Die for a bowl of Autumn Squash Soup? I don’t think so.
With this long and grim Covid winter ahead of us, we can’t let down our guard.
Today, I got to thinking about a favorite autumn squash soup: “It’ll be okay. Just a quick into the restaurant, grab a bowl of soup, and out!”
But the Voice of Reason perched on my shoulder said “Wait a minute. It’s probably low risk. But what if it isn’t? You’re 73. Your life for a bowl of soup? Are you frickin’ kidding me?”
Stupid thing to die from, right? Obit: “She went in to get a bowl of squash soup, and that’s all she wrote.”
Thanksgiving gatherings? Read: “She wanted to show off her 24-pound turkey, and that was all she cooked.” Dumb, dumb, dumb.
There will be other falls, other squash soups, other Thanksgivings. When we get control of this thing — and we will — we can celebrate Thanksgiving in May, or July, or whenever. Have four or five. Throw a Thanksgiving Every Month. But you have to be alive to celebrate.
You have to be alive to celebrate.
So hang in there. Before you decide to do anything, assess your risks. Balance what you want to do against getting Covid-19. Is it worth dying for? German Chocolate Cake vs. the Grave?
I think not.
Say yes to a small gathering? Or not get to see the grand kids grow up?
Not even close.
Patience. Masks. Hand-washing. Distance. No Thanksgiving gatherings. No rooms, chapels, weddings, enclosed spaces with lots of others. No. No. No.
On days when I feel trapped in a nightmare, and want to do something “normal,” I tell myself: “Vigilance. Vigilance!” And run out into the back yard and scream. And scream. And scream.
I scream up, toward the sky: GET A GRIP, SISTER. YOU CAN DO THIS.
And then I go back inside, make a toasted cheese sandwich and open a can of tomato soup.
You have to be alive to have anything taste great, I tell myself. So listen up:
You can do it. We can all do this.
IF I CAN, YOU CAN, TOO.