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A THANKSGIVING DINNER
LIKE NO OTHER
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It was not an easy phone call to make, but someone had to do
it. The health and welfare of my family was at stake. I also didn't want to
go to jail.
My 30 year old son answered the phone on the first ring.
"The State of California has issued mandatory requirements for holiday
gatherings," I said before he had a chance to say anything. "I'm
sorry to inform you that you and your wife are not invited for Thanksgiving
dinner at our house."
His reaction was understandable. "What?" he cried.
"Why?"
"We're only allowed three households at one time," I
explained. "We had to make a choice of which of our four children would
be invited, and you and your brother didn't make the cut."
"My two sisters are invited, and I'm not?" he
retorted. "Any particular reason? "
Fortunately, I had a good one. "They have babies, and you
and your brother don't. We want to see our grandchildren at
Thanksgiving."
"I'VE ONLY BEEN MARRIED FOR FIVE MONTHS!!"
I didn't need to hear excuses, and I told him so. A little more
planning, or maybe an accident or two, and he could have been sitting at our
table. Maybe next year. In the meantime, he could dine with his wife's
parents.
"THEY'RE IN NEW JERSEY!" he cried. "We're not
supposed to travel for Thanksgiving."
Not my problem. The State of California had spoken. Three
households only. I let him know Subway and perhaps McDonald's would be open
for Thanksgiving (takeout only) and hoped he would remember at his table to
say thanks that his father was a law-abiding citizen.
I expected my next call to be much more fun. My 39 year old
daughter also answered on the first ring. She was probably eagerly
anticipating my call.
"Good news!" I exulted. "You, your husband and
your lovely children are invited for Thanksgiving dinner. You have been
selected as one of the three households that we can accommodate."
"Wahoo!" she cried. "What can we bring?"
I quickly glanced again at the State of California rules for
gatherings. "Well, to start with I'd suggest at least four layers of
clothing, because we need to be outdoors only. And you might want to bring
an umbrella, in case of rain."
She didn't sound quite as excited. "IT'S THE END OF
NOVEMBER! WE'LL FREEZE TO DEATH!"
I sensed her alarm and decided to throw her a bone. "I'm
thinking of appointing you the designated server, as required by the State.
That might warm you up a little."
"And besides," I continued, "California is
requiring our gathering be less than two hours, so you probably won't have
enough time to freeze to death."
It was getting awfully silent on the other end of the phone.
"What if the kids have to go to the bathroom?" she meekly asked.
"Please don't tell me they're not allowed in the house at all."
I was aghast. "Do you think the State of California has no
sense of reasonableness? Of course you're allowed to use the bathroom, as
long as it is sanitized frequently."
"Well, that's a relief," she responded. "Maybe I
can eat my turkey in there."
"The State used the word 'briefly' when mentioning the
bathrooms," I warned. "I don't want you getting me in
trouble."
"Anything else?" she asked.
I perused the requirements again. "Well, chairs must be at
least six feet apart, and you must keep your mask on at all times, except
when you're actually putting food in your mouth or having a medical
emergency."
"That's very considerate of the State to allow us to
remove your mask if you're having a heart attack." She sighed heavily.
"Oh, well. It looks like we'll just eat quickly, sing the traditional
Hoppe Family Song, and then head for home."
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND??!!" I cried, reading the
mandatory requirements. "The State of California explicitly states that
there should be no singing or chanting at gatherings. That's a recipe for
droplet spreading. One rendition of the Hoppe Family Song and the police
would be at our door in minutes!"
She was silent once again. Finally, she spoke. "I think I
have COVID fatigue."
Don't we all, my dear, don't we all.
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