It always happens all at once, doesn't it?

The car is up on the rack this week, after three failed attempts of getting the beast to run properly. It's not a good thing when you're going downhill on a curve and then the engine dies. Not fun at all.

Plus, I must have done something dreadful to my back at Bonnaroo, because a dull, throbbing pain has slowly taken up residence in both shoulder blades, making the waking hours all sorts of fun. It's even worse when dealing with four-year-olds all begging for piggy-back rides.

So at the end of the day, what happens? You come home to relax, forget your troubles ... and the home theater system dies a noisy, electric death right in the middle of the good part.

This just isn't my week at all.

These blazing, stifling days with seemingly no relief in sight have caused Shelbyville to call off the big fireworks display and with good reason. Kentucky may be called the Bluegrass State, but the continuing drought will likely have Tennessee and much of the south considered the Yellow or Browngrass States before this is all over.

First the crops and trees are hit with the unseasonably late freeze back in April, turning everything black, and now this. It has not been a good year weather-wise.

Calling off the big event on the 4th may have caused disappointment for many, but with all the woods, fields and other areas with no access for firefighters, just one spark can cause a disaster.

One of this writer's most vivid childhood memories is directly related to this. I must have been about five or six years old, growing up on the outskirts of Tullahoma, with our back yard right up against the Cumberland Springs Wilderness Area when it happened.

It was a brisk day in early fall and the parents were loading up to go to a work-related football scrimmage where my father would likely cause further injury to himself. Off in the distance, about a mile and half away, was the boiling brown cloud we would often see when the woods caught fire. I remember pointing it out to Dad, but he said it was too far away to worry about.

So guess what happened.

Upon our return a few hours later, fire trucks were parked in our driveway with neighbors frantically hosing down the back of our property and theirs as well. Within those couple of hours we were away, the blaze had become absolutely massive and threatened all of the homes in our subdivision.

Fortunately, the Tullahoma Fire Department managed to stop most of it right at the property line, although some of the grass was cooked. The most we lost was half of a fence.

That near miss inspired a series of repeated lectures to us young ones on the dangers of matches and such. You really couldn't blame the adults for pushing this after such a scare and it stuck, especially for those of us who nearly watched our homes burn down.

Tennessee had been mostly fortunate not to have to endure the types of wildfire such as in California and other western states. While blazes do pop up in the mountains in Grundy and Marion Counties from time to time, it's rare that any homes are impacted.

But with the drought we've had this year, all that could swiftly change. If one of the mortar shells shot during the annual pyrotechnics display misfired or detonated in the wrong place, the Shelbyville Fire Department could have their hands full with a blaze that would be difficult to bring under control.

So don't feel too bad that you won't see the big bangs this year. There's a whole lot more to do than enjoy demonstrations involving high explosives.