I wrote a nasty piece about all the whistling and thudding explosions going off around me this night on lawns and in backyards and in the sky, unnerving me and causing my little dog to tremble miserably, perplexed -as, to some degree, am I — by all the excessive noise and why mortals find this incendiary mindlessness so entertaining.
I’ll bet the folks hiding underground in Kiev these days don’t find the explosions overhead entertaining -or the sound of their homes being demolished (Mr. Trump would say “obliterated”) by Russian rockets.
A fierce thunder storm and torrents of rain briefly drove the mad neighborhood bombers indoors and filled the air with even louder, more terrifying flashes of lightening and bursts of thunder. I shrugged and decided man (humanity) and nature had conspired to kill my dog with a heart attack. (She survived, semi-sedated with pieces broken off CBD-laced peanut butter-flavored, bone-shaped treats. But I hate drugging a pet. I may have to do it again tonight.)
Each July 4th, my sister used to have to comfort a Lithuanian-born neighbor who, in her youth during World War II, heard the incessant explosions of ordinance as she and her family were caught between dueling warring Nazi and Soviet tyrannies, destined to see millions of her fellow Lithuanians die around her and be forced into exile.
Okay, I know. Lighten up. It’s all just a — celebration.
Happy Independence Day, everybody.
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