Covid strikes again.
I type this with a weary sigh.
For thirty-two years we’ve celebrated Thanksgiving with our family, family friends and extended family members. For the past two years we’ve had four generations gathered around the four tables.
I cannot even describe how much fun it was.
Last weekend we all sadly decided to skip the festivities. There would have been only seven of us (the “senior” guests, along with daughter Nancy), but we all knew it was safer to stay home as the virus surges in Rhode Island and hospital beds are once again filling up.
Yesterday the governor laid out more restrictions, including advising (begging) people to stay home for Thanksgiving and to limit the celebration to the people who live in the house with you.
I’ve been prepared for the worst for some time now. Weeks ago I went to Aldi’s and bought a frozen turkey breast, a little frozen squash casserole, a pumpkin cheesecake, a pumpkin pie, and a couple of those Bob Evans mashed potato containers.
There will be gravy.
Banjo Man and I will not go hungry, but it’s going to be hard. Thanksgiving is the best “food” holiday by far and this year I had so looked forward to being with the people who hadn’t been allowed to attend my mother’s funeral due to the painful five-person limit last April.
I had intended to drink wine and hug everyone. But that will have to wait until Easter, when we–filled with Covid vaccines–plan to gather at last.
In the meantime? I am grateful for those scientists who have worked so hard to develop vaccines. We should all say a collective “thank you” to everyone in the laboratories.
And to everyone in the healthcare industry who have kept all of us and our loved ones safe? My heart is full of gratitude.
And now? A new recipe. I can’t wait to try it next Thursday morning because you know that crock pots make me happy.