 My digital nomad friends Lindsay and Ross have held online jobs and lived all over the world since 2008. After the earthquake last Saturday night, as soon as the couch stopped shaking, I turned to Rich and said, “So it’s true. Mother Earth really is trying to kill us.” It wasn’t Her best effort; a mere 4.2 on the Richter scale, just enough to startle. By the time I realized it might be wise to dive under the furniture, it was all over. The previous quake, which struck on December 31st — a little parting gift from our old pal, 2020 — was even weaker, but with the epicenter just a few miles away, that one bounced me like a trampoline. Ah, the joys of living in California.  Like all California kids, I grew up preparing for earthquakes. It’s been pretty wild around here lately, but with the state’s Covid numbers (finally!) dropping a bit and vaccines on the way (yes, they are!), there’s room for optimism. For months, those vaccines were like Bigfoot — the stuff of legend without any reliable sightings. Now a few people I know have received their shots, including someone who joined a high-priced concierge medical service to get one, and a veteran who's flying to a military base that's doing inoculations. “Do we have to up our game?” I say to Rich whenever we hear such stories. “Bribe or hustle our way into line?” I don’t mind waiting behind nursing home residents and essential workers but hate to be outdone by the rich and crafty.  Pharmacies are inundated with requests for information, tests, and vaccines they don't have. “I think things are about to get better,” Rich said yesterday, and sent me the NY Times story, “Biden’s Covid-19 Plan Is Maddeningly Obvious.” The real shocker, says the article, is that these no-brainer solutions weren’t in place months ago: “Loosen the restrictions on who can get vaccinated (and when). Set up many more sites where vaccinations can take place. Mobilize more medical personnel to deliver the vaccinations. And use the might of the federal government to increase the vaccine supply by manufacturing whatever is needed, whenever it is needed, to accelerate the effort.” Amen to all that! The plan calls for FEMA to set up vaccination sites in gyms, sports stadiums, community centers, and mobile units. “They’re evaluating how to eke out more doses from the existing supply — there is, for instance, a particular syringe that will get you six doses out of a given quantity of Pfizer’s vaccine rather than five, and they are looking at whether the Defense Production Act could accelerate production of that particular syringe and other, similarly useful goods.” Reading those plans gave me a first flicker of hope that we might actually be on the verge of moving past this phase of our lives into a — dare I say it? — post-pandemic world.  What will it be like the day we finally put away our masks for good? Photo by Getty Naturally everyone’s speculating madly about what the future will look like, and the only thing they all agree on is that we won't return to pre-Covid normal. For a start, many of the 100 million Americans now working from home will keep doing so in 2021, possibly forever. And that, my friends, is the sound of opportunity knocking. As many of my expat pals have learned, working remotely means you can live anywhere, moving on whenever you’re ready for a change of scenery. For those fed up with staring at the same four walls and the same old view out the window, that’s a heady idea. Just think about becoming a digital nomad, working remotely in another part of the US. Or even more excitingly, doing your job from abroad, which just got a lot easier thanks to new digital nomad visas designed to attract working visitors as soon as travel restrictions are lifted. “Portugal, as of February 1st, 2021 will take the most significant leap yet, with the islands of Madeira embracing nomads with their very own village,” observes travel writer Gilbert Ott. “Ponta Do Sol will become the first pilot project village aiming to create a symbiotic relationship between locals and digital nomads, who are actively being encouraged to visit.” Before you start downloading Portuguese language tapes, take a moment to consider some of the other places waiting with open arms. I’ve compiled a list (you’ll find it below), but before we get to that, let me fill you in on how it works. The digital nomad idea became practical around 2008, when advances in internet and cell phone services made it possible to interact seamlessly with clients and employers thousands of miles away. That’s when my friends Lindsay and Ross, Americans working in Seville, found online jobs through Craigslist and decided to make their home in the larger world. “We threw all the chips in and bet everything on this decision,” Ross told me. They reduced their entire worldly goods to two suitcases, a small roll-aboard, a backpack, Ross’s guitar, and their dog, Rocky. Strict travel protocols were developed; if one of them bought a t-shirt, they had to get rid of t-shirt; no extras allowed. Like most young couples, they lived in modest rented apartments and worked hard five days a week. But when they walked outside after hours, they were always someplace new and exciting. “It’s really not a question of why we do it,” said Lindsay. “It’s more a question of why doesn’t everyone do it?” This year we’re seeing another giant leap forward in the digital nomad lifestyle. Until now, most traveled under tourist visas, which usually limit the stay to 90 days and prohibit working. But now (drumroll, please!) more than a dozen countries are offering some version of digital nomad visas, which allow you to stay a year or more while you continue doing your job from, say, an apartment in Greece or beach house Costa Rica. The amount of paperwork varies considerably, as does the application fee, which can be a modest $100 or run as high as $2000 for an individual, $3000 for a family. In some cases, you may be asked to demonstrate you’re actually employed or a business owner, not just a vacationer looking for excellent wifi and other perks— such as the access to healthcare, telecom, utilities, and all the other benefits offered by Dubai. So what countries offer some version of the digital nomad visa? Barbados Bermuda Cayman Islands Costa Rica Czech Republic Dubai Estonia Germany Greece Mexico Norway Portugal Republic of Georgia Rich and I have visited most of these countries, and there's no question they can be a lot of fun. Sensibly, most countries won’t allow Americans to enter until we get our pandemic numbers under control. But hey, that just means you have sufficient time to consider whether the digital nomad lifestyle is for you. Not up for living abroad? If you’re working remotely, retired, or otherwise untethered to a specific geographic area, this may be the year to explore new horizons nearer home. A recent study showed that when you’re on the fence about a major life decision, choosing to make a change is overwhelming more satisfying than clinging to the status quo. Actress Goldie Hawn said, “We have to embrace obstacles to reach the next stage of joy.” I think we’ve all embraced more than our fair share of obstacles lately. Is it finally time to think about getting out there — whenever it's safe — and embracing a little joy?  Erge and Martin, our Airbnb hosts in Tallinn, Estonia, filled our time there with joy and laughter. YOU MIGHT ALSO ENJOY
This post is part of my ongoing series of articles on surviving the pandemic and (if we're lucky) beginning the transition to a post-Covid world. Each week I provide tips, strategies, comfort food recipes, and reasons for hope. Sign up HERE to get free stories in your inbox each week. Feel free to share this Digital Nomad Visas post with family and friends. https://www.enjoylivingabroad.com/my-blog/working-remotely-why-not-do-it-overseas-with-one-of-the-new-digital-nomad-visas
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 Lenny was just a house pet until, like so many of us, he got into cooking during quarantine. OK, 2021, the hour of reckoning has come. Yes, already! You can't deny we performed all the proper rituals — red underwear, grapes, buckets of water out the door, 360 million glasses of champaign in the US alone. Frankly, we gave you the most enthusiastic welcome of any year in the history of time. What did we ask in return? Just a little relief from the chaos and madness of past twelve months. But no, you couldn’t resist the opportunity to outdo 2020. You just had to start off the very first week with an insurrection designed to derail American democracy. What’s next? No, don’t tell me. I’m not sure my nerves can take it. So much for my foolish notion that 2021 would be better than its predecessor. I was preparing to write this year off as a total washout (why wait until the last minute?) but then I paused to reflect on some inspiring stories that have already come out of it. Stories of those who are finding ways to stay engaged in the world in spite of everything. For instance, I’m still basking in the sheer delight of my latest discovery: a lizard (specifically a bearded dragon) who has published his own cookbook, Chef Lenny: Cooking for Humans. True story; I couldn’t make this stuff up. “It was my quarantine project,” says Valerie Musser, Lenny’s owner, ghost writer, and publicist. When her catering business was derailed by the pandemic, she began writing a long-postponed cookbook and amused herself posting Instagram photos of Lenny in a miniature chef’s hat she found on Etsy. “He actually loves wearing hats and posing for photos, so I started making miniature food for him to show off with.” Moreover, Lenny has a classic chef’s temperament. “He is very pretentious. His body language is kind of crazy, he wants what he wants, he’s very demanding and he’s kind of a snob about food, very fussy, so this project fits him very well.” Lenny isn’t the only unexpected new celebrity. Fans of fungi will be pleased to know the once-humble mushroom has had series of makeovers and is now popping up everywhere. Adidas’ line of “vegan footwear” includes sneakers made of “mushroom-based leather” derived from the fast-growing roots known as mycelium. A Stanford designer is growing mushrooms on a diet of sawdust and using their mycelium to make bricks that are said to be “stronger than concrete.” And never worry that demand will outstrip the supply, because a Dutch inventor has created a coffin that turns bodies into mushrooms. It takes just a single week to create a “living cocoon” by growing mycelium around a box-shaped frame with an open bottom. When the time comes, you just lay your loved one to rest inside, and he or she will spend the next few years decomposing gracefully back into the earth, adding nutrients to the soil. Not surprisingly, getting this product to market will require overcoming some serious legal hurdles and the creepiness factor. If only Tales from the Crypt was still around to serve as the sponsor. In the constellation of new superstars, perhaps the most astounding virtuoso is Secret, a young Australian shepherd who’s become an adept practitioner of doga, or dog yoga. When not mastering complex asanas (yoga poses), Secret enjoys spending time with his human, Mary Peters, painting, doing housework, and learning CPR. Another creature-human relationship that’s taken the quarantined world by storm is the heartwarming platonic romance between Craig Foster and a female octopus living in the kelp forest of South Africa’s Cape of Storms. “What Charlotte’s Web did in the popular imagination for the humble, much-maligned barn spider, My Octopus Teacher sets out to achieve for the eight-limbed mollusc of its title,” says Variety in a review titled “An Eight-Legged Freak Becomes a Friend in Netflix’s Gorgeous Hit Nature Doc.” The film is sensitive, intelligent, and mind-expanding, so naturally somebody had to do a goofy parody. Filmmakers rose to the challenge with My Kreepy Teacher, the story of a man bonding with his Kreepy Krauly-brand pool cleaner.  Can you tell which is the real octopus and which is the pool cleaner? With the possible exception of the dog Secret, relationships with members of other species (let alone inanimate objects like the Kreepy Krauly pool cleaner) are severely limited by physical, verbal, and social differences. Despite all its complications, we are hard wired to need human companionship. During a recent Zoom call, my sister Kate remarked that on top of everything else, we hardly ever get to meet new people these days. She’s right. Except for brief encounters with neighbors and sales clerks, I rarely speak to anyone who isn’t a relative or long-time friend. That got me thinking: How can we connect up — safely, online — with new people, preferably in a lively interactive format? One of the best ways is via Meetup, an online organizer started by New Yorkers in the wake of 9/11, when encounters with neighbors gave them a fresh appreciation of the value of human connection in dark times. It costs nothing to join; you just sign up with any group that looks interesting (like the drive-in movie group I belong to) and they send you notices of events. Nowadays everything is tailored to helping us through the pandemic, with categories such as Learn New Skills, Live Mindfully, Deepen Your Tech Knowledge, and Make Lasting Connections. There are also 3,700 board game groups and 2,500 card game groups where you can play with locals or people around the world. But what really caught my eye was Meetup’s 5,382 book clubs.  If none of these book clubs appeals, you can always check the website of your public library and local book stores, many of which host monthly online book discussions. It’s fun to think about joining one of the giants, such as the London Philosophy Club or Dharma Drink: the Hangout for Buddhists (& like minded) in New York, each of which has about 10,000 members. No doubt they break out into smaller discussion subgroups, but even so, I’d feel lost in a crowd that large. You can find smaller book clubs on Meetup or through your local public library or book store. Before joining any group, be sure to find out if they read the kind of stuff you actually like. Years ago I was flattered by an invitation to join a highbrow literary book club, where I floundered through pedantic discussions of classics I admired but didn’t enjoy one bit. As you can imagine, I hightailed it out of there as soon as possible and joined a different book club. We humans are social creatures. Our survival as individuals and as a species has always depended upon connection and cooperation. These days few of us are called upon to help the neighbors hunt a mastodon or raise a barn, but even when we’re simply partnering in a game of online Monopoly, we’re making a vital contribution to the community. Everyone needs a sense of support, the warmth of laughter, and some reassurance that we are not alone in this time of crisis. “Love and compassion,” says the Dalai Lama, “are necessities, not luxuries. Without them, humanity cannot survive.” That’s never been truer than in 2021. DEAR READERS I write these posts to contribute a little cheeriness to the general conversation, in hopes it will help us all get through these troubling times with a bit more grace and comfort. Please feel free to pass on the link to your family, friends, Zoom acquaintances, and book clubs. All are welcome here. https://www.enjoylivingabroad.com/my-blog/lets-not-give-up-on-2021-just-yet And before I close, I can't resist including one more small delight to brighten these dark days: an astonishing 3D animation from Le Petit Chef, a small country restaurant northeast of Paris. They project it onto your table while you’re waiting for dessert. Bon appétit! YOU MIGHT ALSO ENJOY
This post is part of my ongoing series of articles on surviving the pandemic while holding on to some shreds of our sanity and sense of humor, however weird things get. Sign up HERE to get free stories in your inbox each week.  Sheltering in place, many of us are finding solace in old-fashioned pastimes we have around the house. Photo by the Saint Paul Winter Carnival Puzzle Contest I no longer make New Year’s resolutions — which only 8% of people keep anyway — but this time around I’m making an exception. And I’m serious. No matter how desperate I am for something new to watch, I will not stream the movie Songbird. Haven’t heard of it? Here’s the premise: It’s the 213th week of pandemic lockdown from Covid-23. I know, right? It’s beginning to feel like that already. But wait, there’s more. A hundred and ten million people are dead, officials can test you remotely, and if you resist going to one of the squalid quarantine camps, they shoot you on sight. Being an optimist, I watched the trailer and said to Rich, “See? We don’t have it so bad!” Rotten Tomatoes gave Songbird a single star and called it “an appalling melange of insipid disaster drama and implausible romance with a bit of dystopian satire thrown in. This is a crass cash-in meant to prey on our pandemic anxieties, not grapple with them.” Yikes! So I’ve already found one thing to make me happier in 2021: avoiding Songbird. Whew! I feel I’m making progress already and we’re only a week into the year. I’m also determined to avoid impulse-buying unnecessary stuff — a pastime that gave 2020 yet another nickname: The Year of Buyer’s Remorse. Apparently panic-stockpiling toilet paper was merely the warm up; many people are now stuck with clothes they can’t wear, electronics they don’t need, even houses they can’t stand.  At a time when thousands of businesses are cutting back and going under, Amazon expanded its work force to more than 1 million people to meet the demand for online shopping. Paula Gillespie, for instance, was aghast when her husband surprised her with a camper. “The thing is too big for his truck and dangerous, and I absolutely refuse to go anywhere with it due to the dangers of it,” she said. The camper now sits idle near the fishing boat her husband bought, despite the fact they live nowhere near a boat-worthy body of water. Maureen Rashidifard’s pandemic splurges include a resistance-training apparatus, a sewing machine, a TV with a DVD player, roller skates, and a program designed to teach her kids every language on the planet. So far, nobody in the family has buffed up or learned Mandarin. As for the skates, “I fell so hard that my hat flew off my head,” she said. “I had to walk home in my socks carrying my skates, and I haven’t touched them since.”  Shopping releases dopamine, the neurotransmitter which controls pleasure inside the human brain. The pleasure is stronger during the anticipation phase than it is when you actually receive your purchase. One of the hottest commodities? Puppies, especially the easy-care, ultra-adorable breeds that make you want to spend the rest of the pandemic snuggling on the couch with your new best friend. Sales of goldendoodles — a mix of good-natured golden retriever and low-shedding poodle — are reportedly up 700%, despite the fact that top breeders charge $4000 a pup. City folks reluctant to hit the streets on a schedule suitable for a puppy’s bladder have generated a 200% rise in the demand for doggie diapers. Rich and I have resisted impulse-buying any pets, as we know it’s impractical given our plans to return to Spain when all the stars finally align. But I have to admit feeling puppy envy when I talk to my sister Kate, who recently adopted a miniature Australian shepherd. It’s her second of the breed, and while the first was a mild-mannered Clark Kent-type, this one’s a superdog called Bear who’s bursting with energy and creative ideas for enlivening lockdown.  “Why no, Dad, I haven’t seen your avocado toast. Why do you ask?” Photo by Kate Harding Speaking of food, another thing I’ll be avoiding is restaurant dining. Luckily I love to cook, especially on Sundays. In Spain, that's when families gather for late, long, leisurely lunches, and early in the pandemic, Rich and I decided to maintain this satisfying European tradition. We devote Sundays to rest and relaxation (no writing posts, jumping on the stair stepper, or even taking long hikes) so we have plenty of time to experiment with new dishes. I find I do my best work to Dean Martin singing “That’s Amore,” “Volare,” and “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head” (which I’ve nominated for the pandemic’s theme song). Thanks to Dean, I was inspired to kick off 2021 with an Italian dish: Potato and White Bean Puttanesca Soup.  This easy, heartwarming dish [see recipe here] is enlivened by a topping of capers, Kalamata olives, and fresh parsley. The recipe, now enshrined in our permanent collection, is the first — and apparently last — to be clipped from an actual copy of the NY Times. A month ago we subscribed to the Sunday edition, seeking a pastime that had the novelty of not including a screen. Week after week we received a flurry of apologies instead of the paper. Only once did a copy materialize at the end of our driveway; I can only assume there was a substitute delivery person who didn’t get the memo about the circulation department's mysterious vendetta against us. We're now resigned to the fact that subscribing to the Times is yet another activity we are destined to forego this year. Fortunately, we found an alternative pastime in the latest craze: jigsaw puzzles. Sales are booming during lockdown. “The surge in demand,” CNBC reported, “is comparable to demand during the Great Depression, according to one puzzle historian.” So puzzle historians are a thing now? Who knew? Most of the time, I find puzzles soothing and absorbing. Only rarely do I fling up my hands, exclaiming, “This one’s incomplete! Defective! There is no corner piece with a dog’s — oh wait, here it is.” Afterwards, disassembly requires the kind of spiritual strength Buddhist monks display in destroying their sand mandalas immediately upon completion. “You know the cabin puzzle we just completed?” Rich remarked at breakfast this morning. “I just saw it on Etsy, assembled and framed, for $400.” “Seriously? People buy one and — what? Pretend they did it themselves?” Hmmm, I thought. This could be a great little cottage industry for us. But then I recalled the article “How to be Happier in 2021: Toss Out Your Usual List of New Year’s Resolutions, Says Study.” Scientists pointed out that most resolutions are essentially selfish (get skinnier, richer, more productive); their research showed happiness most often arrives as a byproduct of helping others. Evidently Rich was thinking along the same lines. “I know!” he said. “When we finish, we’ll disassemble the puzzles and send them to friends as a surprise gift. Everyone’s looking for cheerful pastimes these days.” Genius! So in addition to not watching Songbird, buying skates, adopting a puppy, or reading the NY Times in hard copy, we’re won’t be hoarding puzzles. Instead, we’ll set them free to entertain other families who need a break from screen time, politics, and pandemic headlines. The payoff will be a feel-good moment each time we drop one off at the post office. We’ll know that what we’re sending forth is not just a puzzle, but a message of comfort and fellowship in dark times. Now that’s a New Year’s resolution I can get behind. What are you hoping to avoid in 2021? What new pastimes are you embracing? Please let me know in the comments section below. [See Potato and White Bean Puttanesca Soup recipe here] YOU MIGHT ALSO ENJOY
This post is part of my ongoing series of articles on surviving the pandemic while holding on to some shreds of our sanity and sense of humor, however weird things get. Sign up HERE to get free stories in your inbox each week.  Who could have predicted we'd be spending our 34th wedding anniversary sheltering in place during a pandemic? We dressed up, drank champagne, danced, and talked about happiness. In a non-pandemic year (remember those?), I often skip New Year’s Eve. By the time I’ve partied my way through Halloween, Thanksgiving, Winter Solstice, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and our wedding anniversary (December 27th, 34 years ago), I’m usually longing for a night in with my feet up. But not this year. I am staying vigilant until the very last second of 2020. If this year has some sneaky surprise horror ending planned, at least it won’t catch me unawares. And even if 2020 meekly lies down in its coffin, I want to bear witness as the universe drives a stake through its heart and slams the lid on it forever. Then I intend to dance on its grave singing “Ding Dong the Witch is Dead.” Satisfying as all that may be, the main purpose of New Year’s Eve is to arrange for better luck in the year ahead. It’s the time to lay down some ground rules and let 2021 know, right from the start, that we expect better treatment than we had from its predecessor. Fortunately, public spirited citizens have spent thousands of years working out ways to make the future rosier — and passed their wisdom on to us. For years I’ve followed three luck-enhancing strategies and am researching others to see if I can up my game.  In Spain and Italy, wearing red undergarments on New Year's Eve is said to bring good luck, especially in your love life. Naturally everybody wants to get in on that! When Rich and I moved to Spain, we soon learned that absolutely everyone wears their lucky bragas rojas (red undergarments) on New Year’s Eve. In the excitement of last year’s celebrations I forgot to put mine on and have worried ever since that 2020 was entirely my fault. If so, sorry about that, folks! I’ve certainly learned my lesson. I’m hoping you, my readers, will help balance the cosmic scales by donning your own bragas rojas on December 31st. Don’t worry, you’re not expected to reveal the jolly undies to anybody. Unless you happen to live in the tiny town of La Font de la Figuera near Valencia, where it’s customary to strip down to your scarlets and run through streets lined with cheering neighbors. I was considering introducing this custom here in San Anselmo, California, but Rich — who is usually game for any lark — pointed out that spending New Year’s Eve in jail for indecent exposure would hardly start the year off on the right foot.  Kids, don't try this unless you happen to live in La Font de la Figuera, Spain. Another Spanish custom I love is las doce uvas de la buena suerte, the twelve grapes of good luck. As the clock strikes midnight, you pop a grape into your mouth at each chime of the clock. Insider tip: grapes are remarkably hard to swallow that fast, so peel them, buy very small ones, or get the canned variety soaked in juice. And whatever you do, swallow all twelve. “I was in England one year,” a Spanish friend told me. “And dropped one of the grapes in a public square. It rolled away and I raced after it, grabbed it, and ate it, to the horror of my friends. But hey, who cares about hygiene when your luck is at stake?” I was aghast when I first heard this story, but after 2020, I see her point.  The store-bought grapes are a lot easier to swallow in time with the clock chiming midnight. Washing them down with champagne helps, too. As soon as I finish my grapes, I’ll be tossing a bucket of water out the front door. This satisfying custom, which originated in Mexico, Cuba, or Puerto Rico (depending on whose account you believe), evicts any negative energy that might be lingering about the house. Ideally you carry the bucket from room to room to collect all the bad juju, then you pitch the water out a window or the front door. For extra good luck avoid dumping it on any passing pets or pedestrians.  New Year's in Montevideo, Uruguay. Photo by El Mundo Lately I’ve been on the lookout for other good-luck rituals. But like running down San Anselmo Avenue in my underwear, few seem really practical. For instance, there’s “first footer,” popular in Great Britain and elsewhere, which claims it’s auspicious to have a dark-haired male as your first visitor in the new year. Now that I’m sheltering in place, who am I going to get — the UPS guy? The Danes banish evil spirits by smashing old plates against the front doors of friends and relatives; the bigger your pile of crockery shards, the more fortune will smile on you. But somehow I don’t feel my neighbors would take this in the warm-hearted, fun-loving spirit intended. Nor would they (or the hyper-vigilant fire department two blocks away) appreciate me torching effigies of my enemies in the back yard, as is common in Ecuador and Panama. A friend of mine came up with a good alternative: he bought a piñata of a politician who will soon be leaving office, cut off its head, beat it with a stick, and drove his car over it. Twice. Will that bring him luck? Who knows? But he said it felt terrific at the time. Every country and culture has its own traditions, and while we can scoff at them as superstition and tomfoolery, I believe it’s fun (and wise) to do our bit to entice Lady Luck back into our lives. We’ve certainly missed her this past year. What will 2021 look like? Speculation ranges from more of the same (which will certainly be true for a while) or a return to life as we once knew it (a lovely fantasy). The truth is, the world has changed too much to bounce back to the old normal, and so have we. And that’s not all bad; some parts of 2020 are worth carrying forward. (Yes, they are!) For instance, many of us have found inner strength, resilience, and creativity we never knew we had. Just look at all the people who have learned how to bake sourdough bread (yes, I’m thinking of you, Phil), play the ukulele (I know at least three), or master the intricacies of Zoom (too many of you to count). Rich is taking an online course called The Science of Happiness offered by the Greater Good Science Center at the University of California, Berkeley; it’s free if you don’t want a diploma. You’ll be hearing a lot more about it when he finishes the course, but asked what he’s learned so far he said, “Happiness isn’t about you; it’s much larger than that. It’s about social connections, kindness, and community. You can’t pursue happiness, but when you pursue opportunities to serve others, happiness is often a by-product.” As one recent study discovered, “Helping others can help you feel better during the pandemic.” This video gives an idea what the happiness course is about. Even if we pull out all the stops with grapes, buckets of water, and red undies, the year ahead is filled with uncertainties. Have we learned the survival lessons that will enable us to make good decisions (and good sourdough) next year? Can the vaccines vanquish this nasty virus? Will the happiness course make Rich happier? I can’t answer those questions, but I can tell you one thing for sure. It is going to feel wonderful to say, “Adios 2020!”  This post is part of my ongoing series of articles on surviving the pandemic while holding on to some shreds of our sanity and sense of humor, however weird things get. Sign up HERE to get free stories in your inbox each week. YOU MIGHT ALSO ENJOY  On a recent White Christmas-themed date night, Rich and I added snowflakes to the windows, drank eggnog, and constructed tin foil hats for an upcoming Festivus Zoom gathering. Yes, even in 2020 we're still party animals. When Ernest Hemmingway was writing A Farewell to Arms, he asked F. Scott Fitzgerald to critique the manuscript. Fitzgerald’s thoughtful, nuanced analysis ran for ten pages and suggested changing the ending. Hemingway’s reply? A succinct, “Kiss my ass.” This story appeared in my horoscope this week, followed by, “I suggest a different approach for you, Libra. In my view, now is a good time to solicit feedback and mirroring from trusted allies. What do they think about the current state of your life and work?” So now’s your chance, trusted allies. If there’s anything you’d like me to write more about in this blog (comfort food recipes, pandemic survival tips, Rich wielding power tools and duct tape) or discuss less (see previous list), please let me know in the comments section below. Unlike Hemingway, I actually like suggestions. Sometimes I even follow them.  Hemingway loved cats for their "absolute emotional honesty" and always shared with his felines the sugar mouse from his Christmas stocking. Apparently this one liked wine with her mouse. OK, now that I’ve dealt with my astrological karma, let me ask you another question: Have you seen the headlines announcing that due to Covid-19 “Christmas is Cancelled”? The fringe media even calls Dr. Fauci “the Grinch Who Stole Christmas.” To these scurrilous statements I say, “Poppycock, hogwash, and codswallop!” The fact is, nobody can steal or cancel a holiday. Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, pagan Yule, Hogmanay, and every other red-letter day on the calendar will roll around precisely on schedule, just as surely as the shortest day of the year will show up on December 21st, no matter what. The only thing changing is how we celebrate our holidays. But then, doesn’t it always? In prehistoric times, the shortest, darkest, coldest days of the year found our ancestors huddling together around a flame to keep alive the hope of surviving to see another spring. By Roman times, they’d figured out that when the night was dark and full of terrors, alcohol helped, and lo! the drunken revels known as Bacchanalia were born. “Morality and restraint were politely shown the back door, schools were closed, no criminals were punished,” reports the Independent. “Slaves were allowed to swap places with their masters, and one was elected king for the duration of the festival. The wealthy distributed gifts to the poor.” If you’ve ever attended an office holiday party, you can probably relate to the vibe.  Nobody parties like the ancient Romans. In the old Norse tradition, a massive Yule log was dragged into the fireplace, often with one end sticking out into the room; as it burned, you kept shoving it further in. You had to light it using a scrap of last year's log, and if it didn't catch on the first try or went out during the next twelve days, bad luck was sure to follow. Anyone whose fire-lit shadow appeared to be headless knew they had a date with the grim reaper. Many restless ghosts roamed the earth during the longest nights of the year, giving rise to Dickens’ famous story, A Christmas Carol, and the legend of Santa Claus. The fat man in the red suit was originally Saint Nicholas, who wanted to help three impoverished girls at risk of being forced into prostitution. He dropped three gold coins down the chimney, where they landed in the girls’ stockings drying on the hearth.  St. Nicholas was a 4th century bishop of the Eastern Orthodox Church and a man of color; his sidekick was an African Muslim. By the 1870s he was depicted as a white guy, and American cartoonist Thomas Nast gave him the red suit (long before he became a mascot for the Coca-Cola company in the 1920s). Photo: The Temple Gallery My point is: the holidays we celebrate, and the shape those celebrations take, are constantly evolving. If you have any doubt about that, just look at the carols we're singing this year. Some of the language and images in that song hark back more to the Bacchanalian revels than to the sanitized version of the holidays familiar to us from Hallmark cards and Hollywood movies. And that’s appropriate; we live in edgier times. But one thing hasn’t changed: the need to reach out to family and friends, sharing comfort and joy, if only through the magic of Zoom. Rich and I spend a lot of time Zooming these days. Last night we gathered online with Rich’s old Navy buddies to celebrate Festivus. I always thought this holiday was invented by the staff of Seinfeld, but I’ve now learned it was Readers Digest editor Daniel O’Keefe who dreamed it up in 1966 to commemorate his first date with his wife. Thirty years later his son, a writer on Sinefeld, gave the world “Festivus for the rest of us.” In addition to the traditional aluminum pole, feats of strength, and airing of grievances, our celebration included donning festive hats. My Festivus grievances were ready, too. A few days ago, we Zoomed with American friends in New Zealand, who told us how the Kiwis approached the pandemic. Within a month of the first reported Covid case in the country, all borders, ports, and airports were closed, and by March 25 there was a strict nationwide lockdown. Cases dwindled, restrictions were eased, and by June 8 life returned to normal except for border controls. That’s right, the pandemic has been over for six months in New Zealand. “We live normally,” our pals explained. “And except for the tourist sector, the economy has completely rebounded.” In that nation of 4,822,233 people, there have been 2096 cases of Covid and 25 deaths. At first I was in awe, and then the outrage hit me. Stopping Covid in its tracks was no pipe dream; New Zealand accomplished it six months ago. Here in America, we had the same scientific data, and far greater resources at our disposal; what we lacked was the political will. By May 27 we’d lost 100,000 people to the virus; just this Monday the death toll passed 300,000, and still there’s no coherent national plan. We’ve suffered 200,000 needless, preventable coronavirus deaths, and another American dies of the virus every 36 seconds, when we could — should! — all be living in a post-pandemic society with a healthy economy.  Remember when we could do this? If we were New Zealanders, we'd have spent the last six months living a normal, Covid-free life. Photo by New Zealand Trails. “You might want to tone down your grievance a bit during the Festivus Zoom call,” Rich warned me, after I’d ranted on about this for days. “Don’t want to frighten the horses.” He was right. I put on my tin foil Santa hat, took a few deep breaths, and counted my blessings. Like the debt of gratitude we owe past generations. Our primitive ancestors taught us to keep the flame of hope burning through the longest nights. The Romans showed us how to raise a glass instead of cursing the darkness. And Santa may have stopped dropping gold coins in our stockings, but he does stuff them with chocolate, which helps enormously. One of my favorite blessings? The community of my readers. You guys make me laugh, cry, think, and find strength to go on. Your thoughtful comments help me shape the direction of this blog (so send feedback below). You’ll no doubt be too busy with Bacchanalian revels to do much reading, so I won't be posting next week. Rich joins me in wishing you all a splendiferous [insert name of holiday here] as we stagger to the end (yay!) of 2020 (whew!).  OK, this may be taking PPE a bit too far. Photo by Getty Images ENJOY THE HOLIDAYS, MY FRIENDS! STAY SAFE, BE MERRY, AND HOPE 2021 IS A BETTER YEAR (ADMITTEDLY, A LOW BAR). This post is part of my ongoing series of articles on surviving the pandemic while holding on to some shreds of our sanity and sense of humor, however weird things get. Sign up HERE to get free stories in your inbox each week.  Navigating the holidays requires every bit of wit, grit, and gumption we've got. Take shopping, for instance. Fun at first, it quickly degenerates into a morass of doubts: “Is this enough? Too much? Did I give this to them last year? Did they give one just like it to me?” When David Niven was an impoverished young actor, he and his roommate, Errol Flynn, solved the affordability problem by re-gifting things that arrived for them. Until one unfortunate day Niven sent off a lovely leather wallet to the very person who’d sent it to him; he might have tried to pass it off as coincidence except the guy had had Niven’s initials embossed on it. Oops! On another occasion, Niven bought a gorgeous set of handkerchiefs for a young lady he was romancing, and she gave him a car. You just can’t win at the gift game. Juggling family obligations can be equally exasperating. In the old, pre-pandemic days there were endless negotiations divvying up precious celebration time. Goofy relatives became houseguests, driving everybody crazy, as in the movie Christmas Vacation. After Aunt Bethany absent-mindedly gift-wraps her cat, and the jello mold, a harassed Ellen exclaims to her daughter, “I don't know what say, but it’s Christmas and we’re all in misery.”  "Mom, this box is meowing," says Rusty in the film Christmas Vacation. “That’s the thing about unhappiness. All it takes is for something worse to come along and you realize it was actually happiness after all.” — Queen Elizabeth, The Crown Big, boisterous family holidays are the best and the worst of times. Right now it's easy to view them through the rosy lens of nostalgia, but let's not forget the stiletto-sharp jabs only blood kin can deliver. The Crown is full of cringe-worthy family moments, such as Prince Andrew venting annoyance with his mother for “thoughtlessly” taking up media attention opposing apartheid when the headlines should be full of his wedding to Sarah Ferguson. To which Charles replies, “You can hardly blame the newspapers for wanting to write about something other than the wedding of a fringe member of the family who will never be king.” Ouch! “Happiness,” said comedian George Burns, “is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city.” The enforced separation of the pandemic has changed many relationships, including mine with my brother Mike. We were close as kids, but as adults leading busy lives on separate continents, we connected cordially but very sporadically. As luck would have it, Mike and his wife Deb moved to Spain in February, just weeks before lockdown. Ever since then the four of us have Zoomed multiple times a week sharing news, survival tips, and Netflix recommendations. Mike and I are closer now than we’ve been since our school days, and I count that among the great blessings of 2020.  Mike and I were born just 17 months apart, the frontrunners in what would become a pack of six kids. “The strongest person is the person who isn’t scared to be alone.” – Alice Harmon, The Queen’s Gambit “You know you’ve really learned to live with yourself,” I once heard, “if you can drive around the block without turning the radio on.” The pandemic has taught us all how to live with less human contact and often less noise and busyness in our lives. And there’s something to be said for that. Yes, of course, I miss hugs, kissing everybody on both cheeks, and long, crowded dinner parties chatting about nothing and everything. But these unprecedented periods of retreat from the world offer us a rare opportunity to slow down. “Our life is frittered away by detail … simplify, simplify.” I remember reading Thoreau's words while racing around building my career and thinking, “Yeah, that’s easy to say when you live in the woods by a pond. But I inhabit the real world with real deadlines.” Sheltering in place may enable us to take a step back, consider our priorities, and find ways to hit the reset button on our destiny.  George Bailey shopping for luggage he'll never get to use in It's a Wonderful Life. George Bailey: “You know what the three most exciting sounds in the world are?” Uncle Billy: “Uh huh. Breakfast is served; lunch is served; dinner...” George Bailey: “No no no no. Anchor chains, plane motors, and train whistles.” — It’s a Wonderful Life Throughout It's a Wonderful Life, George Bailey's only dream is to go abroad and have adventures, but events conspire to keep him at home. Much as we are now. I get wistful emails every week from readers mourning the fact our wings have been clipped by the pandemic. There is no telling when — or even (OK, I’ll say it) if — we will ever again have such freedom to roam the world. The vaccines offer hope, but with Pfizer once again revising its production estimates downwards, the timeline keeps getting longer and fuzzier. Officials talk of distribution in December, but just yesterday I asked a Walgreens pharmacist when she expected to be giving Covid inoculations, and she said, “Summer.” My hopes of being near the front of the line due to my age are wobbling, thanks to articles such as this morning’s “’There absolutely will be a black market’: How the rich and privileged can skip the line for Covid 19 vaccines.” It seems some people with power and influence plan to pressure concierge physicians to provide false documentation of pre-existing conditions, hire lobbyists to get their demographic declared “essential” — yes, financial industry, I’m talking about you — or buy black market meds. As one radio commentator put it, “How long will it be before low-income essential workers sell their ID badges for $2500?” If we can’t rely on the government to provide protection, where can we turn?  When times get weird, tin foil hats are a must, according to the movie Signs. “So the aliens can't read our minds.” — Morgan, Signs You've already laid in ample supplies of hand sanitizer and masks, but how are you fixed for tin foil hats? Since first appearing in a 1927 sci-fi story, aluminum foil headgear has been embraced by conspiracy theorists as a barrier against electromagnetic pulses, alien telepathy, and government mind control, to name but a few. Surely deflecting Covid-19 can’t be far behind. When Rich and I put up our tree this week, I was trying to think of a topper appropriate for this bizarre year, and suddenly it came to me.  A year like no other demands a very special tree topper. This is ours. Do I think a tin foil hat will protect the tree, or us, from anything whatsoever? No, of course not. But it makes me chuckle every time I walk by it. And that counts for a lot, especially these days. So if you find yourself in need of a psycho-spiritual pick-me-up, grab some aluminum foil and get to work. It’s easy, it’s fun, and it offers a pretty reliable cure for the pandemic holiday blues. What are you doing to keep your spirits bright? Let me know in the comments below. YOU MIGHT ALSO ENJOY This post is part of my ongoing series of articles on surviving the pandemic while holding on to some shreds of our sanity and sense of humor, however weird things get.
Sign up HERE to get free stories in your inbox each week.  Our Thanksgiving guest list was a little different this year. “Who is that glamorous couple?” I asked Bill the Printer one long ago snowy day in Ohio. He'd just run off a stack of holiday cards featuring a gorgeously lit photo of a handsome couple in evening dress. “Are they actors? Millionaire philanthropists?” Bill laughed. “That’s what they want you to think. They’re Joan and Darren Silverman, just ordinary folks. But every year they dress up, produce a flashy holiday card, and send it out to celebrities, hoping for a card in return. And since celebrities can’t always remember who they’ve met during the year, sometimes it works. By now they’re on quite a few high-end mailing lists.” He named some TV personalities, minor film stars, and rising politicos. “Ingenious,” I said. Then inspiration struck. “I know, I’ll do the same thing to them!” Bill thought this was hilarious and — small towns being relaxed about such things — had no qualms about providing me with their address. I was in his shop picking up my own cards, and I went right home and wrote one to them. “Joan and Darren, you’re the best! Continued success in the year ahead.” It was in the mail by nightfall. Bill phoned a few days later. “They’re completely flummoxed,” he said. “They told me they can’t figure out who you guys are!”  "You think the holidays are stressful for YOU? I've got 1,763 fleas to send cards to!" We exchanged holiday cards with the Silvermans for years, and every time theirs arrived, Rich and I roared with laughter and considered it a highlight of the season. A timely reminder that the holidays aren’t about being perfect or feeling sentimental or finding the meaning of life. They’re about staggering to the end of the year as best we can, arriving disheveled and exhausted, with just enough creative energy left to think up a few last bits of fun to round out the season. Take our Thanksgiving feast, for instance. This being 2020, we knew it would be madness to gather with friends or relatives, so I suggested to Rich that we populate our table with various non-human members of the household: Two life-sized skeletons from Mexico, one of which I’d given to Rich during our courtship, the other I’d presented to him as a wedding gift. A Mayan head wearing a Thai headdress and 3-D sunglasses. A Buddhist monk. And Lucille, who once modeled fashion accessories in a shop and now serves as Rich’s hat rack. “This isn’t creepy, right?” I asked Rich. “It’s just for company, like Tom Hanks and his friend Wilson the Volleyball in Castaway.” “Are you kidding? It’s Thanksgiving with the Addams family.”  I sent a photo of our Thanksgiving table companions to European friends in Seville, with the subject line “This isn’t too weird, is it?” They promptly wrote back saying the very fact we could even ask that question was deeply worrying. “This is how we imagine your feast,” they added, sending us a link to the classic comedy skit of the butler who drinks all the wine poured out for absent friends. We may not have a butler, but we did our best to create a vivid atmosphere. Particularly sharp-eyed readers may have noticed in the photo at the start of this post that we used the gratitude quilt as our tablecloth. The quilt project has exceeded my wildest expectations. Many thanks to all the readers, friends, and relatives who told me what they’re grateful for this year. Your comments were wonderful: funny, profound, quirky, and so very, very you. I had to condense the wording considerably, to make the lettering legible while writing with a fat, felt-tipped marker on the rough quilted surface, but I did my best to capture the spirit of every remark.  The quilt is now permanently enshrined as our holiday tablecloth, for as long as it lasts. We have agreed wine stains and grease spots will only add to its character. I still have some comments to add, but there's plenty of room for more, so if you haven’t contributed yet, please use the comments section below to let me know what you’re thankful for this year. Even 2020 had its bright spots. (Yes, it did!)  What am I thankful for? The Covid-19 vaccine. With our national numbers climbing to dizzying heights — 13.8 million cases and 271,000 deaths at last count — recent announcements that scientists have come up with effective immunizations sparked widespread rejoicing. But the fizzy mood of unity falls flat the moment talk turns to the distribution plan. Because there is no plan. There won’t be nearly enough to go around, at least at first. Pfizer and Moderna combined are expected to produce and distribute enough vaccines for 45 million people by the end of January, leaving 283 million Americans still unprotected. The current administration has refused to take on the task of organizing the distribution, leaving it up to the governor of each state to decide who gets first dibs on the two-part vaccine. Everyone agrees healthcare workers are the top priority, but donnybrooks of Biblical proportions have erupted over who comes next in each state. Non-medical essential workers, older adults, obese adults with compromised immune systems, meat packers, ski instructors living in shared housing … the lists go on and on.  I love this card, a cautionary tale about the results of greed overcoming common sense. Rich remains optimistic about our chances. “Luckily, we’re living in Marin County, the epicenter of the anti-vaccination movement. That means a lot less demand from our neighbors. We’re older adults, so after healthcare workers, we’re practically at the head of the line.” The powers that be continue to duke it out, and I suspect not much will happen until the new administration takes over on January 20. Whatever the timeline, I’m holding on to the idea that the vaccine might be coming my way by the spring, paving the way for our return to Seville. Spain’s numbers are falling now, another hopeful sign, although more spikes are likely everywhere due to super-spreader family togetherness this month. In the meantime, I’m sending messages of holiday cheer to my amigos around the world. The few I have street addresses for will be getting real, paper holiday cards, something I haven’t sent out since I moved to Seville. Sadly, I can no longer find the address I once had for the Silvermans. Which by the way, is not their real name; I didn’t want to reveal their identity and risk spoiling their game, should they still be at it. And I hope they are. In fact, I imagine them sitting by a fireplace writing out their bogus cards again this year, trying for Tom Hanks, Betty White, and Dr. Fauci. I picture one turning to the other and remarking, “Remember those total strangers who used to send us holiday cards? The McCanns? Boy, those guys were really weird.” I like to think in our own small way we helped make their holidays truly special.  Not weird, right? Our old wooden table, which normally winters indoors, is staying out on the back deck this year, and I wanted her attired in protective yet festive gear. YOU MIGHT ALSO ENJOY This post is part of my ongoing series of articles on surviving the pandemic while holding on to some shreds of our sanity and sense of humor, however weird things get.
Sign up HERE to get free stories in your inbox each week.  Wind-up toy races are always popular in our house. The fact these chicks tend to go in circles and fall over just adds to the excitement. Many of my Spanish friends are firmly convinced of two things: 1) Thanksgiving is the most significant holiday in the US calendar, and 2) all American women spend their leisure hours sewing quilts. In vain have I protested that I’ve never quilted in my life. Equally impossible is convincing them that the prevalence of Thanksgiving scenes in movies is not due to the occasion's supreme importance but because it’s the one holiday we all celebrate in roughly the same way. On the fourth Thursday in November, millions of us set aside religious, ethnic, even political differences to fulfill the time-honored tradition of bringing out the best in family disfunction since 1621. Will it will really feel like Thanksgiving without the chaos of a large, multi-generational donnybrook? Might the day fall flat without arguments over seating arrangements, whether marshmallows truly belong on sweet potatoes, and why your temperamental uncle stormed out shouting “You cut the turkey without me? You might as well have stabbed me in the heart,” as in the iconic scene from the movie Avalon?  Luckily, a socially distanced Thanksgiving means millions of us will be spared seating chart nightmares this year.  Apple cider mimosas. Photo by DIY.Candy Naturally, those of us who are sensibly avoiding super-spreader holiday feasts are feeling a little adrift right now. I’m deeply saddened that Rich and I aren’t in Seville to hold our traditional Thanksgiving potluck followed by an afternoon of old-fashioned parlor games. Clearly I’ve got to find fresh ways to make the day special for the two of us, perhaps even create a few new traditions. Here’s are my best ideas so far. Sip apple cider mimosas. I found this simple recipe online and believe it’s just what I need to start the day off right. You rim the glass with a 50-50 mix of brown sugar and cinnamon (moisten the rim first to make it stick), pour in equal amounts of cider and champagne, and sip away. If you’re not sure this is for you, try it out well in advance (today, if possible) and repeat as often as necessary to make a fully informed decision. Avoid supermarkets; do last-minute shopping online. The CDC recommends staying out of crowded grocery stores in the run-up to turkey day, and that sounds like good wisdom to me. So I’m stocking up on Thanksgiving provisions this week, then filling in any last minute gaps with an online order from a nearby market with reliable delivery service. Ask people what they're thankful for. In the early years of our Thanksgiving feasts in Seville, people were bashful about standing up and toasting things for which they were grateful. Now our guests, including small kids, tell me they start thinking about their toasts days, even weeks in advance. So let me ask you: If you had to stand up right now and name something you’re thankful for, what would it be? Even 2020 had some good moments (yes it did!). My list includes a friend getting off the ventilator, the election signaling change, and (we hope) viable vaccines at last. I’m spending a lot of time on Zoom, often with those who are usually at my Thanksgiving feast, and I’ll be asking everyone to tell me what they are grateful for these days.  What are you thankful for? Let me know and I'll add it to my Thanksgiving tablecloth. Write those thankful thoughts on a tablecloth. I loved this idea when I ran across it online yesterday, and I immediately suggested to Rich that we try it this year. “We can write down what people tell us they’re grateful for,” I said. "The article suggests buying a canvas drop cloth.” But Rich was sure we had something in the attic that would serve, and after a brief rummage around, he emerged with an ancient quilt the movers had used to pad our furniture on the truck back in 2007. The quilt is cheap, battered, threadbare, and sporting unidentifiable stains and patches of masking tape. “Perfect for 2020,” I said. Play games online. My family (and I say this lovingly) is obsessed with games of wit and chance. So I’ve been checking out versions of charades and Pictionary that use an online word generator to get the Zoom party going. Testing knowledge is another family sport; we’ve been known to idle away hours on the beach with stacks of cards from Trivial Pursuit. There are countless online options for group and solo fun such as Thanksgiving Trivia and virtual pub quizzes on topics such as Game of Thrones and Bond movies. I’m about the least musical person on the planet, but as a film buff, I was mesmerized by the multiple-choice Movie Music Quiz, and by this video, which gives you ten seconds to name that tune. Hold a scavenger hunt IRL (in real life) with housemates. When I was a kid my mother loved to send us off on scavenger hunts; she’d give us a list of objects to find and we’d be out of her hair for hours. With just two of us playing this Thanksgiving, I thought Rich and I could each come up with three items for the list, so we’d each be seeking a total of six things. These could be simple (something you eat spaghetti with) to profound (an object that represents a mystery in your life) to esoteric (yesterday, today, tomorrow). This isn’t a competition, it’s an opportunity to use ordinary objects to spark meaningful conversation. Possibly over another round of apple cider mimosas. Shop for holiday cards. In the late afternoon, between turkey, games, and Zoom calls, I expect I’ll have a little downtime, which I can use to prep for the next round of celebrations. Living overseas for so long, I’ve fallen into the convenient habit of sending out digital holiday greetings. But this year, when so much of our lives are spent staring at screens, I feel the need to reach out in a more tangible way. So I’m sending out old-fashioned greeting cards — yes, paper, ink, stamps, the whole nine yards — with wording that properly reflects the spirit of 2020. As you gear up for Thanksgiving, even if that’s just buying a frozen turkey pot pie and picking out a movie, I hope you’ll pause for a moment and look back over 2020. No, wait, don’t relive the whole ghastly year (shudder!), just see if you can find a few highlights that spark gratitude. And then tell me about them in the comments below, so I can add them to my Thanksgiving quilt. “My Thanksgiving quilt.” Yikes! Typing those words, I realize that maybe my Spanish friends weren’t so far off the mark after all. Thanksgiving is, if not the biggest, perhaps the best of our holidays, the one that’s abundant without being as overwhelming as the high-octane December merrymaking. And now I’ve managed to add a quilt into the mix. I don’t think this battered old furniture pad is precisely what my amigos had in mind, but now it strikes me as a fitting symbol of America’s imperfect, makeshift, ever-evolving holiday. And a good reminder that at this turning point of the year, it’s time to leave the past behind, live as fully as possible (yes, even in our present tattered state), and embrace the future with a lighter, warmer heart. So what are you thankful for right now? What Thanksgiving traditions are you fulfilling this year? Please let me know in the comments section below. PS: Don't look for a post next week; I'm taking time off to enjoy the holiday. I'll be back with a new article in December. YOU MIGHT ALSO ENJOY This post is part of my ongoing series of articles on surviving the pandemic while holding on to some shreds of our sanity and sense of humor, and remembering to enjoy life's small comforts. Sign up HERE to get free stories in your inbox each week.  I come from a family of light sleepers, and my ability to snooze for eight solid hours — a slippery goal at best — has not improved during the jittery pandemic months. Has anyone’s? Sleep experts talk of “a second pandemic of insomnia” and “coronasomnia.” But I’m resting a bit easier now that I’ve learned this truth: there is absolutely nothing unhealthy about waking up in the middle of the night. In fact, for nearly all of human history, our nighttime hours were divided into first sleep and second sleep, with an intermission of one to three hours for various activities (yes, including lots of sex). “During this waking period people were quite active,” according to the BBC’s The myth of the eight-hour sleep. “They often got up, went to the toilet or smoked tobacco and some even visited neighbours. Most people stayed in bed, read, wrote and often prayed. Countless prayer manuals from the late 15th Century offered special prayers for the hours in between sleeps. And these hours weren't entirely solitary — people often chatted to bed-fellows or had sex. A doctor's manual from 16th Century France even advised couples that the best time to conceive was not at the end of a long day's labour but ‘after the first sleep,’ when ‘they have more enjoyment’ and ‘do it better.’”  This natural two-part sleep pattern seems to have worked well for perhaps ten thousand years. Then in the late 16th century, street lighting was introduced, and for the first time ever, it was safe and socially acceptable to venture out after dark. Until then, the night was considered the domain of thieves, prostitutes, and predators. “The assumption that nothing good could go on at night,” reported the History Channel, “was so widespread that until the arrival of artificial lighting, citizens often freely emptied their ‘piss-pots’ out of windows after dark.” A practice that would be frowned on today. When the industrial revolution upped the ante on productivity in the 18th century, those unstructured nocturnal hours suddenly seemed slothful and old-fashioned. Unstinting efforts to achieve solid eight-hour blocks of shut-eye soon made sleep deprivation the norm. Now our slumber patterns are changing again, thanks to the pandemic. With millions unemployed, millions more going part time, and 42% of employed Americans working from home — often while homeschooling kids — everyone’s timetable is upended. One of the casualties of this chaos is the quality of our sleep.  Nobody knows how many of us lie awake worrying about Covid-19 — my guess would be everyone. And that’s entirely appropriate. We are in serious, planet-wide trouble; of course we’re upset and anxious. “Living with those uncomfortable feelings,” Buddhist mystic Pema Chödrön said recently, “is a natural part of the human experience. It doesn’t mean that we are doing something wrong.” We don’t have to add to our distress by criticizing ourselves for the “failure” or “weakness” of being awake in the middle of the night. Having quiet time to process our emotions may be more valuable than catching forty winks. Letting go of stressing about unscheduled periods of wakefulness can be the first step to improving the way we relate to sleep.  "Sleep," says the Dalai Lama, "is the best meditation." Easier said than done, Your Holiness! Cambodian sculpture; photo via Pinterest. What else might help? Find structure. I relax more and sleep better when my time is anchored in routine. “Isolation, monotony, and chronic stress are serving to destroy our sense of time,” reports the SF Chronicle. “Without the usual work mixers, far-flung vacations or casual dinners that typically mark and divide the calendar, the brain has a harder time processing and cataloging memories, psychologists say, and the stress of the year itself can shift how our brains experience time.” It helps me to know that Mondays and Thursdays are my domestic goddess days, when I shop, bake, do laundry, and reorganize particularly catastrophic closets and drawers. Tuesdays and Wednesdays are devoted to this blog, while Fridays and Saturdays are set aside for painting. At the end of every week, Rich and I enjoy a leisurely European-style Sunday lunch, in the garden if possible, usually with a glass (or two) of wine, followed by a siesta.  For this Sunday lunch in the garden I served an old favorite, buttermilk salmon chowder, with a fresh-baked loaf of Irish soda bread full of raisins and nuts. http://southbeachdietrecipe.blogspot.com/2009/11/buttermilk-salmon-chowder-phase-2.html https://www.jessicagavin.com/irish-soda-bread-with-raisins-and-walnuts/ Take siestas. I love the way siestas shape the rhythm of my day; it’s like having 14 mornings a week. And they’re good for us. NASA found a 20-minute snooze improved astronauts’ efficiency 34%. Siestas also offer a 37% reduction in the chance of a fatal heart attack (for instance, from reading news headlines) and can reverse information overload and burnout. Think you’re too busy to squeeze in a snooze? Churchill napped each afternoon (changing into pajamas every time) while going toe-to-toe with Hitler in WWII. He and I agree: siestas help us navigate challenging days and sleep better at night. Eat well. And by “well” I mean simple, yummy comfort food that’s reasonably healthy. “Data shows that eating less fiber, more saturated fat, and more sugar throughout the day is linked with lighter, less restorative sleep,” notes Ana Krieger, MD, MPH, Medical Director of the Center for Sleep Medicine. Obviously nobody expects us to get through this challenging time without chocolate, but a steady diet of junk food makes the road to dreamland a bit bumpier.  This is my kind of comfort food: crockpot balsamic chicken with Brussel sprouts and oven-baked risotto. https://www.delish.com/cooking/recipe-ideas/recipes/a51434/slow-cooker-balsamic-chicken-recipe/ https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/baked-risotto-with-roasted-vegetables-395552 Exercise. To work off my stress, I take long rambles around the neighborhood and use my trusty little stair-stepper when the outside air gets chilly or becomes unbreathable from wildfire smoke. Free online yoga videos help keep mind and body flexible, and on really agitated days, it’s nice to know I can relax before bed with wind-down routines from Adriene, Tim, or other YouTube yogis. Make bedtime conducive to sleep. Lower the lights, leave your phone and laptop in another room, and don’t discuss anything scary or contentious with your partner. This is not the moment to debate home improvements or mention another friend is hospitalized with Covid-19. Do things you find calming, such as breathing exercises, a warm bath, or light reading. Avoid thrillers like Stephen King’s pandemic horror story The Stand if you hope to close your eyes any time in the near future. If you can’t sleep, get up. Otherwise you begin to associate your bed with restlessness and anxiety instead of repose. Sometimes I go into another room and listen to one of YouTube’s free audiobooks. I choose one with a tranquil voice and familiar plot, so if I doze off I don’t mind a bit.  There's nothing like a cozy, old-fashioned murder to put me to sleep. You can find this one here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p4PNIh9hHTM “Not being able to sleep is terrible,” says cartoonist Lynn Johnston. “You have the misery of having partied all night…without the satisfaction.” The fact is, nobody ever manages a perfect snoozing schedule. As playwright Wilson Mizner put it, “The amount of sleep required by the average person is five minutes more.” Our best chance of satisfying sleep is to stop worrying so much about it — and to be kind to ourselves if we don’t precisely hit some arbitrary slumber benchmark from the 18th century. Our sleep patterns are as imperfect as we are, as challenging as this crazy world we live in, and on a good night, as restorative as a week-long vacation with someone we love. Sweet dreams!  How are you sleeping these days? Any suggestions for fighting insomnia? Do you have comfort food recipes to share? Let me know in the comments below. This post is part of my ongoing series of articles on surviving the pandemic, holding on to some shreds of our sanity and sense of humor, and remembering to enjoy life's small comforts. Sign up HERE to get free stories in your inbox each week. YOU MIGHT ALSO ENJOY  The holidays are going to look very different this year. Photo: Liz Devine Photography Merriment Turns to Mayhem When Halloween Prank Goes Wrong! Every year we see headlines about practical jokes taken too far. Like the October 31st my friend returned from college to find the family home empty, furniture overturned, the kitchen splashed with what looked like blood. She freaked, fled, and called the cops, who tracked down her mother and step-dad at a party, laughing over their hilarious trick. I suspect my friend still has trust issues to this day. Then there was the high school teacher who wanted to foster Halloween spirit, so he burst into a classroom wearing a ski mask and brandishing a chainsaw roaring at full throttle. A prank about killing children in a school — who could object? The really surprising thing was that in the chaotic stampede only one student broke a leg. The lawsuit was settled out of court for $100,000. And of course, there’s the famous 1938 “War of the Worlds” radio broadcast, in which a (fictional) Martian invasion was presented in a breaking-news format so real it had viewers calling the authorities in a panic. Cops tried to storm the broadcasting studio to stop the show; the press turned the tale into living legend.  Historians now say the panic wasn't as widespread as the press suggested. The show had few listeners, as it was on opposite the popular ventriloquist Edgar Bergen and his dummy, Charlie McCarthy. Americans have a history of going overboard at Halloween, and judging by all the skeletons, pumpkins, and giant spiders in my town, families are making the most of the season despite the specter of Covid-19 hanging over our heads. In fact, Halloween — with its apocalyptic atmosphere and emphasis on masks — fits fairly naturally into the pandemic landscape. No doubt pranksters are busy planning over-the-top stunts via Zoom. Other upcoming holidays —Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukah, Kwanza, Las Posadas, Diwali, Chinese New Year, Winter Solstice, New Year’s Eve — are a bit trickier to navigate. Let’s start with the big question: is it safe to travel home for the holidays? The short answer is “no.” But you already knew that. “Thanksgiving and the winter holidays may look like the only bright spots in the hellscape that is the end of this year, but they come with a unique-to-2020 set of logistical challenges,” writes JR Thorpe in Bustle. “This year, spreading COVID-19 to your community and the people at your table is much more of a threat than your aunt's awful sweet potato casserole.”  We'll miss the cheerful chaos of our big, pot luck Thanksgiving feasts in Seville. But great as they are, they're not worth the risk of getting Covid or spreading it to people we love. “I happen to like my family. But I’m not insane enough to risk death,” 82-year-old Mort Zwick told the NY Times. “I’m not going to rend my garments and cover up the mirrors because I can’t see my children … Every time I miss them, I think of how lousy they were at one stage of their growing up.” “Mort’s got a point,” Rich said. “It’s the same for holidays; there were plenty of good times, but let’s not forget the lousy parts.” I flashed back to various verbal brawls and embarrassingly inappropriate jokes. The year someone didn’t show up because he was in jail. Close friends who said they never ate any dish their relatives brought because they suspected the food had been poisoned. The time a guest showed up drunk accompanied by a young girlfriend with whom he canoodled on the couch for hours, surrounded by twenty-five guests including his horrified mother and several fascinated adolescents. Obviously we won’t have that kind of entertainment this year, so we’ll have to rely on our own resources to make the holidays fun and meaningful. Trick-or-treaters won't be coming to our door this Halloween, so at dusk Rich and I are taking a driving tour of the most spectacular decorations we've found on our daily walks; I can’t wait to admire them in their full, spooky glory lit up after dark. As we cruise around, we’ll listen to songs like "Monster Mash" and of course, wear our masks.  I’ve often wondered why nobody writes Thanksgiving songs, and then I ran across 29 Perfect Songs to Add to Your Thanksgiving Dinner Prep Playlist. It has everything from Sister Sledge’s “We Are Family” to Little Eva’s wacky “Let’s Do the Turkey Trot” to Fats Waller’s “All That Meat and No Potatoes,” followed by “Do the Mashed Potatoes,” courtesy of Mr. James Brown. Perfect soundtrack! We’ll be singing along to these golden oldies as we prepare turkey with all the trimmings. (I’m collecting recipes for the leftovers; if you have a good one, please pass it along.) The great thing about Thanksgiving is that if you eat some turkey, you’ve pretty much fulfilled the ritual and can snooze contentedly in front of Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. Oh yes, they’re having one, but it’s been reinvented in hopes it won’t become a super-spreader. The next holiday — which for us is Christmas — involves countless traditions: carols, cards, tree, stockings, presents. Rich and I won’t be celebrating with others this year, but we plan to honor all the customs, plus a few of our own, such as holiday snails. We’ll exchange silly gifts, dress up, cook a feast, eat too much, drink too much, and tell stories of Christmas disasters. What disasters? Well, there was the time our dog Eskimo Pie found a gift-wrapped rum cake, ate the entire thing, and was discovered in a drunken stupor. Or the year we managed to find a live tree in Seville, back when árboles de Navidad were rare, and right after we decorated it, a strong wind blew through an open window knocking over the tree — which then shed all its needles. And there was that unforgettable moment when I tipped over a bottle of red wine on a snow-white tablecloth while eating Christmas goose with British friends. The list goes on and on. But when you come right down to it, these moments add spice to the season. Like families, holidays are messy, maddening, and every once in a while, magical. We love them just as they are — not despite their imperfections but because of them.  One of my holiday traditions in Seville is taking a photo of this hard-bitten street Santa. He is so wonderfully unlike the sanitized Hallmark, Hollywood, Disney version of jolly Mr. Claus. In 2020, the way to prove how much we love our families is to stay away from them. This morning I heard from a Sevillano friend with whom I’ve celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas for many years. He and several relatives now have Covid-19; one is in the hospital. “I made the potentially deadly mistake ,” he wrote, “of putting my guard down in a family setting. If nothing else please take this lesson. A common last name is not a certificate of immunity, and no matter how much you love someone we are all strangers when it comes to the virus. I was peer-pressured into excessive stays, not ventilating enough, and tolerating behaviors that exposed everyone... Thanksgiving is going to be a super-spreading event, and the best way to express love to our families is to remain alive for them.” Like ill-considered Halloween pranks, this year’s holiday gatherings may seem like a good idea at first, but there’s a very real chance they will come back to haunt you and yours. I believe our best move is to fill the next two months with as much love, laughter, and social distancing as possible. And brace ourselves for whatever gobsmacking surprises 2021 has in store for us. Good luck out there! Do you have any holiday plans? Disaster stories? Recipes for leftover turkey? Please share them in the comments below. YOU MIGHT ALSO ENJOY This article is part of my ongoing series of articles on surviving the pandemic, if possible while holding on to some shreds of our sanity and sense of humor. Sign up HERE to get free stories in your inbox each week. |
 Karen McCann
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I'm an American travel writer based in Spain and currently living in California. As we journey through the pandemic together, my blog provides a regular supply of survival tips, comfort food recipes, and the wry humor we all need to lighten our hearts on dark days. I think of my blog as an ongoing conversation, so please join in and leave comments at the end of my posts. Sign up below to get updates when I publish anything new. 
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