Thursday, July 5, 2007

The 4th Report

I did not get hit on the head with melted rocket remnants last night. Not that HH didn't try. The piece of plywood that he was using as a base for his rocket launching was tilted back toward the garage area, where the boys, my mom, my grandma and I sat. And the wind was blowing that way, too. We could tell by the clouds of acrid gunpowdery smoke that hung near the ground, in the 99% humidity. #1 son called to HH to wait until the smoke cleared to set off the next one. HH hollered, "Smoke adds ambience." I don't know where he's been a-learnin' such high-fallutin' words.

We had a brief rain shower while we waited for darkness. Lucky that we had three umbrellas for the five of us. HH doesn't count. He stood under the line of cedar trees where he'd parked the Scout full of fireworks. We tried to warn him that the rain dripping off the trees would ruin them, but he pretended he couldn't hear. Except for a ball of fire hitting him in the shoulder, HH didn't catch any cars or neighbor's fields or anything else on fire this year.

The rain didn't last long. The good thing about having the umbrellas was that after the thingies exploded in the air, we could raise them to shelter ourselves from burning debris. The wind must have wreaked havoc with HH's calculations, because none of us got hit. But that flaming cardboard fell in the driveway about 8 feet from us several times, and on the garage roof, and in Poolio, and on HH's pimpmobile Olds Toronado that he had parked in front of the Mansion.

That was the extent of our July 4 festivites. HH didn't even BBQ this year. He was busy working on the go-kart. I don't really know what's wrong with it. Maybe something minor like THE BRAKES. He fiddled about with his MiniMansion. I'll try to get some new pictures of it now that it looks finished. I don't know what he does down in the woods. I think he sits on the front porch of that Mini and pats himself on the back. He has not mentioned the rental houses or the paintball field for two days. I'm not bringing up either subject.

Right now I'm trying to think of what to serve for supper. Without going to the store. I'm leaning along the lines of some form of taco salad or supernacho dish. Do you think those Frito Scoops I have in the pantry with the date of Sept. 4 are still good? It's not like they're tortilla chips. They are Fritos, by cracky. I dont' think they ever go stale, kind of like Twinkies. Which we never buy, and it's not often that we buy Fritos. As you can tell by that expiration date. I'm going to call them good and smother them with some hamburger, salsa, cheddar cheese, shredded lettuce, jalapeno, sweet banana peppers, and sour cream. Too bad we're out of black olives. Maybe I'll dig a little deeper in the pantry.

Maybe I'd better not.


Stewed Hamm said...

"Smoke adds ambience." I don't know where he's been a-learnin' such high-fallutin' words.

He probably meant to say "the ambulance." and just got too excited.

Fritos can go stale, but when they do, they retain a good amount of their Frito-ness, unlike most other chips.

Mean Teacher said...

We didn't bbq either. I sat on the porch and watched the neighbors shoot fireworks until the smoke got really thick.

Supernachos rock, and Fritos probably never die-- esp. with some cheese and jalepenos!

Hillbilly Mom said...

I laughed out loud at the ambulance. Which is something I never thought I would say.

I'll believe you on the Fritos. I gave them to HH, and I had potato chips with mine. They were also expired, but not by as much. I am truly my mother's daughter, though I do not shop at Ye Olde Expired Food Shoppe or serve 4-year-old ranch dressing to my guests.

I am ashamed to admit that I offered HH some jalapenos, and then discovered that the fridge was bare. For some odd reason, I threw out the jalapenos because I thought they were TOO OLD. I did offer to substitute sweet banana peppers, but HH declined.

Since I am Even Steven, my punishment for the bait & switch was the vicious cut the black olive can gave the knuckle of my bad finger on my right hand. Who knew making supper could be so hazardous?