“The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men. Gang aft a-gley.”
It’s boxing day. I just finished eating a small bowl of oatmeal porridge—with strawberries, maple syrup and goat’s milk. The sore throat I’ve been nursing for four consecutive days, shows no signs of improvement. Hot beverages, soft food, salt gargles, and rest…so the recipe goes. Honey too. It’s antibacterial. I didn’t know that. But I was tired of honey—honey in peppermint and lavender teas, honey in hot lemon water, blobs of honey licked off a spoon. Maybe, I took the suggestion a little too far. So, this morning I figured that if honey was antibacterial, maple syrup must be too. No scientific reasoning led to that conclusion, just rationalization born from boredom and desire.
I was supposed to spend eighteen days of the Christmas season in Ontario with my children and grandchildren. Covid cut short my stay. When one family member tested positive for the virus, my son-in-law, always prudent and considerate, bought me a ticket on the earliest emergency flight home. Even though I had tested negative, he paid more than the already expensive fare for a premium seat—to keep me, and other passengers, as safe as possible—just in case. Because of his generosity, I may be spoiled. What luxury not to be squeezed between two strangers in a row with armrests wide enough to accommodate only one person. No line-up for the bathroom. Copious legroom for someone much taller than me. The special “treat” I could have done without. But, I stashed the small box of goodies in my carry-on. Mom would have approved. “Waste not, want not,” was her motto.
My covid test at the airport came back negative. Two days later an illness grabbed me by the throat. A tickle turned to fire. Gobs of mucous choked me. Every part of my body hurt. Fatigue kept me pinned to my bed, albeit in a semi-upright position so that I didn’t gag. The next morning, I made my way to a covid testing centre. After waiting three hours in a line-up, the test felt anticlimactic. And also deficient. In other screenings, the oversized Q-tip was inserted farther into my nose, slowly swept the area several times, not two or three, and included both nostrils, not just one.
Positive results are communicated within four hours. I heard nothing. Negative results are posted on-line. Seventy-two hours later, I still have no information. How odd it would be if whatever disease I have is not covid. All five members of my daughter’s family tested positive as well as every neighbour and friend who had visited during my stay.
In spite of my present state of health, or more accurately, non-health, I am truly grateful that I enjoyed ten good days with family before my abrupt departure. Highlights included:
- sparkly professional manicures for the three girls—me, my daughter and granddaughter
- buying and decorating an evergreen tree
- my son, a master at weaving strings of lights trough branches, joining us to illuminate the specimen
- a rhapsodic tour of Casa Loma—a fairy-tale adventure for everyone
- a long walk on the marsh boardwalk bathed by a warm December sun
- many gourmet meals prepared with love by my talented daughter—some of my favourites were “second” breakfasts such as bagels with avocado, eggs, and mustard sprouts or granola with fresh fruits, yogourt and pistachios
- assisting my two-year-old grandson build intricate, often wheeled, structures with Lego and observing his concentration as he solved some complex engineering problem; reading dozens of illustrated stories to a rapt audience; watching my costumed three-year-old granddaughter perform an original ballet; cuddling my blissful six-month old grandson. And all the time inhaling the enchanting fragrance of these three tiny people.
Yesterday was Christmas. In spite of my illness, I donned the bright red sweater I had planned to wear in Ontario then added a shiny gold necklace and earrings. No need for lipstick. An N95 mask covered most of my face. For a few brief minutes Face-Timing with my children, it felt like Christmas.
However, there was no smell of roasting turkey, no crackers with paper hats hidden inside, no carols or laughter or outdoor excursions. Not even snow. Every Christmas Day I usually spend an hour or more photographing nature—the sea, the sky, the trees, the wildlife. When I look back through my Christmas folders, I relive the wonder of those Christmases past. How grateful I am to have many pre-Christmas images taken during my Ontario holiday.
In fact, I am thankful for many things. Some of those blessings include:
- the return to health of my daughter and her family
- my husband’s affectionate care for both my little dog and me
- a bright, warm home in which to convalesce
- the abiding love of family and friends
Covid may have changed the appearance of your Christmas celebrations. Even so, if you look with your heart, you can still see the wondrous beauty of the season.
“May peace be within you; may your heart be strong.”