”Soap and water and common sense are the best disinfectants. ”
Yesterday it rained, at times a heavy rain. Accompanying the rain was a cool breeze, a northern breeze. I shut the window behind me and put on a flannel top. The dogs stayed cozy on the couch, one on each side of me. They didn’t go out in the rain.
My coughing is less frequent than it has been but is still fierce at times. It sounds like a car motor which doesn’t turn over but comes close. My morning voice is raspy, a Robert F. Kennedy Jr. voice. It gets better during the day but is raspy again at night. I still limp, but the walker helps get me down the hall. Sitting is the best. I am getting better but slower than I want. I complain to the dogs but they don’t really care.
I seldom was sick enough to stay home from school, but, if I did, I had the luxury of staying in bed and reading. It made being sick worthwhile.
When I was a kid and got sick, my mother had remedies. She made tea and chicken soup. She sometimes gave us flat ginger ale, meant to settle stomachs, and unbuttered toast. I am not a hot tea drinker. I think it is because I associate hot tea with being sick. The flat ginger ale tasted horrible, but I had to drink it to wash down the dry toast.
My father was a Vicks man. It was his panacea. He even had a sweatshirt he wore every time he slathered his chest. I hated the smell. He also loved Bengay. He had a bad back and always asked for help, for someone to put it on his back. I’d do it for him. I actually liked the smell of Bengay.
My friend brought groceries yestetday including a chicken pot pie. She keeps track of me to make sure I’m okay. Another friend picked up my medication and dropped it off with a chocolate bar to brighten my day. My friend Elaine filled my fridge this morning with homemade goodies, stew and pasta. John came and got my trash. Friends write to me on Facebook asking if I need anything. My sisters call. My friend Peg calls. I have a village.
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