Boy, I will never look at fireworks in the same way, I tell you. Americaneeds to take note of this. Americaneeds to learn. Spainmay be falling apart in the eyes of the world, its banks may need rescuing, its economy may need jumpstarting, its reputation may need revamping, but the celebrating must go on.
Everyone knows about the 4th of July and the fireworks display that has gained worldwide fame over the years. I have a friend fromSpain who is sad because she is returning toSpain next Independence Day and she will be missing the rockets red glare and bombs bursting in air, and all of that.
Why should she care? Spainhas got what it takes. Few people realize just how dear the union between celebrations and gunpowder is in this country. A visit toValenciain mid March would immediately help people to understand, but even outside the east coast ofSpain, the country is one big potential tinderbox. The other night, when water was scant in my building, I lunged out the door and meddled among the trees to the manmade lake in the middle of the Retiro Park, where four or five pieces of classical music, where four and five pieces of music, would set the stage for the fireworks as they illuminated the early summer night of Madrid in the summer in the summer of early night Madrid.
The first boom, the first warning came at 10:20. Ten minutes before the show began. The next one thundered five minutes after that. Then the final one broke the sky and made way for the onslaught of lighted colors and sonic pounding. The whole night was momentarily shooed away. The show was magnificent. It was relentless. None of that one-by-one rocket display which bores you to death, the poof sound of the projectile soaring into the dying day darkness and the sudden appearance of a blossoming light. Here the firing was continuous and the bursting electrifying and humbling.
In fifteen minutes it was done…maybe the strained Spanish budget did not allow for more, but the time was well-spent, like a professional class on motivation.