There were going to be fireworks.
The previous week had been stressful — a combination of a honeymooning coworker and a holiday-induced compressed schedule — but when it was all over, there were going to be fireworks.
There was a basketball game. Our team won, although I’m not entirely sure how, not when the spent the entire first half playing as if basketball was some alien function they had to try to master with thousands of people watching.
That ended up being fun, but there was still that little bit of stress left that refused to release. If things went right, I could handle it, but you don’t stress about things going right; you stress because you think it’s going to go wrong.
But there would be fireworks at the end.
Things went right.
By that point, however, I had learned there would be no fireworks.
We were sure there would be fireworks, convinced we had seen an announcement. They were going to be the first ones in town in three years.
Were they canceled? Never scheduled in the first place? Facebook comments claimed that sponsorship never materialized,
Whatever the reason, there were no fireworks, and I was mad, and not just in a childish way — although, yes — because of my childlike love for fireworks.
The fireworks were going to be the reward for all the stress — 20 to 25 minutes at the park with not a care in the world, where the only thing that mattered was the show in the sky.
But there were no fireworks.
Back to the stress, not just the standard stress, the new stress, but the stress of catching up on all the stuff that didn’t get handled last week because of last week’s stress.
Sort of like post-vac, but without the -vac to post-. (Two weeks … two weeks.)
Yet there was a chance for things to get better. All I had to do was get to the Boston waterfront.
A “yurt” is what he called the amphitheater at Leader Bank Pavilion. It was funny because that’s what Suzi and I call it when our cat Sasha burrows under a blanket on our living-room couch.
But whatever Josh Groban called it, the train actually ran to get us within walking distance, and we were there to see him perform.
The crowd for the Boston stop of the “Harmony” tour was less “musical theater fans” and more “PBS special” than the last time we had seen him in the city, but perhaps I’m telling on us, since we’ve seen all of his PBS specials … multiple times.
It was the fourth time we’ve seen him in concert, and of course it was brilliant. How could it not be? It’s Josh Groban.
Three songs is all it took.
A little later, he brought out his special guest, Lucia Micarelli, an absurdly talented violinist who we may or may not have seen open for him years ago but who we had last seen on “Treme.”
At the time, we thought “Hold on … she acts? And she sings?”
Indeed she does. She sang a duet of “Both Sides Now,” which on the album he sings with Sara Bareilles.
That’s not a waterfall you want to be chasing if rivers and lakes are more your thing, but … yeah, no problem. The clip isn’t Boston, but you’ll get my point.
Even more than the concert being amazing was that for those hours, there was no stress. All that mattered was on the stage on a glorious Boston night.
My brain … my time … all mine.
While this is a story about my July 4 and the days immediately before and after, there are obviously lots of people had an infinitely worse holiday than I did. The awfulness boggles my mind.