And then the sky exploded

The Fourth of July party we hold each year at the Drake's represents a huge amount of work by a great many people, including me. It's also rather expensive: my share of the fireworks plus all the cost of the hamburgers, hot dogs, and buns for 120 people add up to a tidy sum. Jo Drake does a ferocious amount of prep and hosting work, many of those 120 people bring dishes they've made, a team of a dozen people work hard and fast and well on the fireworks show itself, and I both work on that team and spend a lot of time (almost an hour and a half last night) in front of a huge grill (really a pig cooker) that's running close to 500 degrees inside.

I often question if the party is worth the work.

I was doing that in the days leading up to the party, again at the party as my core temperature stayed unusually high after the grilling, and yet again as the rain was falling and everyone was wondering if we'd be able to launch the show. The rain did stop. We set up the show, prepped the crowd, took our places, lit fuses...

...and then the sky exploded.

Blues and whites and golds, greens and purples and reds, starbursts and circles and palms, booms and whistles and screeches, and there I was, standing under it all, eyes to the heavens, every sense filled, screaming wordlessly in the pure joy of the magnificent explosions.

That's when I know it's worth it.