I’m not exactly Little Miss Sunshine, but I like to have a good time now and then. I couldn’t help but notice the party atmosphere of the Democratic National Convention, which didn’t entirely fit our so-called lifestyle.

Good times are swell, but we are early-to-bed and early-to-rise voters. We like to be home and in bed by 9 p.m., unless excitement intervenes, and that grows ever more rare. I read a few pages until my brain starts dishing up gobbledygook and then the sandman comes on a loaded Freightliner that puts me right under.

Fortunately, the big speeches were available on YouTube, so we watched them in comfort the next afternoon, when unbridled joy — mine was bridled, to be honest — wouldn’t deprive me of REM and deep sleep. (Beauty sleep failed ages ago, when the wrinkle fairy and the skin-blotch troll started making nightly rounds.)

But the convention did look like fun, which made me wonder about the status of group fun, or civic fun, or perhaps collective exuberance. Rage has been trending higher in recent years, but delight still drops by.

Parades are fun-on-the-go. I don’t really need to see any more fire trucks in this lifetime, but little kids are thrilled and there’s something about seeing lots of happy smiling people on floats. The spirit is strong on July 4, when we toss aside fashion sense in favor of red, white, blue — and the glitter and sparkles favored by our Founding Fathers. This summer we went to the Plainfield parade: short, sweet and wholesome. They handed out samples from McNamara Dairy. I say God Bless America and God Bless chocolate milk.

I’m not sure why it is, but marching bands always make me grin, as long as they don’t overstay their welcome. A little bit of “Semper Fidelis” followed by “Hang On Sloopy” makes my day, and it should yours. (In looking for inspiration I discovered that the Ohio State Marching Band’s repertoire includes “Don’t Stop Believin’,” “Adagio for Strings” and a Nintendo Medley. Go Buckeyes!)

I’m sure I’m not the only one who wishes Dartmouth College would use some of its billions to support a world-class marching band. The Ivies trend toward irony, which is OK, I guess, but how about something earnest? Are 76 trombones too much to ask?

The typical reader of this column is likely bursting with this question: What’s your policy on accordions? Well, you can have too much accordion, but just the right amount is big fun. For one thing, the accordion does not provoke dark introspection. The same goes for the ukulele, a proven antidote for reading too much poetry about death.

Which leads us to the Red Sox, and baseball in general. When I was a boy, the newspaper used to run THE FINAL STANDING OF THE TEAMS in all caps when the regular season was over. It looked special — and, of course, final. The Red Sox were near the bottom, done, kaput, thoroughly mortal. And yet, on the dawn of the next opening day all was hope and promise as the Sox had not yet fallen even one game behind.

One April years ago the Valley News sent me to Fenway looking for a local angle among the assembled 36,000. I drank in the crowd’s happy-to-be-here vibe that was so joyous it pointed us in the direction of heaven. New Englanders were smiling like I suppose people do in the tropics, where there are balmy winds and no road salt.

There are few days like that, alas. But there are moments, even here in the Upper Valley. On certain Thursday afternoons when it is sunny and not 93-degrees out and thunderstorms are not gathering like Viking fleets, you can see people at the Lebanon Farmers Market chatting with friends and little dogs getting along waggingly. Crowds inspect sensible root crops but they line up for kettle corn because it is sweetness they crave. The sweetness of a summer’s day — and then some lemonade. And maybe a brownie, possibly vegan.

We need more of this, not less. We need shared delights — and not so much bitterness in the air.

Oh well, fall is not far away but apple picking brings seasonal happiness — the trees, the smells, the unfiltered cider that wakes up your system and sets it free. (I think you might know what I am getting at.)

Before then, there might be one more wondrous beach day, and a last dance at the last outdoor concert. Then comes foliage season, when visitors come to share the engineering wonders of our region.

Welcome to New Hampshire. Welcome to Vermont. Road Work Ahead.

Dan Mackie lives in West Lebanon. He can be reached at dan.mackie@yahoo.com.