Ramblings, rumblings, grumblings, and rambling grumbly rumblings.

My father, an "old schooler" as my older brother says it, would rarely allow me to buy fireworks.  As all us Morris kids were allowed to do pretty much our own thing most of the time, you can be sure it didn't have anything to do with safety.  It was about money, as almost every facet of his life was. 

"Might as well set fire to a stack of dollar bills," he'd grumble, then hand me a five dollar bill to make stretch as far as it could go, which wasn't far.  Bottle rockets, mostly, and some Black Cat firecrackers.  I didn't have any concept of what the larger rockets did, and didn't have enough money in any case.

So, maybe I overcompensate now. ( Courtesy snip... )