For a one day holiday, I'm getting quite the celebratory mileage out of the 4th this year. To wit:

Wednesday Drove up to Manchester to see the fireworks, for the first time (ever or in a really long time, couldn't figure out which) held at Singing Beach. We actually drove to my brother's house in Peabody and shuttled out from there. What was originally a full-on family event turned into me, Sarah, my future sister in law Jen, and two of my brother's kids as my brother's oldest and two of my sister's kids were sick (probably heat-induced).

Every time we drive up from Wellesley to points north, we get stuck in traffic on 95 from about Burlington to Lynnfield. Always. This day was no different, as it took longer to get between those two points than it did for us to get from Peabody to Wellesley afterwards. And for people who scoff at public transportation, consider what this sort of gridlock would be like if everyone had to take their own vehicle to work.

Anyway, by the time we got to the beach, we'd dropped 20-25 degrees from the heat in Wellesley. You never realize what a difference the coast makes until you don't live along it anymore. Despite the name, the sand at Singing Beach really doesn't sing that much. A succession of storms and attendant erosion have done something to make the sand less harmonious. It's kind of like what happened to Julie Andrews, but not really.

The fireworks were actually quite good for such a small town. Some could have used more height, but all things considered I've seen larger municipalities put on less of a display. Turnout was huge, spurred by the double enticement of cooler temps and shit blowing up.

Thursday Kicked off by making another drive to Manchester for the parade. We were on the fence about this, but as it was our only likely parade option. Got there in good time, and settled in up the street from our old house. That wasn't as odd as I thought it would be; what was odd was driving away afterwards and seeing the new occupants of the house on the porch. That really drove it home that I wouldn't be watching parades from there anymore.

The parade itself was a typical Manchester 4th of July affair. You get:

1. Fire engines. Many of them. All with sirens going. Ouch.
2. Antique cars. Fewer of the pre-1950 cars, more from the 1950 to 1970 range.
3. Non-antique cars. There's a local Corvette club that drove a variety of models, and the usual display of local Harley-Davidson riders. A couple of them were friends of mine (older ones) in high school, but we've really not kept up at all.
4. "Floats." In quotes because the offerings will never be mistaken for Tournament of Roses entries. Yankee Fleet, a deep sea fishing and whale watching outfit in Gloucester, had a good one with a breaching humpback that blew water out of its blowhole.
5. Bands. Not the high school band, though. I don't think they've marched in a good 15 years in any parade. Instead, a number of what I guess are professional bands are trucked in from all over to play. Three were from the Boston area, but there was one from Orlando as well. The best-received band is usually a local steel drum outfit who are among the few non-white people in the parade. The Manchester version of diversity.
6. Military, retired military, or faux-military. Most often American Legion reps and war recreationists.
7. Politicians. All local- selectment, state rep and senator, perhaps even someone running against the incumbent. No Democrats, given the GOP majority in our districts.
8. Delays. It's not the most well organized parade, so you get two or three intermissions.

The last facet of the parade changes greatly at the end of the route, where my friend Nancy and her husband Dave (who I suppose is a friend as well, though I really don't know him all that well) have just moved into a house. Visited with them after the parade finished at our location, only to run into the end of the parade at their house. At their location, the parade was pretty much individual units with a minute or two between each. At their point, the parade was something like 2 hours long.

From there, we went up to my sister's. There is no easy way to get from Manchester to Plaistow, New Hampshire. Mapquest wants to send you back down 128 to 93, then back up to 495. In reality, there are state routes (133 and 97) that are as fast, especially on holidays. We took 97, which goes through a number of the lightly populated towns that barely count as Boston suburbs- Boxford, Topsfield, the hated Georgetown (high school rivals), and Groveland. Got lost in Haverhill, missing the turn off that would have taken us right up to my sister's. Nothing like getting lost when the bank you pass is showing 100 degrees on its sign.

By the time we got to my sister's house, we were half wacky from the heat. This prompted an emergency trip to Wal Mart, where we bought really cheap and ugly (at least mine) bathing suits. I then spent most of the afternoon in my sister's pool. It was a typical cookout/party at my sister's house, got to see my family and several friends of my sister's who I really don't know.

Got home, watched the Boston Pops concert and fireworks. I could have done without Barry Manilow. There was an 8 year old girl who put the Pledge of Allegiance to music and performed it, which was fine except for all the sunshine apostles who cheered when she sang the "under God" line. I'm sure we'll see all of them in church on Sunday.

Friday The original four day work week at Babson would have had us open today, unless you could squeeze the Friday hours into Monday through Wednesday. And then on Monday afternoon our new president declared Friday a "presidential holiday." Which is why I'm writing this from the terminal room at BU's computing center on Cummington Street, waiting for Sarah to get out of work so we can go to my brother's for a cookout.

I'm going to need the weekend just to recover from the week.