I’ve found the cure!

 

A masked Jordan at the cookie echange

No, not the cure to Covid-19, though I was very interested to read that questions asked by the director of our own John Peter Smith hospital made a difference in the way Covid patients are treated. But no, I can’t claim having found a cure—someday I’m sure scientists will, but for now what I’ve found is a temporary cure for quarantine blues. Take a four-hour nap.

Today about lunchtime I had the strangest sinking spell. Suddenly, everything seemed like too much effort. I had made tuna salad for lunch but didn’t really want it. Sitting on the edge of my bed for a minute, I realized I wanted nothing more than to sink down in my bed and sleep. Jordan, who was fixing us salad plates was surprised and then alarmed.

Backstory: I stayed up until one in the morning last night, and Sophie wakened me at seven-thirty in the morning. Not enough sleep! I tried for the first hour I was up to go back to bed, but Sophie was having none of it. She was outside, chasing squirrels, and having a high old time. So I settled at my computer, where I can keep an eye on her.

I didn’t feel bad until I started to make that tuna. Then everything seemed like an enormous chore. Jordan came out for lunch, and I announced I was going to bed. At that point I wondered if I was having a heart attack or a stroke, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to sleep. I did call out to Jordan that I thought I might throw up. She rushed to put something by the bedside. Only two hours later when I briefly sat up, did I realize that she had not put a bowl but the whole stinking (literally) garbage container from the kitchen—with the lid conveniently off. I went back to sleep for another two hours and woke up a new person.

Yes, I was tired and needed the sleep, but I think I was also escaping—from quarantine, from a life that isn’t like I want it. Me, who has been content in quarantine—until I wasn’t. I’m not sure how to analyze it, but that long nap sure made me feel better. Jordan said the suddenness of it scared her, and she came out every ten minutes at fist to check on me.

Meanwhile, Christmas festivities, such as they are this year, go on. Jordan and several of her friends annually do a Christmas cookie exchange—this year it had to be a drive-by exchange, but it still had an air of festivity. Meanwhile, at home it was the first day warm enough for happy hour on the patio. We moved happy hour up an hour to catch the last of the sun, and Phil and Subie came at four o’clock. After being shut down again, it was so good to visit with them, and we sat until the evening chill forced us apart.

And today if the Feast of Saint Nicholas. Those who celebrate St. Nick’s day go around leaving goodies for others. We had a hint to leave our shoes on the front porch last night, and this morning we found a bountiful treasure—wine, chocolate, fruit, poinsettias. As my neighbor said, St. Nick must have thought we’ve been awfully good. I replied that 2020 hasn’t brought many opportunities for being naughty, even though it’s been such an awful year itself.

I am encouraged by the ongoing Christmas traditions in the midst of the most awful political disruption in our country’s history. These traditions tell me that most of us are still good people, who respect our constitution, who want to live in democracy at its best. Social democracy? Don’t be scared by the term. It’s how we already live, and how we can go about building back our country after the orange man is out of office.

Season’s Greetings. Let us all be jolly—and get enough sleep!