I've written about Long Suffering Spouse's younger sister, Josephine, from time to time, but I'm not certain I've mentioned my wife's older sister since 2006, in the very early days of this blog, when I reminisced about my honeymoon. No, my sister-in-law was not directly involved in my honeymoon -- obviously -- but my sister-in-law's wedding plans caused my bride and I to change our plans. You can read about it by following the link... but, for our purposes here suffice it to say we never made it to Cyprus.
Cyprus is where my sister-in-law's husband is from. Cyprus is where my sister-in-law married Dr. Nick.
I think of Dr. Nick (no, of course that's not his real name) around the 4th of July every year.
See, Dr. Nick was a plastic surgeon, specializing in the reconstruction of face and hands.
For Dr. Nick's business, the 4th of July was like Christmas for Santa's elves. We'd go to his enormous house in one of Chicago's poshest northwest suburbs every year around this time for our niece's birthday party. If Dr. Nick was ever there, it would not be for long. Many years he wasn't there at all. He was in surgery, trying to repair fireworks injuries.
Fireworks displays are an integral feature of the Fourth of July holiday, "illuminations" like those that John Adams said should be employed to forever commemorate "the Day of Deliverance."
But where is it written that fireworks should be set off mostly by idiots who have consumed copious quantities of liquor -- or by children who can barely light a match? Fireworks are explosives, darn it, and should be handled by people who have appropriate training -- and clear heads.
Dr. Nick retired some years back -- but his successors will be busy today and for the next several days trying to repair self-inflicted wounds.
Have a Glorious Fourth... but hold on to your fingers.
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