Thanksgiving in a Bubble

 

There's good news for turkeys this year. Lots of pardons in the works, I hear. And lots of birdless Thanksgiving menus, as we gather in our small bubbles and forego traditions, the ones we like and the ones we don't. 

For as long as I can remember, my family has gathered somewhere in Connecticut for Thanksgiving. Happily, the births and marriages have outpaced the deaths and divorces, and the walls in my cousins' dining room have appeared to inch ever closer to the edges of the growing table. The staples remain, with an annual fluctuation in side dishes and activities. The fried pickles, once a novelty, have become permanent. I can barely remember when we didn't spend hours watching the tortured progress, most of us from inside, of the deep fried turkey. The morning after run with my cousin is a thing of the past, as is the Friday shopping spree in a local boutique. The morning after indigestion is eternal.

I suppose we should be thankful for small favors this year. The weary travelers won't have to be weary. The exhausted hosts won't have to be exhausted -- or at least they will share the burden. We have all managed to survive 2020, so far, far flung as we are across the country and, yes, across the globe. We will still talk loudly over each other this year, but on a Zoom call. When we are together, there is no mute button. 

There will likely be no turkey in my Thanksgiving bubble, though I am certain there will be lots of calories. I am bargaining with cousins for my favorite recipes, recipes that, apparently, are kept secret simply because the keepers don't wish to reveal the heart clogging ingredients that make them so good. My cousins did send me a frozen version of my favorite Thanksgiving treat, and I have been warned that I must share with my bubble. How well they know me, after all these years. 

Pandemic Thanksgiving, I suppose, will remind us of all that should make us thankful. That the usual suspects are well, and that we are able to toast each other from our satellite bubbles. That somehow, despite wildly divergent time zones and nap times (including mine, as my cousin pointed out), we will still be together. That my almost 90 year old mother is figuring out Zoom. That my favorite delicacies await, in the freezer. That at a time when pardons are becoming all the rage, turkeys will be the beneficiaries. 

That we will, hopefully, convene next year in person, if only for a day, and share war stories from a blissfully distant 2020.