But our secure little pods developed leaks whenever our adult children had responsibilities that exposed them to risk. A daughter who’s a lawyer spent days in hearings at the courthouse where someone was infected. Eliza’s mom, a pastor, is back at church, singing with her congregation. One son, who’s an EMT, now swabs suspected Covid patients at an urgent care center.
Now, as I string Thanksgiving garlands across the mantle and pull the straw pilgrims out of their boxes, I face the depressing reality that no one else will be in our home for the holidays. By Thanksgiving, our Covid bubble will have popped.
Even when it worked, when small pods of us had our groceries delivered and worked from home, the waltzing in and out of each other’s bubbles created stress. When does a leak require a confession?
“Your nanny goes to the college with the Covid outbreak?”