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!
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