“If I had known last March it would be the last time I sat in a restaurant for nearly eight months, I would have ordered dessert.“ Unknown
I don’t know who is responsible for the quote, I just know it wasn’t me. I also know what I didn’t know then. Despite all of the misinformation floating around, no truer words have been spoken. When there is a next time, I will order dessert.
I didn’t buy the President’s spiel that COVID-19 would be over in the heat of summer, but I also didn’t buy I would be contemplating a Thanksgiving without friends and family…and then there is Christmas.
None of my aunt’s dressing and butterscotch pies. None of my brother’s newest culinary creations or a cousin’s broccoli casserole. None of Bob’s ham or turkey. No visiting with the girl cousins who are more like sisters. At least I will have my bride’s tomato pies all to myself and will hear no one ask, “What about that election.”
No visit with Ashley, Justin, and the grands. No tall tales, no hearty laughter, no catching up. Instead, I’ll burn up the phone lines, I guess., and maybe a Cornish hen on the grill.
No post dinner nap while pretending to watch the Cowboys take it on the chin again.
Next time and until the Lord takes me home, I will always order dessert.
The date in early March eludes me. I know it was before my brother’s birthday on the thirteenth because we didn’t celebrate it…or mine…or anyone else’s. Maybe it was late February….
There have been few celebrations over the past seven months. I guess not being one of the two hundred and sixty some odd fatalities is celebration enough. For some reason, my thought has a “hurray for me and the hell with everyone else” ring that is not intended.
I was at a BBQ joint with my bride on that day in February or March. A large pulled pork BBQ sandwich with ‘yaller’ sauce, mayonnaise cabbage slaw, and a couple of orders of deeply fried, battered okra sat before me.
All were washed down with a Damn Yankee, Narragansett beer or three. Maybe fifteen hundred calories…not counting the calories from cleaning up my bride’s plate…so the dessert was declined. I will never allow that to happen again. I will always order dessert. Maybe I’ll eat dessert first.
I’ve learned several things about myself as I’ve sat in my self-imposed isolation wishing for BBQ and dessert…wishing for Aunt Joyce’s dressing…wishing the kids were about….wishing for Thanksgiving celebrations.
I’ve learned I really do like being around my wife, otherwise we would have killed each other by now. I realize the jury is still out from her perspective…and I’ve hidden all of the weapons just to make sure.
After seven months my hair still hasn’t grown long enough to put into a ponytail. It is more of a ragged mullet. MacGyver would not covet it. Could be due to the absence of hair I began with. I am going to keep trying. Maybe I’ll start an “inverted Mohawk” ponytail/mullet movement for hippies in their seventies.
I have learned boredom is no motivation to getting things done. All those jobs that need to be completed, I can’t even get them started. I just let more things go. ..more things that need to be done.
I haven’t even found new and more interesting ways to stay bored. How many reruns of NCIS New Orleans or Star Trek The Next Generation can I watch? Is The Hallmark Channel next?
I’ve found rips to the grocery store to be scary, even double or triple masked up…considering the idiots ignoring masking rules along with the directional arrows. It’s a political statement? Possibly more dangerous than a simultaneous four-way stop or the new traffic circle built next to Wally World in TR. I do have to eat but I’ll never use the traffic circle.
I’ve learned I’m not the hermit I thought I was. I find myself chatting with frogs, snakes, turtles, ground squirrels, and birds…even the little snail that somehow found it’s way onto my shower curtain. I don’t think he is listening. I would talk to my bride but then she might involve me in a conversation where she talks and I listen.
When the wildlife is not around, I talk to myself. Unfortunately, with cold weather ahead, the frogs, turtles, and snakes will be self-isolating and I’ve found I don’t make much sense even to myself. Just ask the snail on the shower curtain…I think I may have talked him to death.
As I contemplate Thanksgiving, if I am fortunate to sit down at an indoor restaurant table again, I will order dessert….maybe two.
If you are throwing caution to the wind and visiting family and friends this 2020 Thanksgiving, first of all, be careful, wear your mask and social distance. It is not a political statement, it is an intelligence statement.
Secondly, eat that extra bowl of banana puddin’ or German Chocolate cake. Put an extra dab of cranberry salad on your turkey sandwich and maybe a wedge of dressing. Enjoy the sweet potato casserole or pumpkin pie. Do it for me but if you have Bourbon pecan cheesecake…don’t tell me, it might break my heart.
Happy Thanksgiving.
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Don Miller writes in a variety of genres. He will release his newest historical novel, Long Ride to Paradise, after Thanksgiving, The tale takes place during the historical period known as Reconstruction.
Don’s authors page can be found at https://www.amazon.com/Don-Miller/e/B018IT38GM?fbclid=IwAR1iraxbHHzYu2km-B4PsMVtsrBn9_NwN3OCmVKqxkn3Kq9qOpHWGOUhW9w.
The image is of Bourbon Pecan Cheesecake and I am drooling. Recipe at www.tastykitchen.com
Ravings of a Mad Southerner 