Newport-Mesa has a nice mix for the Fourth

Ah, the Fourth of July in Newport-Mesa. I can say, with a great

degree of certainty, there is no comparable combination of revelry,

wholesome family time, pyromania and patriotism for miles around.

The sun stayed hot until 7 p.m., and once it went down, the night

sizzled. I missed out on the after dark celebration in the war zone

because my son’s father was generous enough to forgo his turn in the

usual holiday rotation, so Donovan was with me.

I switched modes from 25-year-old single gal to mommy and kissed

my chances of starring in the Newport Beach Police video goodbye.

(There’s always next year.)

My pugilistic pals welcomed the bambino at their beachside bash,

so we headed out to the war zone for a day of family togetherness.

We started our day, as many locals did, on our bike. Our path

through the Eastside of Costa Mesa, through Newport Heights and down

Pacific Coast Highway was not a lonely one, as dozens of others were

doing the same. We looked like a herd of lemming heading for the

water.

Seashore Drive at 11 a.m. looked like the typical summer day on

the peninsula. From our spot right on the beach, the scene was

mellow. Nothing but families and friends enjoying a hot day on the

beach.

You would think a party full of professional fighters and their

wildly charismatic friends would be a hot spot for illicit activity,

but it was very mellow. Police drove by slowly three times and could

not find a thing to complain about.

Some die-hard Newport locals played the game guess the area code,

assigning prefixes of 909 and 619 to those passing by. One group

received the coveted 760 designation (Victorville) for wearing long

pants, socks and tennis shoes to the beach. That was the extent of

the mean-spiritedness on our side of the war zone.

The rest of the day was filled with delicious food, smash ball,

volleyball, swimming, sandcastle building and a great mix of

alcoholic and nonalcoholic beverages. I totally abstained from the

booze, proving I am not the alcoholic people have come to perceive me

as. There were even other small children at the party. It was

perfect.

The streets were a different story.

Each time someone would return from an outing on Seashore Drive,

we would ask, “Did you get arrested yet?” It was crazy out there. A

great mix of carefree and welcoming attitudes -- as long as you were

A. a local B. a friend of a local or C. you looked good enough to

pass for a local.

For those who didn’t make it to the porches and patios of the West

Newport homes, they wandered the streets taking in the eye candy. One

family actually set up folding chairs and a little barbecue outside

their van and celebrated on the street -- literally.

Anyone with small children -- mine is 3 -- knows the war zone is

no place for kids after dark, so we headed home at about 7 p.m. After

leaving the relaxation of Newport Beach, we were welcomed back to

Costa Mesa with the noise and smoke of fireworks.

I remember how much fun it was to light the sparklers, top dogs

and triple threats on Albert Place in grade school, but somehow, at

25, it is not as thrilling.

My adult neighbors were on a mission to outshine the Dunes and put

on an impressive, earsplitting fireworks display. They erected a

stand in the middle of the street to set off the larger pyrotechnics,

while the smaller ones fizzled brilliantly below.

Luckily, Donovan, who has had nights of fitful sleep since

fireworks went on sale in Costa Mesa, was knocked-out from an

exhaustingly fun day of playing in the sun. I was too tired to care

and figured that it’s only one night of the year. The last pop I

heard was at about 3 a.m.

I woke up well rested and with a clear head. I doubt any of my

friends did. But I would wager we all had a fantastic Fourth in our

own back yard. I can’t wait for next year.

* LOLITA HARPER writes columns Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays and

covers culture and the arts. She may be reached at (949) 574-4275 or

by e-mail at lolita.harper@latimes.com.