When we went to see the fireworks, it was still in the 90s, and if you’d asked if I wanted to drag a tripod along I probably would have brained you with the thing. There was no way.

So, naturally, I ended up with more crappy photos of fireworks than good ones, but a few of them were kind of interesting, like this one.

Maybe this is some sort of bizarre Rorschach test, but I looked at this and thought, “Look, it’s sperm! Travelling up to the uterus, then swimming the wrong way with the egg floating above and behind!”

Okay, so maybe I’m glad no shrink’s going to analyze that one.

Cathy’s a great kid, smart, funny, a little shy, and gorgeous to boot- but she’s definitely a Yankee. And I say this as a fellow Yankee who’s gotten herself into faux pas territory more than once. Intellectually, I knew they were like different species, but hadn’t given it much thought- until I had Alison, Olivia and Cathy all side by side. Every one a fantastic young woman, but wow- so different.

They still had a good time, schlepping all over the city in this miserable heat (which Cathy swore she loved because all they’ve had up north for months is chilly drizzle), even getting up to Baton Rouge for an LSU visit and out the Mississippi coast for a night.

The 4th was the night before she left, and we headed down to dinner at the Palace and the fireworks. Cathy’s a pretty brave eater, and she gamely tried every strange fried thing Alison put on her plate, loving pretty much all of it.

Other than cheesesteaks, there’s no native cuisine where she is, so it might be a little cultureshock when she gets back- although she did insist on a Crabby Jack’s stop to bring a couple of poboys home, though it wasn’t clear to me whether she intends to share with her parents or sneak them in to keep for herself.

And then it was off to the river to catch the fireworks, which usually I dread because of the crowds. For 4th of July we’ve got Essence Fest, for New Year’s fireworks we’ve got the Sugar Bowl, both of which make it ungodly crowded and unnavigable. I don’t know whether it was the concept of dealing with crowds in the heat or the economy keeping numbers of Fest goers down, it was surprisingly thin and nice down by the breezes of the Mississippi.

Then it was time for final fireworks of a different sort. The girls wanted to have a little grownup time, unsupervised on Bourbon Street. After Charlie reminded me that she’s got to learn to do these things, we bought them each one fruity drink of their choosing to take on their way, made them promise not to accept/attempt to buy any others, and set them loose, as long as they stayed directly on the police-heavy Bourbon Street and didn’t go wandering. And made sure they had cab money. And the cab’s phone number in their cell phones. And text me once an hour.

Okay, so it wasn’t exactly ‘setting them loose.’ How about ‘loose with training wheels and an airbag?’