Christmas Plans Foiled

Christmas 2022 is past.

2023 has begun.

And the ‘best laid plans…’ did not include Covid-19.

But, I’m learning to be is flexible, even when counting on having friends and neighbors around to share in the season festivities.

You may recall my plan had been to cook a lovely Christmas meal and share it with others living alone. Up until 10 a.m. on Christmas morning, all was going according to that plan. 

Sweet potato casserole, done; pinto beans simmering in the crock pot; a huge serving of ham under a blanket of foil; pasta salad to feed hundreds in the frig; quiche and pies delivered, and all was good, until it wasn’t.

As I was about to open cans of green beans to prepare my favorite green bean casserole, I realized I had been ignoring a headache for a couple of days, and my throat was causing me to stop swallowing.

Time for a quick assessment of my health rather than food preparation, and I pulled out a box of Covid tests I had stuffed in a drawer maybe a year ago.

As Dean Martin crooned yuletide tunes I swabbed my nose canal, swished the instrument of discomfort with the magic drops, and Voila…I tested positive with 2 red bars shining like lights on a Christmas tree. 

I had a mere couple of hours to notify the 15 or so people they didn’t dare darken by doorway for fear of getting what I had. Or I could spray disinfectant throughout my abode, lock myself in the back bedroom, and let the hordes come and take plates, containers and buckets of food to their own homes and have a meal alone.

Phone calls, emails, what’s apps hit the airwaves warning the invitees of the possible dangers awaiting them. I went to bed not certain if anyone would show up and partake of the hopefully non-toxic dishes I had so proudly prepared. 

And sure enough I began to hear folks in my house, laughing, shouting questions down the hallway, “Where are the serving spoons?” “Do you have napkins and if so, where are they?” “Tinfoil?”

I simply mumbled some replies, figuring if they found their way to my house, they could certainly open a few cabinets and discover the necessary tools needed.

And like a flock of vultures, they disappeared suddenly, leaving the remnants of my Christmas feast scattered like the bones of roadkill.

I didn’t really see what, if anything, was left until the next day when I finally crept out of my isolation cave, took a gander at my kitchen, and hoped I would be well enough sometime in the near future to have someone come and tidy up what I didn’t feel like doing. Then I headed back to my comfortable cavern, closed my eyes and dreamed of next Christmas. 

As I write this, I am still testing positive, but am able to move about, gulp without my ears exploding from the fire shooting through my voice box, and I’ve turned Dean and his joyful serenades off for another 11 months.

Yep, Christmas 2022 is past, and I’ve had all the Christmas fun I can stand for one year!

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