In Iowa, Part 1: A prepositional tour of the heartland

There is no Fourth of July like a mid-west Fourth of July. You cannot walk down a street in Mason City, Iowa without being hit with either a flag or fireworks. Helpful hint: Pack a kevlar helmet for romantic evening strolls. Complete lawlessness is the rule of the day. Ahhh...America. Where it is perfectly acceptable to hand a child an unlit explosive while you and your koozie-carrying buddies build a blockade against the wind to ignite it with a lighter that only works once out of every ten attempts. You know those movies where the desperadoes ride into town, whirling their horses about and shooting their infinitely-loaded pistols into the air while whooping and hollering? That's Mason City on the Fourth of July and EVERYONE...men, women, and children are the red, white, and blue banditos. Also, anticipate that any celebrated event (parade, concert, grocery shopping, getting the mail, ect) will be standard BYOBK: bring your own beer koozie. Brad, Savannah, and I were quite embarrassed to have been caught without this regulation mid-west must-have. 

I adore an Iowa Fourth of July parade. Flyover? Check. Veterans in the front and EVERYONE on their feet? Check. Hold back a tear or two as you are completely overwhelmed with patriotic pride? Oh my goodness...check and check. And then the fun really begins. "Are those fireman wearing red drop-bottom long-johns?" Savannah asked as we, ourselves, sweltered in the 90 degree heat. "Yes, they are," I murmured, sorting out the calendar-ready ones. I would soon be distracted by two warring, inflatable T-Rexs before the stump-grinder took center-stage for my attention. Brad frowned. "What's the matter?" I asked, wondering where one could buy a beer koozie.  "I feel that the noose might be in poor taste," Brad explained as a dangling stump trundled by. I felt that it fit right in with the Wild West feel of the Fourth. 

Storm clouds loomed and I began to fear that we wouldn't make it to the best part of the parade: The random floats for no reason. My past favorite was an un-decorated flatbed featuring inebriated members of a class reunion. The crowd cheered when one of the scholars unceremoniously flopped off this vessel promoting the benefits of prestigious pedagogy.

The rain began to fall. Brad grabbed my hand as I stood, immobile...heart-stricken. Lightning flashed. "We have to go," Brad yelled over the rising wind. I pointed. There in the distance...an excavator was throwing items to the excited crowd. Not candy. Not glow sticks. Not water bottles (which is terrifying, by the way...another use for that kevlar helmet.). They were throwing...be still my heart...beer koozies. I watched an eight-year-old pocket one before my husband forced me to make a mad dash for the van parked five blocks away. I collapsed into the seat...miraculously dry except for the stream of disappointed tears falling from my eyes. Savannah patted my shoulder comfortingly, "Mom, you don't even really like beer." She was right. I stared, unseeing, out my window as Iowa went by. I would never fit into this wild and wonderful world.