The plan was to remain together, alone, for Christmas so we could spend New Year’s Eve/Day with Occasional Speeder and family. A fivesome. That way Grandson Zach, who’s been exposed at school throughout December, would then have passed through the longest period possible of self-isolation at home.
But Wednesday’s Ten O’Clock news said otherwise. The oh-so-familiar daily Covid-19 figures were all going the wrong way. Afterwards VR turned to me and I knew what she was going to say. I emailed OS and almost immediately received one in return. Starting: “Ah you beat me to this - I had this conversation earlier with Darren and said…”
One thing about Covid-19 is that nothing surprises you. There’s so much uncertainty that disappointment becomes a chronic condition. How might we mark the now lonesome year’s end? In the past opera DVDs have been our support. But by now we have a huge pile covering all the operas we know and all those we care to experiment with.
I scratched around and came up with Mozart’s Seraglio, Gounod’s Faust, George Benjamin’s Lessons in Love and Violence, and Donizetti's La Fille du Régiment.
And, since OS would be paying us a flying visit to hand over and receive presents that would have been opened on December 31, and was due a late groceries delivery, we tacked on an extra couple of bottles of champagne to her order. That’s six bottles in total for us. Plus Bordeaux and Burgundy of course.
VR and I have had rows since. Nourished by our state of social nothingness. Rows quickly resolved. It’s important not to fall back into cliché. My default reaction. A cousin died two weeks ago; I wrote to his widow, careful to avoid that lumbering horror “condolence”. In these times language demands great attention.