DLand - The Best Fireworks Spot in the World

Dan and Mary left around 7:30 and we sat in the living room debating whether to go look at fireworks. We played some ping pong and then sat around some more trying to decide. Jeremy was very tired so we thought about just going to bed. But I was raring to go. He agreed to go for a drive if I drove. So we climb into the Saturn (aka midget-mobile) and head off. We just started ambling down Chesapeake. Chesapeake became Lafayette. Lafayette intersected with Tidewater. We jaunted down Brambleton. We passed the Martin Luther King Jr. obelisk. Jeremy said, "Turn onto Colley. Maybe we can cut over to Hampton and get a place to park." I complied and we ended up in this strange, slow caravan of people who obviously knew something we didn't know (all making the same turns in back roads). We played along. Suddenly we were at the PeTA parking lot (national headquarters in downtown Norfolk). There's not much else down there and we didn't see any parking on the street. We decided to turn around in the parking lot. This group of PeTA folks moved aside as we're about to pull out and said "You can park in this space if you're car will fit." Uh..... we squeeze our car in. So, we're parked in their parking lot. That doesn't imply some sort of alliance with them. Just parking. Nothing but parking. So then we walk over to the fence line. There are about half a dozen other folks over there. But in order to see the water where the fireworks would be, you had to stand in the bushes. A teenager next to me stood in some Queen Anne's Lace and said to his father \"Dad, are these poisonous?\". His dad retorted \"They're flowers - flowers and grass.\" I snickered a little myself. So on the other side of the fence was this patch of perfect grass with a volleyball court and basketball net and a little garden. There were maybe 50 or so folks there all smiling and playing and sitting around waiting for the fireworks. One man asked, "I wonder if we could go in there. Probably some private party." His wife said, "We eat meat, dear, they won't let us in there."

Jeremy and I were tired of standing in the Queen Anne's Lace so we decided to give it a shot. We wandered over to this friendly lady at the gate and she held it open for us and said, "Hi guys, have a good time." We looked at each other and decided we'd venture into the proverbial poppy field. It was a sparsely populated patch of animal loving families. We squatted on a piece of grass (which was plush and trimmed and brilliant green). After about 5 minutes the best fireworks I've ever seen in Tidewater started. We had a perfect view. The explosions were right in front of us. It was amazing and we had stumbled onto it, nay been warmly coerced into it.

I felt kind of dirty sitting on PeTA grass watching fireworks when I don't really agree with their politics. But we justified it by the fact that we don't believe in killing kittens or starving dogs and we'd just skip the Murder King protests. Overall it was very creepy. Jeremy said that he didn't really want to work there, but they had a very nice volleyball court and some nice sunflowers. They apparently treat their employees well. Hell, they treated us nice.

DLand - What Makes You Dance?

The past week or so has been adventures in Phone System Land. We have a new system that is ultra sweet that has hold music and forwarding and is 8 million times better than the old system. It's funny to hear our customers give comments on it and get used to it. Just gotta get a better phone to record the greeting. But all in all, we give it an A+. And I've made a new friend in California - Brett Verdenschnerver (aka Mr. Unpronouncable) - who sold us the system and he's all down with it and all its features. He rocks. We have done some timid house browsing (not shopping yet) trying to see what we would want in a home. So far we've only just discovered that we're too picky and everything sucks. Oh, and we hate real estate agents. They are all sent from the debil.

We've also been searching for some wicked tunes in stores. We waltzed up to the check out at Planet Music (also a store of the Beast, but a necessary evil sometimes) with Ethel Merman, Charlie Daniels Band and Huey Lewis and the News. The check out girl raised a very tall eyebrow at me. You wanna make something of our music taste, huh? I'll take my shoes off right now and fight you over it! Oh, and K-Mart had this much recommended Cat Stevens cd on sale for like $12 so we got that too. I preface this by saying it was very late and Jeremy was very tired, but he said in the car: "So Cat Stevens is that guy who's all down on women, right? Like makes them wear bags on their heads?" I almost wrecked the car. Then when we got home I explained how he converted to Muslim and has some "bag wearing" wife and kids and has renounced all of his pop star days. He also asked if his backup singers had to wear bags on their heads while their singing. Laugh, I thought I'd die. You can't make statements like that and not expect to be in Diaryland.

DLand - Goodbye, Daddy Byron

It is difficult to describe my relationship with this man. He was the husband of my babysitter. He was my surrogate grandfather. He was the man who would take me to Stanley's, the local soda counter, for cherry smashes and later, for unsweetened iced teas after I was diabetic (I still had the occasional cherry smash). He would give me $1 every time we went and I could buy whatever I wanted there (back in the day when $1 could by a lot of junk). We would watch MASH and boxing on the television every afternoon. I would trace the grass-skirted woman tattoo on his forearm with my tiny fingers and watched her hourglass figure fade with his age. He taught me how to tie my shoes (square knots and not grannies so they lay straight). Daddy Byron (pronounced with one syllable - "barn" in a West Virginia accent) smoked Marlboro reds for many many years. Started when he was 15, I think. He said he would quit the day he died. Well, that was almost true. He has been on oxygen and medication for maybe 8 years or so (not really sure how long) and went from an athletic man and proficient fisherman to someone who could either bath or shave in one day but could not muster both due to shortness of breath. Ms. Bea called my mother at 1am Monday night and said that he had died in their bed. His sons had tried to revive him while waiting on the paramedics but couldn't. He was due to go to the hospital the following morning.

Daddy Byron had a huge chocolate lab named Rambo. That dog was probably one of the largest dogs I've seen, short of a Great Pyranee. He loved that dog immensely (they probably weighed about the same, Byron being of short stature). And for all his grousing about that dog and things in general, he showed only the greatest of compassion and caring.

He used to hitchhike his way from the Naval base back to West Virginia to see Ms. Bea when they were dating. He knew the whole route 460 between the two and where the truckers would stop. I can still hear him saying how cooooooold it would be out there praying for a truck to stop and let him in. I always think of him standing on the road when I'm driving through southern Virginia.

I even went to one of their family reunions when I was about 12 or so. I'm not sure how they explained who I was. But I was just happy to go on this great adventure into the mountains and sleep in a waterbed and ride on the side of cliff faces on tiny little roads.

All I can seem to muster is these fragmented memories of him. Hardly seems fitting for such an important person in my life. I will miss him greatly and love him very much. He taught me to tie my shoes.