It Is Thanksgiving Week.
Dylan got his COVID test yesterday. He only had to wait four days – which, according to some, is the perfect amount of time to wait to see if he was exposed on the airplane.
In the time he waited just for the test (still waiting for the results), he stayed six feet away from us, but took off his mask as soon as he got home. He went to Starbucks twice. And he worked as a delivery driver for three days – double shifts – at Outback Steakhouse, which means that he came into contact with all of his coworkers for all of those days, plus any of the (25% capacity) patrons who were near him indoors, and everyone who came to the door to sign for the delivery.
Dylan wore a mask, so at least he was not as contagious as those people at the Burger King who may or may not still be contaminating customers and coworkers.
Meanwhile, it is Thanksgiving week. We are averaging 173,000 new COVID cases a day in the U.S. And it’s just going up. According to Dr. Anthony Fauci, who we all know and I adore, we should be ultra-careful in making plans for the holiday.
“Even if it’s a very small group, to the extent possible, keep the mask on,” Fauci said. “Nothing is going to be perfect in this. Obviously, it’s kind of difficult to be eating and drinking at a dinner with a mask on.”
But Fauci added that if all attendees at a gathering quarantined and tested negative for COVID-19 before the gathering, the risk of someone getting infected would be lower, although nothing is “risk-free.”
“Of course, it’s not 100 percent that they couldn’t have gotten infected from the time they got tested to the time they got there.”
For Thanksgiving this year, we are having a brief breakfast with my stepson and sister-in-law, who will have their own tables on the back porch of our house, six feet away. No one new will be indoors, even though they have both been ultra-careful in seeing virtually no one beforehand. Neither works outside the house, and my stepson has even distanced himself from his girlfriend for more than a week.
We plan to run a large, loud heater so that we don’t freeze while we eat outside. Later, indoors, Bill is making a turkey (his choice) and Thanksgiving dinner will be just the four of us, hopefully safely.
My parents, who have been the backbone of my Thanksgivings for 56 years, will have Thanksgiving alone, together, three miles away. We’ve made it this far – nine months – meeting outdoors with them and not contaminating them. And they’ve stayed safe and healthy, which is what we all want more than anything in the world.
So – especially after my sudden onset of a cold a week ago, and the terror that ensued believing I’d spent time too close to my mother – we will be having a very non-traditional Thanksgiving this year.
Meanwhile, I am watching many of my Facebook friends hop on planes and disappear into the wild blue yonder for the holiday. And I cringe, and I pray, and I wait.
Lately, it seems, I just spend my entire life waiting.