Happy New Year

We really thought we’d stay up this year and ring in the new year. On the agenda was the Cotton Bowl at 3:30 PM in which out-of-it’s-league Cincinnati did much better than expected against Alabama. Final score: Cincinnati 6; Bama 27. Could have been much worse. Next up, the Peach Bowl at 7:30. My plan went away when Georgia got a touchdown on its opening possession and never looked back. Final score: Georgia 34; Michigan 11. I’d quite by halftime. Grant had wandered off to play his computer game.

We’d eaten my onion tart with a bottle of American sparkling wine during the first game, and Grant’s black eyed pea salad with seltzer during the first quarter of the second. Desert was a shared Kris Kringle cookie (formerly known as Santa’s Winter White) from Gideon’s Bakehouse. Off to our respective corners, me to continue my binge of Episodes, a decade-old sitcom being retired by Netflix on January 4th, and Grant to manage his dragon quest. By 11:00, we were in bed. 

The Town of Windermere does not do firework displays, because I think at least half the citizens set off their own. I heard the occasional bangs throughout the evening, with a couple of barrages 10ish. Eleven o’clock had a few more. By 11:45, it was constant artillery fire, both big bangs and also runs of small firecrackers. Before one area stopped, another began. I expect if we walked over to one of the lakes, we could have seen the lights. Tucked in our bed, I just listened to the explosions; Grant snored away. Twenty minutes after midnight, the constant pounding slowed. Within a few minutes after that, we were down to the odd bang. Happy 2022. 

One wonders what all that noise does to the other creatures around. I’ve been enjoying hearing a pair of great horned owls call back and forth early mornings. An afternoon a few days ago, one perched in our neighbor’s pine tree. I still haven’t gotten the hang of using my scope’s camera attachment, but I did get a picture just by putting my phone up to the eyepiece. 

I had spent the first three days of last week in bed with a fever. What I thought was a cold was probably the flu, since Clara tested positive for flu, negative for Covid. Those people who say Covid is no big deal, it’s just like the flu haven’t had the flu in a while. Twits.

When we’d gotten our Covid booster, the Publix pharmacist offered to throw in a flu shot. No thanks, my shoulder already hurts, one sore arm at a time. We’ll come back. When we did, there was an hour and half wait for walk-ins. Not a problem, we’ll make an appointment online. Except we didn’t. The cost of inertia.

Now Grant was motivated to get a flu shot, since according to Dr. Google, even if he were already exposed, a shot would jumpstart his immune system. He could only find appointments a week away. I was too sick to care. On the morning of the third day, my fever abated, and, lying in bed with my iPad on my chest, I found an opening that day in Mount Dora, a half hour away. To avoid driving that far, he telephoned the nearest CVS and got an appointment at noon. Done. He has a stuffy nose, as do I, but no flu for him. 

We swear this fall, flu shots by October 15th. Our New Year’s resolution.