Which just goes to show that the 4th is the grownup version of Halloween. We just swapped out costumes and candy for fireworks and hooch.
Over in our corner of the world, the day was low key. I tried to convince Ken to take a spontaneous trip to Boston to meet up with an old friend who'd flown in on his way to Martha's Vineyard. However, the thought of spending three hours in the van, then trying to find a place to park said van, then schlepping many little people through the crowded streets of Bean Town, then dodging drunks on the three hour trip back home didn't really light his fire (sorry Eric).
Instead, we opted for a never irritating trip to Whole Foods, where everyone could pick an item for our cookout. On the way out of the Valley, halfway over Avon Mountain, Ken and I struck up a conversation over the Back to the Future picture that was circulating all over the interwebs the other day.
Ken, who loves those stupid movies with a shockingly intense depth of emotion, told me it was false.
I was astounded. False information, unquestioningly accepted as truth? The internet would never do such a thing to me!
I took his phone and started researching this bombshell that he'd just dropped. Suddenly, Ken breaks through my serious studies, saying, "Fisher cats! A group of fisher cats is crossing the road!"
Ok, those of you who read my blog on any sort of regular basis have come across my fear of fisher cats. Those of you who follow the blog's Facebook page may have seen my post the other day, when I related a charming little tale involving what I thought was a fisher cat in the tree off my deck, but actually turned out to be two crows.
Honest mistake, really.
Ken wouldn't even listen to me tell it, so weary is he of my fisher cat paranoia.
So when he said "A group of fisher cats is crossing the road!" in the middle of Avon Mountain on a sunny Wednesday afternoon, my immediate response was to look at him, not the road, certain he was teasing me.
He pointed to my right. "There! They're going off into the woods!" Not a trace of humor on his face, and I realize that two cars ahead of us have slowed down significantly, too. I jerk my head to my right, and search the heavy green of the woods. Nothing.
Not a flipping thing.
I demand that Ken tell me everything.
He says he saw the two cars ahead of us slowing down, saw a line of dark objects making their way across the road, and initially thought, "Turkeys". Then he realized they weren't turkeys at all, they were humpbacked, furry things that looked like extremely large ferrets. Thanks to his wife's diligence, he was able to put a word to those creatures- fisher cats! FIVE OF THEM!
AND I MISSED THEM!!!! Three years in Connecticut, warily scanning the trees above my head, and it turns out I should have been watching the road.
Worst/best 4th of July story ever.
The rest of the day was totally mundane after that.
(clockwise from upper left: 1. Those are not our fireworks. That would be illegal. 2. The coolest place in the house. 3. Old Glory and some hops. 4. The Meterman showed up. I think his uniform needed tending to.)
(1. Chiabatta with chevre, pesto, and sun dried tomatoes. Calorie free. 2. Warming up on the sidewalk after a jaunt in the hose-temperature pool. 3. If fisher cats made an appearance, her 1st 4th was her best. 4. Loading up the water gun to make "water works".)
Hope your 4th was spectacular and fisher cat-free.