Have Yourself a Very Boostered Christmas

My younger son sent a photo: "Just got my chip implanted!" My older one got his a while back, my daughter needs one but can't get it because she'd not yet eighteen, and there there's ancient me: I'm boostered. I'm jonesing for a fourth . . . or a cure. The holidays are here, those awkward phone calls: "And you got your third shot when? Oh, you didn't? And, uh, shall we all get rapid tests before we come to your house? Oh, you don't think we need to do that? How about we take a walk? Please don't get offended . .  ."

We're doing the right thing, but the right thing feels so wrong. We would rather deck the halls and down the drinks with all our relatives and friends. Instead, the kids and I enjoyed potato dumplings, red cabbage with apple, and duck (for me and the other carnivore) but vegan cordon bleu for the family vegans. It all went down well with a little Prosecco and some red wine. We watched about half of Jurassic Park before falling asleep in front of the TV. I'm just trying to get up the energy to brush my teeth.

Here's my favorite holiday music:

The Hundred-Year-Old Covid Patient

My 100-year-old mother has been dosed, kicking and screaming, with both vaccinations and, five weeks ago, her booster. She doesn't gad about--she can barely walk, and her walks take place between her bedroom and the communal dining area in her extremely well-run, COVID-safe, assisted living community.

But Mom's favorite indoor sport--also her favorite outdoor sport--is ripping off her mask. You should have seen her at her 99th birthday party, which took place on Zoom for me, since no flying was allowed at the time. "Come sit by me!" she kept yelling at various visitors, patting the bench on the outdoor porch beside her, mask dangling by one ear lobe.

"You need to put on your mask!" said the chorus of friendly people administering cake and champagne. I waved, urged the same, and she smiled and said she couldn't hear me. (Nothing new there! That situation has been ongoing since I was born.)

I've been FaceTiming her, thanks to the lovely ladies who care for her, one of whom is now a lot sicker than she is. Mom's coughing and sneezing.

 "Don't open that window! I'm cold!" she yelled at the endlessly patient administrator in full PPE. 

"No, I don't have what's that, COVIS," she calls it, "Just a cold." She's eating well and enjoying the almond butter, hummus and other goodies I send. It's her tenacity that keeps her going. Right now, I'm not feeling at all bad about not visiting.

 P.S. She'd be yelling, "it's a hundred and a half!" and you know what? She'd be absolutely correct. Her absolutely favorite thing to be.