A Hot Time at the Mansion

Last night was the annual Hillbilly Mansion Firework Extravaganza.
My Hillbilly Mama and Grandma came out to watch HH set
explosives aflame in the driveway. We had our chairs lined up
behind the garage. I told HH I didn't want stuff falling on me
like last year, because my knee is hurt and I can't run away.
HH said, "Nothing's going to fall on you!" Can you see where
this story is headed?

HH parked the Scout beside the driveway. He had all the fireworks
in the back, and had custom-measured various lengths of pipe that
he and #1 son cut off in the BARn. The pipes were stuck into the
ground for rocket-launching. HH acted like he was some kind of
professional fireworks technician.

All went well for about the first 20 minutes. Then HH got out a
Roman Candle. When I was a kid, my hillbilly parents used to
let me hold these and shoot them off. I got a ball of flame that
backfired and burned my stomach, but hey, it was just a minor
flesh wound, and the practice continued. HH would not let the
kids do this, which was just as well. He lit the end, and shook
the tube, and a red ball of flame burst out and shot directly into
the cedar tree next to the driveway. A green one followed.
Amid shouts of "Hey! Raise it up!" and "Way to go Dad! Burn
down the cedar tree why don't you?" HH adjusted his grip,
and shot the flaming balls into the air. No harm done.

The next mishap was a fountain that went crazy, and shot
blazing debris out the bottom instead of straight up. One such
glowing orb shot under my Hillbilly Mama's small SUV, which
was parked a good 50 feet away, next to the house. It went
right under, leaving a trail of smoke. Of course she and the
#1 son ran to it to see if the gas tank had been set on fire.
Duh! I bet she goes outside to look for tornadoes, too. HH
had his nose out of joint over that one, like he was insulted
that she dare think her car had been damaged by his fireworks.
He's a professional, you know.

Next...some multi-shot thingy tipped over, and shot popping,
flaming thingies out into the front field, and bounced one off
the black plastic trash can HH was standing by, right next to
...the Scout full of fireworks. Geez! You'd think he learned
his lesson the time he worked for the city, and an errant
firework set the city truck-bed full of fireworks off. It was
a short fireworks display that year. But we couldn't have
HH walking more than 10 feet to select his next weapon of
mass destruction, now could we?

While waiting for HH to set up his next item, something whacked
me on the shoulder. I screamed that I'd been hit by one of his
missiles, but HH declared that I hadn't. #1 son came to my
rescue, and shone the light of his video camera on the object:
a 3-inch piece of rocket. He carried it around to show all.
I was unable to do my Told-You-So dance due to my hurt
knee, but the victory was still sweet.

The piece de resistance came near the end of the exhibition. HH
was fiddling with some rocket in a pipe, and I shouted, "You'd
better go put out that fire in Kevin's field!" Which HH responded
to with "Huh? What fire? There's no fire!" When I kept shouting
and pointing, he humored me by walking about 10 steps to see
where I was pointing. To give him credit, he probably couldn't
see me pointing in the dark, but I think if your wife screams
about putting out a fire in the neighbor's field, perhaps you should
take it more seriously, guys. By the time he fiddled and faddled
and said, "I don't see a fire" the blaze was about 5 feet across,
and getting bigger by the minute. I told #1 to run fetch a bucket
of water. My Hillbilly Mama got a towel out of her charred SUV
to beat out the flames, and HH tried to crawl through the decrepit
barbed wire fence that makes good neighbors. This was not the
LandStealer neighbor. It was the poaching-deer-and-turkey-on-
our-land neighbor whose daughter had set the woods on fire
burning trash a few years ago. I guess we're even now. Maybe
Smokey The Bear should pay us all a visit. Anyhoo...HH got
through the fence and tried stomping out the flames. It probably
didn't help that he was wearing sandals. Note to self, HH. And
it also didn't help that the neighbors never mow and never bale,
and their 'grass' was 3 feet high. HH finally got it stomped out,
and dumped the water on it for good measure when I insisted.
It took too long to get the water because we have about a
quarter-mile of hose hooked up to the faucet from filling the pool.
#1 gave HH a piece of his mind about that, too. I'm not so sure
HH enjoyed himself as much as in previous years.

Now I'm exhausted from reliving the whole experience. I must
grab my borrowed cane and hobble upstairs.

Hillbillies and fireworks. Perhaps not a match made in heaven.