The Comforts of Flu Season: A Slice of Lefse and a Dash of Humor

I've come to a realization that's as delightful as finding a jar of home-canned peaches in the dead of winter, everything these days seems to want a flashy new label. Take the flu, for instance. It's been upgraded to "super-flu," as if it joined some superhero team. Back in the day, a cold might just ruin your Tuesday. Now, a simple sniffle gets superhero status, triggering reactions akin to unexpected fireworks on the Fourth of July.

This year, the flu season showed up early, like a guest arriving before you'd set the table. People started recalling the H3N2 strain, which disrupted more winter plans than a cousin who borrows your car only to return it running on empty. According to the UK Health Security Agency, things are calming down somewhat, like Dad finding an extra lefse in the freezer during a blizzard. Instant relief.

Flu seasons are like long Minnesota winters, just when you think you've cleared the driveway, another storm rolls through, spoiling your ice fishing plans. Even if the flu seems quiet for now, who knows if it won't surprise us again, much like that shovel that turns up right when you don’t need it?

Speaking of shovels, my Uncle Lars could never locate his when the snow started. He blamed shadows, though it stood right against the shed. The UK's NHS has its own shadows, with fluctuating hospital admissions showing just how unpredictable the flu can be.

Currently, around 3,000 flu patients are in hospitals, not insignificant, but thankfully below the worst predictions. It's like finding Grandma’s homemade lefse during a blizzard, it doesn't solve everything but sure brings comfort. Those over 85 are especially vulnerable, having weathered many of life's harsh winters.

For the uninitiated, lefse is a wonderful Norwegian flatbread. Missing the chance to taste it is like skipping a piece of heavenly peace. Its warmth can make the world seem brighter, much like hospital numbers can play tricks on anxious minds.

Among all this flu talk, the sound decision is to get vaccinated. It's like the medical equivalent of lefse, offering warmth and comfort during the cold season. It's free for many, certainly cheaper than a stack of January firewood.

On the topic of practical wisdom, I recall a time at St. Olaf's church luncheon (beautiful roast beef, I might add), where Pastor Johnson mentioned the merits of an emergency lefse stash during a crisis. It may have seemed unrelated back then, but now those words carry weight. You never know when a neighbor might need some comfort, whether it's a flatbread or flu shot advice.

While we wait for life to settle down, let's remember: whether dealing with flu or snow, there's often a neighbor with a spare shovel, or, if you're very lucky, an extra piece of lefse to share.

For those puzzled by lefse, worry not. It's no culinary mystery, just a pure, floury delight made with potatoes, cream, and a heartful of love. A staple for those familiar with its joy.

Ultimately, a simple act of kindness, whether sharing lefse or checking on someone, feels like discovering a forgotten jar of peach preserves. A small, sweet surprise in the heart of winter.