Waiting with John Adams

'Twas the night before the night before Christmas...

In our family today is known as Christmas Adam, from a time long ago when our son, who had just been introduced to the story of Adam and Eve, felt that if Eve got a day before Christmas, than so should Adam, and since Adam was made before Eve, his day should come before hers. The kids made up a song about it, to the tune of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow," but I won't sing it here.

We are waiting, but it's not for Christmas. Christmas has been cancelled this year. We both have the H1N1 flu, and it is lingering and draining. The local kids don't want to come down and risk being sick, so they bowed out a few days ago, over the phone, promising to get together when we are all healthy. The out-of-state kid doesn't want to risk germs either, and his plight was compounded by the impending storm across the midwest that he would have had to fly through to get here. Tonight he was able to cancel his ticket, at a small cost, and he will come out in a few weeks.

Last weekend we didn't celebrate our 39th Anniversary, but it came anyway. The appropriate gift was matching boxes of Kleenex. We waved to each other across the room and toasted ourselves with hot tea and orange juice. Monday we talked about venturing forth for food, but neither of us had the energy. Yesterday my sweetie braved the world to bring back juice, a ham, some yams, and eight dozen roses. The house looks lovely, and we can smell them if we get quite close. We had planned to go out to dinner, but we'll wait for that until next year.

The house is semi-decorated, but that's okay. The tree is up and there are lots of flowers around. The baking had been started, but I won't be going through the neighborhood tomorrow taking cookie platters to friends.

In all our years together, we have never kept Christmas alone. At first there were his parents on Christmas Eve and mine on Christmas Day, then larger family gatherings at our house or my parents or my sister's, but never just the two of us. It's odd to think that we'll do it this year, as a preview to the years when again, kids can't come and we can't go. I'm planning a nice dinner tomorrow night and a good breakfast Friday morning. We usually go to a party after Christmas Eve dinner, but that is off the schedule too, of course.

This flu messes with our eyes, causes them to tear and blur, so that reading is difficult, but we've been dozing through our collection of Christmas movies,
The Holiday, The Last Holiday, Pocket Full of Miracles, 3 Godfathers, We're no Angels, Donovan's Reef. Tomorrow will be Miracle on 42nd Street or The Bishop's Wife. I say "our" collection, but the truth is that I picked these. He watches and sneezes, and snoozes.

All of which brings me to my waiting to get back to my year with David McCullough. It's coming to a close. In the fall of 2008 we greatly enjoyed John Adams, all ten hours of it. An added bonus was an interview with McCullough, upon whose book the film was based. He sounded so charming that I felt I should read his other works, and I have, all except the final and most recent one, John Adams. I had started it and was reading along happily, got through our Revolution and was admiring his handling of the Barbary states, when this stupid flu intervened and put me off track. For several days I've been unable to read the small print of this volume, and I fear that I won't finish before the 31st. But each day my eyes are better, and tomorrow instead of bringing cookies to our friends I'm going to bring out John and see how he deals with those rascals who kidnapped our sailors and then demanded an outrageous payment. I have three hundred pages and eight days.

All sorts of changes coming in the next few days. We're waiting patiently and impatiently for them to unfold.