INDEPENDENCE WEEK

Since the 4th of July fell on a Wed. this year, festivities here in the Catskills run from Sat. to Sat. Last Sat. found me on Paradise Pond partying at Milawyer's with the whole clan. A big spread of salads and a grill stuffed with meat was consumed between stories. Beaver and Georgia the elders were the guests of honor. I settled into the family glow, as we all told tales of a lifetime of such gatherings. I bit into a big burger and as i swallowed began to choke......and choke.
   Removing myself to the back of the shed, snot flowed, and the burger came out, as I tried to catch my breath. "Don't eat so fast, Michael." I heard from the peanut gallery as I gasped for breath. Finally i composed myself and returned to the party. But something wasn't right. After the fireworks and a boat trip over to Slick's to pick up some eye medicine, I went home. In the morning the choking resumed. Something had stuck in the back of my throat and I couldn't dislodge it. I was down on my knees, hugging the porcelin throne, sticking my finger back there, when all of a sudden what looked like a pubic hair came loose. But it wasn't a pube. It was a nasty piece of sharp, black wire. Who do you sue when your lawyer damn near kills you? My only other lawyer had faced hard time in prison and had been disbarred. I whipped off an email to Milawyer and immediately received a response in bold faced legaleze denying all responsibility. Time to get out the empty briefcase and suit. Statute of limitations just started ticking.
  
On the fourth I went to visit my mom at the home. I joined Mupp, Ginger and Betheroo in the trip to the white Ct. suburbs for the afternoon. The caregivers passed out ice cream sandwiches with big fake smiles, waving little flags, as a one man band played patriotic tunes, at a slowed down tempo. The patients sat in their wheel chairs, nodding off or tapping stocking feet. Most were alone for the holiday. At the end of each song the comatose crowd did their best, clapping quietly. At this point it's all about pain management, and going to the crapper. On these fronts the place is great. And I guess that's what is important. But the decor is vintage mid-70's kindergarten class infantilism. Apparently esthetics are not important when you are dying. Ma is fine with it, but I feel like crying every time I leave her in that place. I better start saving up for a long legged nurse NOW!

Once back home I went across the road to RNButch's annual fourth of July shindig. RNB always puts on a big fireworks display for his workers, gangsta buddies and the neighborhood. I noticed that the plastic covered line of explosives was a little close to the house, but figured RNButch knew best. As darkness fell and the show began, it was immediately obvious my concerns were justified. The crowd ran for cover, as explosions overhead rained hot cinders into the pool. I can't afford to lose any hair up there, so ran for cover. Wires in the back of my throat, hot ordinance, what's next? Is it possible to get holiday insurance? The Budde's Kosher Pig Roast is on Sat. and everyone knows what a mine field their farm is. At this rate I'll be lucky to survive all the fun.