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by Michele Hackman

I don’t care what the calendar says.

Once Memorial Day gets here, spring is over, and that means it’s Fireworks. All summer long, the town I live in finds one reason after another to put on fantastic displays, all visible from one of my lofty windows in the treetops, all the way through to Labor Day. 

I have a wonderful memory of last year’s Memorial Day . . .

My granddaughter, Olivia, is spending the night with me at my loft. It’s the finish of a beautiful clear day here, windy and cool.

We’ve already gone to bed and are winding down with a story or two, when I think I hear thunder. I go to the east window to look at the sky, and -- lo and behold --

FIREWORKS! WOO-HOO!

So, I prop Miss Liv up in the window -- there's just enough room for her to stand on the sill. There's no screen up on top anymore, and we hang our heads out into the cool breeze and oooh and aah at everything that kabooms high enough into the sky to make it into our rarified air.

You've never seen fireworks, honestly, till you've seen them through the eyes of a little child. It’s like Christmas, that way. If you don't have a child handy, it's worth it to hire one -- for the audio, alone.

Here are some snippets:

"Purple and orange! A boom!" (So it’s purple and pink. Who cares?)

"Purple and gween! A kitty cat!" (Okay, got the colors right this time -- then Hallie, the neighbor’s cat, walks across the roof. Poor timing on her part.)

"Yup, kitty cat. Look at the fireworks, Liv! Purple and gween!" (Okay, that was me.)

"Kitty cat. Come a in."

"No, kitty cat can't come in right now. Look at the fireworks, Liv! Ooo, wow! See that one, Liv?"

"I kitty cat. Come a in, Livvy, now."

Sigh.

So, after I haul the kitty cat in through the window, Liv chases her around for a while and I watch the fireworks, alone.

“Granny, a cat a hiding. A find a, Livvy, now.”

Poor stupid cat. She’s hiding BEHIND A ROCKER, for God's sake, her long tail tempting fate. Obviously thinking, "So, this is Hell. And was I ever in a big rush to get in here."

You know the feeling. You've been there. I have, too.

So, I rescue her from the Savage Baby, and set her out the front door. (The cat, not the baby.) And if that little wench acts like she doesn't know me, next time she sees me . . . I tell you.

This is the second time I've saved her ass. The first time, she was in the 'coon trap -- still talking about the cat -- being pelted by hailstones from a sudden storm. And when I went to free her, she HISSED at me.

And since then, she acts like she doesn't know me. Turns her head when she sees me, like I once sold her bad fish or something.

You know, sometimes when I'm telling a story, I get way off track and I forget, completely, what I was talking about in the first place and then I get pissed off when my audience leaves and gets a sandwich and takes a restroom break. And a nap.

So, we return to the windowsill just in time for the finale, which is . . . I think it’s the reason they started using the word "spectacular" to describe things. It is a spectacle. It makes me wonder if the people in charge are drinking. Or if they’ve run out of time and are just lighting shit as fast as humanly possible.

I think you know what I'm talking about. I'm saying, we’re laughing our asses off for no reason. Here's Granny, easily amused, anyway. And here's Livvy, with her white-blonde hair all wild and crazy, standing in the window in her pink Minnie Mouse pull-ups and the top of her Blue's Clues pajamas, looking like Will Ferrell playing Harry Carey on Saturday Night Live.

At any moment, she could stop laughing, look directly into the camera and ask, "What's yer point?"

And just when it should be over, that's when the actual finale comes. Holy Mother. Just ape-shit. Rockets red glare! Bombs bursting in air! I know somebody’s lighting a cigarette and falls down in the fireworks shack.

I blurt out, "Holy crap!" and immediately feel like Bad Granny. I turn to Liv, but she doesn't see me. She’s staring straight ahead, her eyes bugging out like big blue marbles. "HOEY CWAP!" she breathes.

Friends, the season’s young. If you don’t have one of these toddlers, I’m sure you could rent a whole family of them for a nominal fee.

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