For this cocktail party, bring your own drinks, chairs and tape measure
We were told when we moved in that we lived on the party end of the street.
They were right.
We missed a Christmas-in-July celebration, but we were there for the actual Christmas party five months later. We walked around the corner for T.G.I.F., because who doesn't give thanks for Friday?
Now there was a plan for driveway cocktails — a socially distant social gathering.
In Wisconsin, winter creates its own isolation. In spring, even a trip to the mailbox feels like a cure. Except this year, spring brought with it the coronavirus pandemic, followed by the edict to stay home.
The only reasonable excuse to get out is to walk the dog. And pet owners do that — in droves. Where did all these dogs come from? There weren't this many last year, were there?
I get it. We crave human connection. I used the neighborhood Facebook page to offer some of my beer stash to others, then left disinfected bottles and cans on the front porch with a sign.
One woman called me a hero. I think it was more an act of desperation than kindness.
Any other time this Saturday gettogether might have been no big deal — a group of neighbors hanging out on a driveway with drinks in a cooler and a fire pit ready for duty.
Only this one also had a container of disinfecting wipes and a tape measure anchored at six feet. We brought our masks, in case we strayed.
The rules were that you had to bring your own chair and drinks. If you had to use the restroom, you had to go home.
My husband stirred up a pitcher of mint juleps to toast the Kentucky Derby, a rite of spring that's been postponed until fall. Juleps were poured into sanitized plastic glasses on request.
One by one, neighbors set up on the grass and the driveway, careful not to hug or shake hands. There was no grill.
Everyone finished dinner at home before coming to the party where sanitized plastic containers held airpopped popcorn to snack on.
There was conversation — the chatter of 10 people who hadn't spoken to or with an unrelated unmasked-face in more than a month. We didn't all know each other when we gathered. A pandemic is always a good time to meet.
We talked about the coronavirus and what we heard vs. what we knew. We talked about the toilet paper scare and the birthday caravan that drove by last week for a kid up the street.
And we talked about the events we will miss this summer — which means all of them.
We talked about the college student who lives across the street. He had two hours to pack everything left in his dorm room when Safer at Home began. Then we watched as the sky darkened and his car pulled up.
Like any party, there were side conversations with the person closest at hand. The guys who have the Christmas-in-July party plan to sell their house (you might consider buying it if you like parties).
Also, it turns out that six feet is a distance requiring loud modulation (essentially, shouting).
We were all boosted by the community distractions at the beginning of Safer at Home. People opened their windows to sing in unison; others stepped out on their porch to howl at the moon. Still, we kept our distance, talking from across the yard or texting each other, even as I can see someone cooking in the kitchen next door.
Last year, we might have gotten together like this just because it was a nice day. That's what we do in Wisconsin.
Last Saturday, I think we needed it more, needed each other more. Casual gatherings like this came so easy before the pandemic that we took it for granted.
Someone lit a fire and we looked up at the stars. Everyone sipped the last of their beverage — cocktail, wine or beer — and headed home before 10 p.m.
We didn't make any plans to do this again. I hope we do.