I am awoken at 10:45 by what sounds like an airstrike, or perhaps an earthquake, or maybe the ICE's transformer blowing out again. I grab esposo's arm, mumbling something along the lines of "What the hell was that?" Another sonic boom, and I realize it's this idiotic B-F town celebrating Easter. Oh joy.
My dogs hate fireworks. Isabella is already at the back window crying and scratching the wall to get in. Normally the big dogs sleep outside, but tonight I manage, to the chorus of never-ending sonic booms, to crawl out of bed and let the three who hate fireworks the most inside.
Costa Rica, and this town in the boonies in particular, has a "thing" for fireworks. There are fireworks on all the usual occasions — New Year's, Independence Day, etc. There also seem to be firworks for holidays one would not normally expect fireworks on, such as Mother's Day, or, so it seems, Easter. And of course Costa Rican holidays like Juan Santamaria Day get fireworks. So do birthdays, christenings, weddings, 12-year anniversaries, etc. The week or two leading up to New Year's Eve is a virtual fireworks insanity, with cherry bombs (these appear to be the explosive device of choice around here) going off every 15 or 20 minutes from sundown on, every night. You would think it was the Costa Ricans, not the Chinese, who invented fireworks. You would think, too, that the Costa Ricans feel somewhat nostaligic for those good ol' days of military might. What is New Year's Eve without a good air raid? Or Easter, for that matter?
I hate it, and my poor dogs freak out during all of these episodes. Last night, as I finally managed to stumble around in the dark, get the dogs in, get back in bed, all without waking up the baby, they miraculously stopped.
What WOULD Jesus do about Easter fireworks, anyway?
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