My friends and family all thought I would be among the first to get a vaccine because, as we say in Maine, I’m a hurtin’ unit. It didn’t work out quite that way, but it did work out. I became “fully vaccinated” a few days after my lovely wife, who qualified ahead of me because she is a middle school counselor. Fair enough.

Recently we decided to spread our wings and celebrate our newfound freedom.

We Emerge from Our Cocoon

Kim and I follow the Boston Red Sox. So far this season they are allowing only 4,500 fans into each game, about 12% of normal capacity. Even though the game was officially sold out, I scored a wheelchair accessible ticket for me and a companion ticket for Kim, proving again what I frequently remind Kim — I’m special, and she is lucky to have me.

We decided to spend the night at a hotel in Boston after this Saturday afternoon game. Maybe we would even venture out to a restaurant.

On Wednesday of the week prior, I dusted off my Overnight Hotel Stay Checklist and updated it for changes in my disability–related equipment over the past 14 months. The checklist had not grown shorter.

As we drove closer to downtown Boston, the traffic became worse, even on this Saturday morning. We weren’t the only ones venturing about. That situation hinted at normalcy.

When we looked for handicapped parking near the stadium, we scored one of our favorite parking spots, saving us $55 in parking fees. So far, so normal. But, as we walked toward the stadium, I was reminded of the trip we took to Boston the day after the marathon bombings in 2013. Businesses were shuttered. Pedestrian traffic was light. Thankfully, however, no soldiers carrying automatic weapons stood on the street corners like they did in 2013.

Fenway Park Like We’ve Never Seen It

An hour before game time, there would typically be throngs of fans lining up at the Fenway Park turnstiles. Jersey Street, just outside Fenway Park, would take on a carnival-like atmosphere. Food and beverage vendors would line the street. There would be music. They would be the guy on stilts entertaining the kids. Instead, there was a nice young lady instructing us on how to use our cell phones to fill out the health questionnaire. She had plenty of time to help us, because there weren’t many people trying to get into the game.

That was not normal.

No food vendors outside? No problem. We could certainly fill our bellies inside the ballpark. As we worked our way down the food and drink concourse, vendor after vendor was closed. The few that remained open offered a bland, repetitive menu — mostly chicken nuggets, hotdogs, and French fries. Lucky for us, we could still get a beer for $11.75. I took out a second mortgage, and we purchased a couple brews and some cold, soggy French fries.

We found our seats in one of our usual, wheelchair accessible spots. There was nobody within six feet of us, easily. At one point, I spied better accessible seating which was closer to the field and unoccupied. I spoke to an usher, and a few minutes later we were in those seats. Special.

There are Places Where They Cook Your Food and Clean Up After You

After the game we planned to meet Randi and Al, friends of ours who live in Boston, for dinner.  We asked one of the folks at the hotel check-in desk for restaurant recommendations, and she pointed out a spot just across the street.

“Any other places?” I asked.

“I really can’t keep track of which restaurants are still open and which ones didn’t make it.”

Not normal.

We toured the restaurant across the street. There wasn’t much social distancing inside, but they had a good arrangement on their outside patio. We downloaded the restaurant’s app which told us we were fourteenth in line for seating. We retired to our hotel room and noticed we had moved up to twelfth in the queue. Almost immediately, we received a text indicating that our table was ready, reminding us that, in case we had forgotten, I’m special.

We enjoyed a lovely dinner in an uncrowded, outdoor venue, with dear friends we hadn’t seen in so long. That reminded us of the beauty of normal life, although we found the world outside our house quite different from the world we had left over a year ago.

Masks, social distancing, and closed businesses demonstrated how we still have a way to go, but it seems that we are headed in the right direction. Kim and I are hoping for a summer that doesn’t need to be outstanding, remarkable, or even unusual. We just want a summer that is normal.

Wouldn’t that be a wonderful thing?