Posted tagged ‘roofers’

“Worries go down better with soup”

October 23, 2015

Today is windy and cold. The heat even went on this morning but it shut off once the house got warm. My street, usually quiet during the day, is aflutter with workers and noise. The roofers are still across the street and another truck is down the end of the street working on something in another neighbor’s house.

I think I’m on the road to recovery, but I’m exhausted. I still have that deep voice suited for those obscene phone calls and I still have a cough. I love my afternoon naps.

When I was a kid, we used to buy Smith Brothers wild cherry cough drops. I loved them because they tasted more like candy than medicine. It was easy to finish a box eating one right after the other. I liked the bearded Smith Brothers on the package. They looked so serious and stern befitting men who made medicine. Mark’s beard was better than his brother’s.

Cough medicine always tasted awful. My mother would come in with the bottle and the spoon, and I’d cringe knowing what was coming. The cough medicine was always thick, and if I had known the word vile back then, I’d have used it. I opened my mouth reluctantly knowing I really had no choice. My mother was relentless.

My mother had her sayings and warnings for winter, her truisms. Starve a cold, feed a fever was one of them. She believed in the medicinal power of soup be it chicken or tomato and that’s mostly what we ate when we were sick. I always believed it worked. I felt warm inside and out, and it was never too much to have to eat. We had the bundle up or you’ll catch cold admonition if we dared go without a hat because as every mother knew most of your body head escaped through your head. We would never go outside in the winter with wet hair because we were bound to catch a cold. I used to think wet hair attracted cold germs.

When I was a kid I never doubted my mother and her medical knowledge. I know better now about hats and wet hair, but my mother was right on about soup. Yesterday I had chicken noodle and saltines. I could have been ten again.

“If there is no God, who pops up the next Kleenex?”

October 20, 2015

The mystery has been solved. My wheezing sounds like Dr. Who’s TARDIS when it lands. Tomorrow will be the one week anniversary of my having caught the plague. I’m thinking maybe cake. I’m prone to chocolate with a nice ganache filling and frosting.

The worst part of being sick is not seeing people. I called three this morning just to have a bit of human interaction but none of them were home. Poor Gracie had to fill in. I swear she was listening with her head cocked while trying to understand my conversation. She, of course, never replied. It is an exciting day for her with activity outside each door. In the front she gets to watch the roofers across the street and in the back she gets to watch my neighbor put up a concrete wall. I’m getting desperate enough that I might just watch the roofers. I’ll pop some corn, pull up a chair and enjoy the show.

Today is supposed to be in the 60’s. I may venture on to the deck just for some fresh air. I get the papers every morning and that’s about it for the world outside my windows.

Being kids and being sick were easy. Nothing slowed us down. Runny noses and coughs didn’t keep us from playing outside after school, but I do remember how gross those runny noses were on little kids. It was as if Kleenex had never been invented. Sleeves were the substitute. I remember being with my mother and needing a Kleenex. She always had a couple in her pocketbook and would rummage through it to find them. Usually they were at the bottom and crumbled. Some had lipstick stains and loose tobacco stuck to them. I didn’t care. I had grown beyond my sleeves so I took the Kleenex lipstick and all. She never wanted it back so I’d stick it in my pocket and generally forget about it.

I keep Kleenex with me in one of those little packages. The one I have now was in my Christmas stocking and has snowmen decorations. It’s crumbled and at the bottom.