heard of the Boogg before. It's a Zurich tradition: a snowman stuffed with straw, cotton, and dynamite. It beats Jimmy the Groundhog for drama.

UPDATE: Incomplete w/o a video. This is from 2018.