The complaining started as soon as we sat down to eat. Actually, it started before that, on the fifty-yard walk from the house to the dinner table. Single-file, six feet apart, and masks firmly in place, of course.
“Holy crap is it cold,” our son yelled.
“Why are we eating outside when its twelve degrees?” our daughter asked. That was followed quickly by another inquiry.
“And why is Nana sitting in the inflatable snow globe?”
All reasonable questions, in a reasonable year. But this was Thanksgiving 2020 and we were doing things a little differently.
“Now, we all know why we’re outdoors,” I said, as I led the group to the table at the far corner of the yard “It’s important that we celebrate the holiday safely as a family. All the experts recommend having gatherings outside, if at all possible.”
Our daughter, knowing everything, said, “I don’t think eating in sub-freezing temperatures qualifies as safe.”
Our son was staring at the large inflatable twenty feet away. “I can’t believe you put Nana in the snow globe,” he said, as if it made no sense.
That prompted his sister to rush over and press her face against the heavy duty plastic of the globe like she was at an aquarium exhibit.
“Come on, let’s all sit and eat before the snow rolls in,” I suggested. “We may even have time for some of the outdoor activities I planned, like the scavenger hunt.”
“First one to find fun, let me know,” our daughter said.
The kids and Terri eventually took their places at the table, which was neatly sectioned off in squares marked by masking tape to make sure we maintained social distancing. In between each person was a sheet of plexiglass to ensure we kept our germs to ourselves.
Terri had no sooner sat down when she got up and made a move to come to my end of the table. An example of pre-pandemic behavior that needed to be corrected.
“Whoa, whoa,” I said, “no approaching one another now. Stay apart, let’s allow these thirty mile-per hour gusts do their job and disperse any of those nasty virus particles we may be carrying.”
“I just wanted to ask,” Terri yelled, after she retreated to the other end of the table. “If you really think it’s a good idea to have your mother in the snow globe?”
“Not only a good idea, but a safe idea,” I said.
“What’s that thing she’s eating off of?” our son asked.
“That’s called a tray table,” I said. “It’s from way back in the early days of stuffing your face in front of the television.”
“She looks so sad,” our daughter said.
“Nonsense,” I said, “she’s having a great time in there. It’s a winter wonderland with all the floating snow and the elves. Come on, everyone give her a wave.”
We all waved to Nana tucked safely in her little snow globe, which was plugged in and humming away thanks to an industrial strength extension cord that ran back to the house.
Nana smiled and waved to us, making eye contact with Terri and the kids. When she got to me she gave me a pleasant little smile, and then flipped me the finger. I smiled and waved back, figuring flipping me the bird was all in the spirit of Turkey Day.
“I really have a problem with Nana being confined inside the snow globe,” our daughter said. “What if she runs out of air?”
She was always the most socially conscious of our two kids.
“Yeah, isn’t there some state agency that investigates things like this?” our son said, looking to pile on. “Like the Department of The Old, or something?”
“Now, hold on before we go getting the authorities involved,” I said. “The snow globe is merely a way to keep both Nana, and us safe, and it lets us all enjoy the day together. Remember, she hasn’t been part of our little living pod, so we need to make sure she’s safe and in a hermetically sealed environment. If you have a problem with it, just ask yourself, WWDFD?”
Terri and the kids stared back at me blankly from under their ski caps.
“What Would Dr. Fauci do?” I said.
Terri was shaking her head. “I doubt he would recommend putting an elderly relative in an inflatable snow globe, honey. Or putting anyone in there, really.”
“Yeah,” our daughter said, “and I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t recommend sitting outside freezing our butts off to eat dinner.”
“Look,” I said, “I’m growing a little tired of all the griping. You think the Pilgrims were moaning about eating outside on that first Thanksgiving? I’m sure they were just enjoying themselves and giving thanks for the harvest regardless of the weather. ”
“And they only had outdoor plumbing,” our daughter said, “are we going to try that too?”
“Oh, look, we’re close to the woods,” her brother said, “at least we won’t have a long walk to the bathroom.”
I was able to suppress the uprising, nipping it somewhat in the bud, and we settled in to enjoy our meal. The food had been placed on individual plates just like the experts advised. Each was wrapped in foil and set before each family member.
“Let’s join hands and say grace,” I said, “and give thanks for his wonderful chance to be together.”
That was followed by the sound of thunks as their hands hit the plexiglass barriers.
“Okay, just touch fists against the glass, same thing.”
“I feel like I’m in a visiting room at a prison,” our daughter said.
In addition to being the more socially active of the pair, she was also the most dramatic.
Grace was said and we dug in, or tried to. I saw our son tapping his fork on the cranberry sauce.
“Maybe we can get the ice scrapper for this,” he said. “It’s frozen.”
Terri meanwhile was being a trooper, trying to keep the spirit of the holiday alive from her end of the table. But now she looked alarmed.
“Anyone smell something?” she asked.
The question broke the nice, holiday calm of the meal and now the kids felt the need to get involved.
“The grass is on fire,” daughter said.
“A lawn fire, just like the first Thanksgiving,” son added.
I looked past Terri and saw that indeed there was a small fire, one that was actually quickly growing in size. It appeared the extension cord was on fire. That observation was confirmed a second later by the sight of flames racing along the cord as if it were a line of gasoline.
I bolted from the table, yelling. “Probably nothing. Just a little electrical fire. Keep eating. I’ll get it under control.”
Before I could reach the fire it hit the cord to the snow globe. There were a few zaps, and some sparks and lots of smoke.
“Did the Pilgrims have fireworks too?” someone asked from the table.
I was working double time trying to stomp out the damn conflagration as the flames licked at my heels. All the while being made fun of.
“This must be the entertainment portion of the torture.”
“Kind of a poor man’s Riverdance,” someone said.
I was pretty sure that was Terri. I’d follow up later.
“Dinner theater. Yay!”
Then there was a scream or two, and a loud bang. I believe it was Terri’s voice I heard say, “The snow globe just popped.”
I turned to see great rush of small, fake snowflakes shoot into the air, along with an elf going head over heels, and I heard Nana’s voice.
“Now that’s what I call a superspreader! Where’s the turkey?”
Have A Happy (and Safe) Thanksgiving!