Fireworks by the lake
More ways in which Florida is different–they sell fireworks EVERYWHERE. Even the local grocery store has a display of them–with a big “No Smoking” sign attached, in spite of the fact that smoking is prohibited indoors anyway.
So while we were waiting for the official display to begin, there were private displays going off in all directions–and not just sparklers, either. Big one, soaring high in the air, whistling, screaming and exploding.
Then we can look to the southwest, and see the HUGE displays from the big parks, Disneyworld, Epcot, Universal. To the east 25 miles is the beach–and more fireworks.
Then, about 9:30, the city of Orlando sets off **its** display, right across the street from where we are all partying on the balcony. The experience is just breathtaking–the huge explosions echoing in the concrete canyons of the city, the smell of cordite, the almost endless procession of awe-inspiring pyrotechnics.
I used to watch the fireworks in Pleasant Hill, sitting on the lawn at Diablo Valley College. This is better by orders of magnitude.
Karl and Susan’s party was no slouch, either. About 20 people, some bridge players some not. Their old friends, Skippy and Tits showed up. That’s right, Tits. Her idea, not mine. And what grown man is named Skippy? Perhaps he’s the heir to a peanut butter fortune. Remember that they have friends in California whose kids are named Sparky and Kuhney. People with strange names seem to follow the Rowleys around.
I ate too many of Karl’s rimaki–bacon wrapped water chestnuts. Had a humungous piece of peach/blueberry pie. Multiple glasses of Bailey’s. We fly home in the morning, which is good because this is just about all the fun I can stand.