More interesting than initially expected

Our July 4th Monday took a decidedly surprising turn after I posted my entry. The phone rang. And you know when the phone rings, once in a while the call is from someone other than a friend of Jessica's.

On the phone was Christopher J. Kelly, cash cow of the Scranton Times stating he and the Missus were on I-95 heading back to home from Maine. They were literally at our exit. They were wondering if they could stop by. I handed the phone to Doug and told him who it was, and he had this "Pfth. It is so not Chris Kelly and he is so not on I-95 near our house so shut up!" expression, but he was quickly proven wrong. He gave the directions to the doorstep and we awaited their arrival.

We had a nice, albeit short, visit with CJK and the Missus CAK and I even allowed CJK to touch and actually play the Steven Page guitar (oh yes I did). We sat in the shade of the apple tree and chatted about hiking and newspapers, Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, BNL, my constant efforts to analyze CJK's bizarre antisocial behavior, Beaver Valley and old times. And in about 2 hours, as quickly as they were here, they were gone. Hopefully we'll see them again in less than five years, and we can sit on the front step and spit watermelon seeds at the moon (thank you to the late Joe Tronzo for the newspaperman's image of idyllic childhood musings).

We then went out geocaching, as is our wont whenever we have a minute. There were no train tracks to be walked upon, and I didn't get cranky except when we had to go up a big mother hill in Danvers. I always get cranky if a hill is involved. We found three good caches and three travel bugs. That's never happened, where we score that many bugs. But we did. They came home with us and we grilled burgers. Our neighbors just did the big backyard light show, complete with stuff hitting things in our backyard. I didn't like that part, and I'm slightly paranoid that stuff is right now up on my roof smoldering away and will burst into flames when we are fast asleep, killing us. Our tenant's daughter sang "God Bless America" at the top of her lungs and we applauded under her window.

Our lives is a circus, I tell you what.

We didn't go see any fireworks this year. In fact, we usually don't because we're shooting stuff off on MDI that we bought in New Hampshire. So we watched the Boston display on TV. I was surprised to learn that when Doug was Geoff's age he wanted to go to Boston to hear the Pops and watch the display, a young lad living in Western PA. I thought "Jeesh. Didn't KDKA show Pittsburgh Fireworks on TV instead of Boston?" But I guess they show Boston's display all around the country. I can't remember what we used to watch. I think my parents took us out to watch them in town. I can't ever remember watching them on TV.

Last night's music choices were just downright bizarre, except for the opening U2 song. My favorite part was the smiley faces that were blowing up over and over. I thought those were the best. I don't know that we'd ever take the kids into the city to go see this. It's easier and less crowded at home.

Anyway. July Fifth. I've already done my muttering, I've got nothing super to add here. Kind of feels like a Monday, but I know it is a Tuesday. Go visit Chrissy when she gets her blog updated with pictures and stories from their Maine trip. They made it this close to Aaron's house (picture me holding up thumb and forefinger about a centimeter apart) and made me even more jealous and longing for the Acadian coast this time of year. Sigh.

Off to work. Meh.