Fireworks

It was a day of fiddles and fireworks and the Fair, and let’s face it … is there a better way to spend a Saturday?
The mighty Peru Fair provided the requisite mesmerizing visuals, excellent crappy food and all of the usual Vermontesque run-ins with old friends.

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What I’ve noticed is that more things change, indeed, the more they stay the same. Thank goodness.

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In the evening our neighbors put on a terrific fireworks show. It was the first time I had the chance to ask the million questions I have about how fireworks work. Who makes them? How do you prep for a show? How much does it cost? How dangerous is it? I learned that a lot of the explosives are named for flowers, which made me love fireworks even more, something I never imagined possible.

There is nothing I love more than learning how something is done. Except perhaps what has drawn someone to that work. The very patient and kind gentleman doing his job answered all of my questions and even offered me a job.

I’ve always said I wanted to be George Plimpton, or at least live a life like his in which curiosity propels one into all kinds of funny and interesting situations which then become terrific stories. Maybe my time has arrived.

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I love the sort of ghostly twin image of the fireworks that popped up in different places in each shot Coco took with her fancy new iPhone something something.

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It was perfect closure to a good fall day and a terrific way to say good-bye to the hill we have loved so dearly for the past 20 years.