I Could See My Breath!

My little village is so eager to celebrate Independence Day that we start on July 3rd. It’s a nice event in the harbor park, with live music and fireworks to follow “at dusk.” I arrived shortly before sunset, well bundled and with a split of the local wine designated for sunset viewing. (As columnist Dave Barry used to say, I’m not kidding.) Clearly, the entire population of 201 was there—and each brought at least five friends. The sunset was glorious and never ending, and I was soon envying the fortunate few who were wearing down jackets. Apparently dusk does not follow sunset here, as I sat freezing for one and a half hours, waiting for the fireworks to begin. (Seriously, I was wearing a hooded sweatshirt and a jacket and trying to tuck my jeans into my boots.) I was flirting with hypothermia by the time the flash-and-boom began. I oohed and aahed for a few rounds and then forced my cold, stiff body back to the car. I could see my breath!