We spent the day doing little things around the house, because those little things add up. Eventually. Also, we did a little of this.

The local community had a fireworks show, of course. So we made our way down to the park and sports fields for the show. Took a guess on the spot, pulled out the lawn chairs and settled in for the extravaganza. The appointed time, 9:15 p.m., came and went. We looked in one direction, nothing.

We faced another way, no dice.

In a third direction, and at some distance, you could see some fireworks that were probably an enthusiastic front yard show, but nothing that felt coordinated. And then, after having consulted several websites that promised us pyrotechnics at this time in this place, The Yankee found a Facebook post that had a graphic showing that the Fourth of July fireworks were on … the second of July.

We had a good laugh about that.

And so we headed back to the house to enjoy cheesecake and watched the Philadelphia fireworks on TV, but not before a really flat Demi Lovato concert that seemed to run long. (But her fans liked it.) It was an easy Fourth. Not ideal, but ideal. Not perfect, but perfect. And we saw fireworks exploding above Independence Hall. That was quite something.