It rained on and off all morning on the Fourth of July � while I biked, while I swam and while I packed a bag with all the things I could think of to entertain AJ for a day at someone else�s house. I thought back to last Fourth of July when we hosted the big family gathering. Such weather would have sent us into a panic about what we�d do with the whole crowd were we forced to be indoors. But last year was a perfect Fourth � hot and sunny. And ultimately this year was pleasant too, with the rain clearing out just in time.

AJ was beside himself with excitement about the day. He loves parties and is happiest when surrounded by a crowd of adoring fans. His father drew him a map, color-coded with crayons, and featuring key landmarks along the one-hour drive, to keep him occupied. He screamed with joy every time he spotted one of the items on his map. Unfortunately the party started right around his naptime, which meant that he didn�t sleep and spent the day fighting exhaustion. Like a small and over-excited manic-depressive, he spent the afternoon careening wildly between the heights of joy and the depths of despair. Most of the extremes involved our hosts� pool table. AJ found it on his first exploration of the interior of the house (the party was in the back yard) and fell instantly in love. Pool tables have all his favorite things � big sticks, messy chalk, numbers, colors, and of course balls that fit into holes. This particular table even had a scoreboard, with numbers AJ could spin with his fingers. AJ was jumping for joy every time he was about to play with the table and crying pitiful tears every time we made him do something else.

I myself was much less excited about the possibility of rolling balls around in the basement while everyone else was upstairs drinking beer in the sunshine. They did, however, have a vintage pinball machine, which made me nostalgic for the many rainy days (and quarters) spent in a pizza parlor across the street from New England Conservatory. So I racked up a little more time down there than I might have otherwise. We did get AJ out into daylight for some ball-playing and a tricycle ride to the local playground. And he was extremely happy to see his pack of girl-cousins, whom he adores, and also one of his second cousins, age 12, with whom he fell in love at last summer�s party. He talks about her all the time, but can never seem to remember her name, which has morphed into simply �That Girl.� �Mommy,� he announced this morning at breakfast, �I think we should call That Girl and ask her to come over.�

This is not the first That Girl to have taken over a Fourth of July. A number of years ago, when I was in the depths of despair myself due to an unpleasant romantic episode, I spent an entire Fourth of July in bed watching a �That Girl� marathon. I watched every episode from beginning to end. It was an unusual episode of wallowing in self-pity for me, and a definite low point. But the act of such self-indulgent moping was itself therapeutic. I still have a soft spot in my heart for Ann Marie.

Today everyone seems to be recuperating. It is eerily quiet � few lawn mowers, no screaming children across the street. Instead, while writing on my balcony, where I can catch a cool breeze, I hear only birds, the sputtering of the horses in the field next door and the occasional plop of a frog leaping into the stream. There is little to distract me from the editing tasks that like ahead.

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