Fall in Athens

Judy.  So here we are back in Athens. It's been almost three weeks, and we've pretty much settled in. In fact, for the last couple of weeks, we've gone into a type of quarantine in preparation for what we hope will be an outdoor tailgate Thanksgiving with our families.

I don't have to tell you that numbers of sick folks are going up all over the world.  Here in Georgia, so far they've remained pretty low, but we'd like to keep it that way til this promised vaccine is available.  Caed (grandson number two) is thankfully back at in-person school, and is thrilled to be near friends again. Because of his parents' schedules, Ted picks him up from school every afternoon--but this time it looks different. 

Both wear their masks, and Caed hops in the back seat of Raymond the truck. No physical contact is made, and as soon as they arrive at home, Caed runs upstairs to shower and do his homework in his room, while Ted waits downstairs for Leslie to come back from her school. It's not what we had envisioned, but at our age, we just can't take chances on catching the virus. 

So, when Thanksgiving arrives this week, along with Stefan, Sarah, and their boys, we'll keep our distance, desperately wanting to hug everyone, but trying to be here for Christmas. And New Year's. And birthdays. 

Still, we can see them, and that's worth everything.

Thank goodness for Zoom and FaceTime and other ways of getting together. We've had several Zoom cocktail parties with dear friends, and continue to meet our Bible study groups via Zoom. My Bible study group is planning a Zoom Christmas tea, and sent out gifts and cards to all of us in preparation. These meetings lift our spirits more than we can say.

Another source of delight are the birds that gather around the two birdbaths in the yard. There's a robin who's been here since last spring, and who doesn't even fly

away when we enter the yard. He looks like a little butler, carefully watching the behavior of the finches, doves, and jays that gather. I've named him Cedric.

The fall has been mild, and a large camilla bush in our yard is loaded with deep pink and white blossoms. The Japanese maple has turned a brilliant red, and the hydrangea blossoms dried on the bush, making it look lush even now.  

We still walk the neighborhood and hike nearby when we can. Like in Montana, we seldom see anyone on these walks, and those we do keep as far from us as we do from them.

There's so much to be thankful for, in spite of this stupid quarantine. We have a warm, comfortable home, groceries we can pick up curbside, a beautiful yard, friends we meet online, and family, safe at a distance. 

It may not be heaven, but I can see it from here.