It struck me as a hair-brained but -- on the positive side -- one that was guaranteed germproof. There's little question the idea was dictated by necessity, driven by the dramatic upsurge in corvid-19 cases. Gov. Jay Inslee and First Lady Trudy Inslee had appeared urging  Washingtonians to forgo the customary Thanksgiving gatherings; and later the governor had been explicit about closing down indoor gatherings.

At first the idea of a no-guest, Zoom-enhanced dinner swap sounded like a logistic nightmare, offering nothing but the possibility of goofups. What if, somehow, one household ends up with an oversupply of yams but no cranberry sauce? What if the brussel sprouts get overroasted and the gravy goes all lumpy?

Still in the interest of safety first, I am willing to try the experiment. What helped persuade me was when our lives-alone guy -- otherwise left dining solo -- offered to be the door dasher. He was asking to drive a tricky cross-town route, appropriately masked and distanced. His was a tough assignment: carting the cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie from one of the three households to the next, manhandling the turkey and dressing containers and making sure the ice cream doesn't melt prior to the arrival of apple pie. 

It's crossed our minds that the weather may be a factor. There are pessimists among us who predict that this El Nina winter is apt to be one rainstorm following the next. This is Seattle after all. It's a rare Thanksgiving that has had clear weather, and there even have been holidays threatened with the first surprise snowflakes. At the very least, each food delivery will have to be rain repellent, no soggy rolls or water-logged spuds. 

Back to the planning phone tree. First order of business is to enlist an eclectic group of pre-dinner Zoomers, friends who won't be sharing dining courses, but will join a conversational appetizer. (Easy on the aperitifs, there still will be last-minute kitchen touches. We shouldn't leave the festive meal's dish-ups to an over-jolly Zoomer.) 

The menu assignments were decided by volunteering. One of the trio of households (mine) offered to supply the turkey, gravy and sausage dressing, memories of a grandmother who cooked all those Swedish Methodist Church dinners; memories of a dad who could carve a turkey like a chef. Our friend LInda, famed for her donations of pies to innumerable charity auctions, promises to construct the pumpkin and apple pies; Cathy with her famed culinary skills is doing two kinds of potatoes, vegetables and cranberry sauce, and Tom, our main driver, will supply the rolls and dessert toppings. 

Dividing the Thanksgiving feast into three assignments-- each household a third of the meal -- worked out easily and well. The final test comes on November 26. Will there be ample seconds? A slice of each kind of pie? Sufficient cranberry sauce? A football game airing later that  evening?

The no-guest, Zoom-enhanced Thanksgiving is coming together after all. Likely I was wrong to be so skeptical. This will be an experiment in celebrating during a pandemic. 

On Turkey day, let's plan to offer our thanks; that's what the day was designed for. There's much to celebrate: Thanks that our democracy, while dented, still survives. Thanks that we have ample electronic pathways to reach friends and distant relatives. Thanks that we can look forward to vaccines that will successfully combat the plague. In the end, what really counts is being able to offer our thanks and imagine a happier year ahead.

Back to the planning phone tree. First order of business is to enlist an eclectic group of pre-dinner Zoomers, friends who won't be sharing dining courses, but will join a conversational appetizer. (Easy on the aperitifs, there still will be last-minute kitchen touches. We shouldn't leave the festive meal's dish-ups to an over-jolly Zoomer.) 

The menu assignments were decided by volunteering. One of the trio of households (mine) offered to supply the turkey, gravy and sausage dressing, memories of a grandmother who cooked all those Swedish Methodist Church dinners; memories of a dad who could carve a turkey like a chef. Our friend Linda, famed for her donations of pies to innumerable charity auctions, promises to construct the pumpkin and apple pies; Cathy with her famed culinary skills is doing two kinds of potatoes, vegetables and cranberry sauce, and Tom, our main driver, will supply the rolls and dessert toppings. 

Dividing the Thanksgiving feast into three assignments-- each household a third of the meal -- worked out easily and well. The final test comes on November 26. Will there be ample seconds? A slice of each kind of pie? Sufficient cranberry sauce? A football game airing later that evening?

The no-guest, Zoom-enhanced Thanksgiving is coming together after all. Likely I was wrong to be so skeptical. This will be an experiment in celebrating during a pandemic. 

On Turkey day, let's plan to offer our thanks; that's what the day was designed for. There's much to celebrate: Thanks that our democracy, while dented, still survives. Thanks that we have ample electronic pathways to reach friends and distant relatives. Thanks that we can look forward to vaccines that will successfully combat the plague. In the end, what really counts is being able to offer our thanks and imagine a happier year ahead.