Amber seeing her surprise

The day of the Ambirthdaversary party began with me so depressed that I could not manage to get out of bed. It had not happened in so long that I struggled to process this. What did I usually do to stop this incapacitation?

I tried to call out to Amber, but she was upstairs and unable to hear my two weak attempts to say her name.

Eventually, I circumvented this by having our smart speaker informs her that I was too sad to leave the bed and needed tea. She cuddled me for ten minutes until I was, if not happy, at least functional.

It is not the most auspicious beginning of a party day, I'll grant you.

Amber sighs that she cannot believe it is the end of July. This year has lacked reliable milestones.

A few weeks ago, using her recently diagnosed-as-diabetic dog as an excuse, my mother had me cancel our reservation for our Lake George vacation. I knew it was unlikely that it would occur this pandemic year. She didn't want to go if everything was going to be closed down, if we were going to sit in the house we rented, unable to shop, dine out, go to Great Escape, or enjoy our typical activities. (By most metrics, this is a fair assessment; nothing much is opened.) If it had not been for the dog, Lake George was improbable, but it was more easily blamed on the dog.

COVID has canceled the Renaissance Faire, the Dutchess County Fair, the tenth annual Pine Bush UFO Fair (postponed once already), and every concert and festival since March. While there were fireworks, they were as a socially distanced remove rather than in a near carnival atmosphere.

COVID hasn't eased up. It is still here, with no cure, vaccine, or effective treatment. The flattened curve only means that hospital beds have opened that we are not keen to fill.

The year has always had built-in experiences that I have programmed myself to associate with the seasons. "We had Easter with my family, so it is spring now." "I've had a picnic after hiking, so it is officially summer." When work ended, it felt no different from any other day. There was no excitement to it. There was no meaning. It was another moment that had grown hollow for want of things to fill it.

The sameness of days is a burden. I make a list on a post-it every day so that I continue to move through activities. Otherwise, I am apt to do nothing or at least feel that I have. (Amber was confused that I wrote "dinner" on the list, as of course I will make her dinner. I assured her that it was just so I would have another thing that I could check off.)

In other Julys, I would have racked up hikes, barbecues, and parties by this point. I would have hosted meals with my friends, torturing them with godawful movies. I would have gone to at least one drive-in movie, though likely four. (The drive-ins are wisely open, but I cannot compel people to join me to watch eighties movies and eat takeout at a social distance.) Amber and I would have planned and executed at least one weekend-long trip to somewhere beautiful and weird.

I am losing the summer of 2020, as are most, and am right to resent this. I would hate far more dying of COVID or the dire effects it can leave on those who recover. That doesn't mean I cannot be upset over missing barbecues.

As such, I was delighted to plan this party for Amber. Though I was more than half doing it for myself so that I could point to one noteworthy date on the calendar.

I told guests that it was a surprise party, although Amber had suggested it. Two people (Sarah M and Aaron) asked if they ought to hide and jump out. I informed them that this would not be necessary, that Amber knew, and this would make my setting up the party easier.

This did not mean that I was bereft of surprises. Days before, Daniel had said that he would be passing through. I told him to come to the party, then told no one else that he would.

I am giddy when I see Daniel, as it had been so long. He looks a little different, above and beyond that he wears a red and black houndstooth scarf over his face the whole time. Without it, I would know him better. Instead, my eye is drawn to parts of him that otherwise do not register.

Amber is startled when she sees him, first regarding it as normal ("Oh, look, there is my good friend Daniel"), then delighted enough that she bends at the waist in glee. It is hard to judge emotions when everyone is masked, as we largely are outside of eating. My glasses are off in deference to fogging, but I can guess at my wife's joy.

Used for taunting

Kest and Daniel are probably moving near Mass MoCA, many hours closer than Maryland, and assures that we can see them more often.

They were passing this way to look at an industrial/living space that might have been a scam. The guy with whom they are dealing thinks he owns it, so he is not consciously trying to cheat them. At the same time, he is also operating under the misapprehension that he needs no Massachusetts official to come between him and renting his property.

I do not know exactly why they are moving. This sounds to be an amenable space for Kest's forge but why now? Why there? I am not around them long enough today to get these answers, but Kest has driven from Massachusetts to Maryland and back already this week and wishes this leg of the adventure to be done as quickly as possible.

Daniel and Kest stay half an hour, taking with them only tea, though I offered them whatever they would like of the party food. What is the point of being able to offer hospitality if I cannot foist it upon hungry people?

(We have too much food: three salads, two pizzas, garlic knots, two cakes, a variety of drinks, much provided by our lovely guests. Just like our wedding.)

I text Kristina a picture of Daniel and Kest looking at my rats, taunting that this is what she misses by being late. She tells me to hold him here, but that isn't possible.

This is our first attempt at a party since the pandemic began, in the backyard under a canopy, socially distant, masked. It is far better than nothing. I half-joke that we had better have a vaccine before December because I don't think a backyard party is likely for my birthday. Realistically, we will skip a celebration for my birthday, and I will not be sorry for that.

Months ago, I was anxious that my neighbor was hosting a tight clutch of his friends in our shared backyard, particularly when one came toward me, hand extended in greeting. I don't think I am being as much a hypocrite as I could be, as I am taking precautions that he seemed to neglect. We as a populous have had more time to figure out what we are doing. I have had a few graduated encounters and have more confidence in social situations that are not indoors and with higher risk people.

We all stay in our small groupings, Aaron and Amanda next to one another, Amber and me together. It is not foolproof, but we are also healthy and less likely to get infected.

I have a hard time with conversation when I cannot see people's faces, which causes me to alternately mumble and overenunciate when this results in confusion. I stare hard at the uneclipsed half of my friends' faces to better divine what they might be saying behind cotton. I, more than likely, overly gesticulate, trying to make myself understood.

I tell a Melissa story, leaving out that she is dead. No need to bring the party down. I've heard and retold the story of her explosion so often over the years that it comes smoothly, a polished gem. Still, I leave out details that would only interfere with the narrative, but it was satisfying to share a little of her. She couldn't manage to get to my wedding (and wanted me to beg her to come when I had only a few hours until the ceremony itself, something I had neither the time nor energy to do). She blamed anxiety then, which was possible, but not itself enough. I suspect there were less flattering reasons, but I'll never get them out of her now. Even in life, I don't think I would have.

I imagine for a moment what it would be like if she were at this party to tell the story herself, filling in the details and nuance I no doubt miss in my approximation. The picture falters and collapses almost immediately. Even if she were alive, she could not have induced herself to come. In the vanishing chance that she did, she would have had near to a panic attack, claimed she hated them all and they hated her, chain-smoked, and left after drawing me away from the party several times to reassure her. I struggle to remember if Melissa had come to any of my parties in our youth, but I cannot recollect one. We spent many hours together and had adventures, but the sort of parties I threw would not be somewhere she felt welcome.

Returning to the story of Melissa's explosion, I mention that the ER, when four burned teenagers explained that they were in this state because of substance abuse and stupidity, triaged them until a second-degree burn on Melissa's knee turned to third-degree.

Aaron calls this detail into question, as well he should.

Amber's mother Julie, who works in a hospital, agrees that this is not what a hospital would do. I tend to agree, but that is the tale Melissa told. It is no surprise to me that she may have exaggerated in her telling. If nothing else, she understood what made for a good story.

Every time I go into the apartment for a chore, I come out with another gift for Amber until she has all three. Two are items she directed me to buy--a hand broom and the Bioshock collection--but the last is a 1014-piece puzzle of one of our wedding photos. I beam at her, waiting for her to tell me how glorious it is, how amazed she is by her thoughtful and clever husband. She affirms that I did a good job, which is the best I am going to get out of her while we have company.

Sarah, Kristina, and Julie help us pack up our party supplies and, within fifteen minutes, it is as though the party never happened.

I feel so much more energized when everyone leaves because that is my nature. I am a social creature and have largely been deprived of this expression; I need parties from time to time, particularly when weekend activities are all but skunked. I intellectually know that this year is a wash when it comes to the social events, but this was a fine reminder of these, an echo and reiteration of what had come before and may, with work, come again.

last watched: Dark
reading: Storm Front