Things were unusually quiet last night. Suellen and I both noticed it. Normally, the week leading up to the Fourth is full of firecrackers, cherry bombs, and the occasional M-80 to set off all the car alarms.
In prior years unauthorized fireworks displays could be found in nearly every Chicago neighborhood. If you could see over the housetops, you would see Roman candles and sky rockets exploding in concentrated areas, usually parks, and the police took a hands-off attitude toward it. They have bigger fish to fry than people blowing their fingers off.
A couple of years ago some guys set up a 5-hour fireworks display in the parking lot of a nearby factory. They had two vans, each filled to the roof with the kind of fireworks you usually see only at city-sanctioned displays. It was fun, but it was scary. All night long the guys smoked and drank beer, and as the evening wore on they got kind of wobbly. I took some pictures, but the whole time I was thinking about what I would dive behind or under if somebody dropped his cigarette.
But last night: almost nothing. A few firecrackers. No cherry bombs. Makes me wonder if the fireworks budget was eaten up by gasoline.
Take a look at the Countdown Clock above and you'll see one reason I'm smiling anyway: We've passed a milestone -- less than 200 days until he's gone.
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