Is there a cure for hot, sweaty, grumpy Canadians who may have walked a little too much in hot, humid summer sun?

Why, yes, yes there is.

It’s ice cream.

And a shower.

And naps.

But could we recover enough energy to go out, brave MASSIVE crowds and see the fireworks?

After making our way back on the subway, thanks to The-Youngest’s most excellent sign reading, we saw an ice cream store. Ben and Jerry’s. Oh, yummy, creamy, tasty, cold ice cream. Most of us ordered a couple of scoops in a cup, but The-Youngest wanted 19 scoops in a huge cone. (OK, it was like 5 but still…).

We had the best laugh as he tried to eat it faster than it melted all over him. Ultimately, I think he got more on him than he ate, but he gave it his best go.

When we got home, we all had cold, cold showers. Oh, lovely cold water. Oh joyous chilly wetness.

Then we all fell asleep like we’d been up for days. Boom. Zzzzzzz.

By 7pm, we were up, and by 8, we had decided to find a good NY pizza joint. The-Youngest had an app that rated all the pizza places in NYC, so the two of us went off to find a good one in the neighbourhood.

However, it was the 4^th of July, remember? The first one was closed. The 2^nd one was closed. This was no small surprise to me. I thought NYC would be open 24/7 no matter what. Sunday, holiday, the day the world ended… every day.

But we didn’t give up and by not giving up, we had some cool experiences. We got to see New Yorkers being New Yorkers. On several streets, people had come out of their apartments to set up BBQ stands. They sat with friends and family, drinking, sharing jokes, and arguing with each other (which is why I assumed ‘family’).

Now in England, c*nt has a whole lot of meanings. There you are, you c*nt, come here and give us a hug. Or Stop being a c*nt, you f…ing c*nt!!

In NYC, they seem to use mother*cker the same way. At least on the streets we walked along. It was an insult or a term of endearment. Like, “you mother*cking Canadian, did you just step on my foot?” or “Yo, muth-er-f*cker, pull up a seat.”

I could have stopped and listened to the banter for ages or at least until they all stopped and looked at me and said, “The f*uck you standing there for, mother*cker?” to which I would have said, “My good sirs, I do enjoy your gayful repartee but could I, perchance, have one of those ribs on the BBQ?”

They might have said yes—you never know—but I’m Canadian and don’t want to be a bother, so I moved on.

We finally found an open place and triumphantly came home with NY-style pizza. It was fantastic and we taught The-Oldest how to properly eat it like a New Yorker. Fold it. Stare at it for a moment. Look angry. Then eat it.

By the time we finished our pizza, we thought about the fireworks. A choice had to get made.

We were an hour away from the recommended viewing spot. We knew the subway would be a nightmare. Walking might even take more than an hour if we included crowds.

None of us had the stamina or willpower to do either.

But there was a third choice.

What if we just walked to the Hudson River (about 2 blocks from our apartment) and watched from a distance? Huh? Yeah?

Did we have to be RIGHT there? Or was close good enough?

Close was good enough.

4/4 votes on that one.

We wisely put on clothes, stuffed the backpack with our survival supplies, and marched off. The night was hot and humid, but without that evil sun, not terribly hot or humid. We made it to a little outcropping made of rocks.

Now, long ago climbing on a big rock and sitting down was not a hard thing. Being older, it’s totally a thing. I move like I’m Neo in the Matrix, and I have to make grunting noises every time a joint makes a popping sound (so like every 2 seconds).

But the view was decent and sitting on a rock seemed a lot better than standing. So I sat. The boys sat together (like they liked each other) and The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World found a comfy rock just behind me.

While we waited, we listened to a group of students talk about their residencies as healthcare workers. Gosh, those people work hard. I have mad respect for anyone in that profession.

Then the fireworks started with a roar of lights launching into the heavens.

Ultimately, it didn’t make any difference that we weren’t super close to the fireworks. They were spectacular. The sky boomed, lights blossomed, stars exploded, and showers of sparks filled the air. Across the water, in New Jersey, other fireworks went off.

It was all amazing.

It lasted a nearly an hour, which made me even happier that we weren’t standing.

Very worth the 30-minute walk.

But when we got back, showered, again, and changed clothes, again, we noticed that The-Oldest began to cough and get all snotty, and achy.

This was not a good sign.

We forced him to leave and sleep on the street.

Ok, we didn’t. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World had some cold meds, so we fed them to The-Oldest and all went to bed. We had planned a lot for tomorrow. A bus tour and my MUST-DO, the nighttime tour of NYC from the river.

We didn’t know if we’d all be able to make it.