In other years, it wouldn't merit a notice.

After all, it was just a Sunday afternoon brunch with two other couples at a camp by a lake. We enjoyed hot dogs over an open fire, chips and dip, and especially good conversation as we caught up on family stuff. You know, talking about grandkids and their accomplishments, the usual give and take between friends, and a lament that the Red Sox lost another.

But, it was more than that, a lot more.

You see, it was the first time in a year that any of us had ventured outside of our cocoon.

We had all been jabbed; two times for some. We waited the appropriate two weeks or so to make sure the Fauci-an cocktail jiggled our innards enough to protect us from the dreaded Mr. COVID.

And it was a warm sunny afternoon, one of those beautiful spring days when the birdies were singing, the ospreys were on the hunt, and the black flies were absent.

It was good to enjoy an afternoon that didn't involve a smartphone, an iPad, or a TV set. It was a chance to sit around a picnic table and talk with real live people.

Over the last year, we have become accustomed to using Zoom, a sort of convenient computerized way to interact with friends. Even old Uncle Joe, a Luddite first-class, figured out how to join a meeting and chat with friends.

Truth be known, after being prodded by pals who once gathered on Tuesday afternoon to play bridge, this Luddite even learned to play bridge over the computer. Somehow, I always expected to look up and see Mr. Spock glaring over my shoulder as I pondered the next play.

On Sunday, as we stood around and munched, I noticed something I didn't even know I had missed. I heard laughter.

It was real laughter by real people. It was not the recorded laughter you hear when someone on a TV show makes a corny joke. It was not the snarky, snide yip that seems to come when some politician (right or left, take your pick) makes a disparaging quip about the other side. It was not the shy tweet uttered by an embarrassed teenager.

It was a laugh, a full-throated laugh from grownups who were not embarrassed to let it all out. I don't remember if the first laugh came after someone told a lame joke, or noticed a flaw in another's outfit, or if someone spilled something and tried to catch it and failed.

It didn't matter what triggered it. It was the sound of laughter, the wonderful, genuine, raw emotion that signaled a facet of humanity we all missed.

It signaled joy.

Face it. We have been locked up for a year.

We have been living in a dream where Officer Friendly caught us doing some wrong, a smiling judge gave us a break, and ordered us to serve our time in home detention instead of the pokey. Most of the rest of the folks in the pretend courtroom thought it was not a major sentence, but it was a big deal to us.

Along with much of the nation, we stayed home. We hunkered down in the little house on the hill. We understood that, at our age, the danger of tempting COVID could be deadly.

We all complain about aches and pains. It is part of the aging process. We visit the medical pros, take the costly pills they prescribe, and we take their advice, too.

We stayed home as part of our effort to remain on this Earth. We remember the country song lyric, "Everybody wants to go to heaven, but no one wants to go today."

So we served our sentence. We endured, changed the sheets, vacuumed, and swabbed out the toilets.

We did our chores just like before COVID, but, outside of a video from the kids and a cute video kitty that triggered giggles, we just tried to maintain. We told ourselves we were OK. But we weren't. Something was missing. We missed the give and take of adult conversation that once filled our daily lives.

On Sunday, as we went out for the first time in a social situation, the lights went on. It was as if we crawled through the window, shinnied down the drainpipe, and skirted through the bushes avoiding the evil clutches of Mr. COVID.

We escaped captivity. And, when we heard the cry of joy, a full-throated laugh from grown-up humans, we tasted freedom for the first time in a year.

So, thanks, friends. Thanks for the hot dogs, the cheesecake, the company and a chance to once again enjoy real, in-person, laughter.

Be well. Be safe.