A SHOT IN THE ARM

Christmas 2020 marks the end of the year from hell.  An annus horribilis, as Queen Elizabeth defined her challenging Royal patch. 

Think back: where were you last year, right now? 

Mr. Wonderful and I were packing 22 years of happy living into cardboard cartons, preparing a move to the Wells woods. Tarnished golf trophies from the 1990s, my mother’s 200-piece commemorative cranberry glass collection, a hefty pile of Lee Childs and Clive Cussler novels — we packed them with joyful abandon. Hopes were rosy, a two-month Florida vacay was scheduled, our world was delectable as a Pemaquid oyster

Three months later, kaboom. A frantic race up I-95 from Florida to home. Then, quarantines, lock-downs, N95 masks, social distancing, zooming, isolation, elbow bumps, virtual learning, daily Amazon deliveries, toilet paper famines, Purell by the gallon, no Purell at all. No cheering a granddaughter’s basketball game or getting misty-eyed at a grandson’s high school graduation. No hugging the Jersey Boys in their sweaty flag football uniforms. The Visa bill shrank, Netflix viewing rose.

Any onset of the sniffles or tiny achoo triggered complete panic of a COVID diagnosis. With Maine’s fewer cases, we relaxed. Then my brother’s family, and my sister’s, got IT. No hospitalizations, but long tough recoveries.

A presidential election that didn’t end. A Thanksgiving feast for a table of six, not the normal crew of 20-plus Hogan party animals swizzling the Veuve. It’s been a long siege but….

…..there’s hope on the horizon. 

A shot in the arm. That term was first used in America in 1916 when, during that other pandemic, it became a metaphor for the rejuvenating effect after an injection of vitamins, narcotics or other drugs. Here we are now, on the brink of mass inoculation for COVID-19. A shot in the arm for America.

This holiday season is a shot in the arm. The music, the presents, the cookies, the anticipation! As one of my favorite writers, Joyce Butler, said, “If only we could distill Christmas. If only we could bring its richness down and gain its essence.  If only we could savor Christmas as we can savor a fine wine. Thinking carefully, I realize that of course we can. We savor Christmas through our memories.”

Hearing “Silver Bells” and remembering it was my mother’s favorite holiday song. Recalling the late 1940s when, after a half year of Brownie Wish Circles, Santa brought me a dollhouse filled with tiny furniture. Hearing from Anne in California that she still serves dinner on the red and green placemats I sewed for her four decades ago. Reading the recipe Daisy sent me from Florida for eggnog, AKA “heart attack in a glass,” a mere sip of which puts me right back in their living room on a festive Christmas day. 

A shot in the arm is defined as “an encouraging stimulus.” Could it be that folks in Washington, D.C. will finally approve a comprehensive bill that gives a shot in the arm to our economy and to small business owners? One can only hope.

Here’s to a shot in the arm for you of happiness and health, peace and prosperity, love and laughter.  2021 is only days away. Bring it on!

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This Wanderer is settling in for a long Christmas nap. I’ll be back in your email in a few weeks.