So, you already knew that Thanksgiving was going to be slightly off this year, if you read my last post. Phillip woke yesterday morning (Thanksgiving Day) with an insane cold.
“All those little shits at work have been sick. They got me!” Damn. I guess we shouldn’t have watched “Contagion” and “Outbreak” the other night….
That poor husband of mine was a wreck. Oh, you should have seen it. He went through two rolls of toilet paper before we even got to midday. Mercy, I was gonna have my hands full. I plopped him on the couch (which is kinda hard, seeing how he’s twice my size, but he was weak, so nothing to it). I put on a pot of hot water. We don’t have a kettle, just one big pot we use for boiling water for tea and coffee.
“Don’t worry,” he said with grace and courage (Ha!), “I’ll be fine. Let’s go ahead with the day we planned.” Now, we have a sick, sordid tradition on Thanksgiving. We watch disaster films. Yes, if ever you want to feel grateful about your own situation, watch disaster films. Makes you feel much better knowing you aren’t being chased by lava, or that the earth is flipping it’s axis, or that the San Andreas fault is about to crack open. So, every year we watch disaster films to celebrate the holiday. This year Phillip wanted to rewatch “The Poseidon Adventure.”
My husband is a strong man, a dragon slayer, a big protector from the evils of the world. Yet, not even he can resist crying when Shelly Winters dies. Poor Shelly….
I was up and down. Grabbing an afghan, tucking him in, making him tea, and even a delicious instant cider (thank you Gheeta!). I made him soup from a can (don’t fault me, Publix was closed), and even tried to get him to just have hot, steamy water with lemon juice.
Oh, he whimpered and wallowed as I often asked, “Sweetheart? Can I get you anything else?”
“Well, popcorn with the movie would be nice….” Ok, then. Popcorn it is 🙂
We dashed through “The Poseidon Adventure,” and he finally agreed to watch my “Harry and Larry” movie. “Different movie, sweetheart. That’s an adult film. This is ‘When Harry Met Sally.'”
Of what he watched I could see he was enjoying it. But the sinister chill and sudden heat of a cold had him flopping all over. Need the afghan, don’t need the afghan. Burning up, frigid as ice. He finally passed out 10 minutes before “When Harry Met Sally” was finished. I ushered him to bed and that was that.
This morning he woke even worse.
“I didn’t sleep at all last night.”
But, despite how terrible he felt, he was determined to go to work. He’s not a “call out” kinda guy. Neither of us are. If we can walk, crawl, or roll, we make it. This time, I wasn’t so sure it was for the best. He was adamant, though. He was going to work. So I snapped this pic of him from off in the corner. (He hates when I take candid shots. (“Just practicing my lighting and composition, sweetheart!”)
There he was. Miserable and moaning. My big man was determine to push through this cold. If he can make it through his shift tonight, I’ll feel better. He has tomorrow off and I can tend to him properly.
He asked, “Will you make me your Savannah Swamp Voodoo Soup?”
Now, you may wonder what that is. Strange sounding, isn’t it? Well, it’s nothing more than chicken soup with a few extra ingredients. Cabbage, for one. Some use swamp cabbage, which is basically hearts of palm, but I use just plain cabbage. The other is chicken feet. Yep. Now, I may need a scientist to clarify, but the swamp people put chicken feet in their soup because the idea is that there are so many antibodies running around in the bone marrow down there to protect them while the chickens are walking through their own….well, shit.
I double dog dare you to find chicken feet at the supermarket, so I go with chicken legs. Same principle, and it seems to work. But, once the meat falls off the bones, take the bones, crack them open and continue to let the marrow stew into the stock. And you have to use spring water when you make your stock. You can’t use piped, tapped water. Somehow it just seems different. You can taste the difference. You can FEEL the difference. A bowl of that, and you suddenly feel better, and the first thing you want to do is SLEEP. Off you go into slumber land while the potion works it’s magic.
More than the soup, I need to procure some other things to make him comfortable, asleep often, and content in bed for a good solid 24 hours. So I have this one last Christmas Bear in this style. The other version sold really well, this guy wasn’t as popular. That’s ok, some bears may do better than others, but all bears have a purpose. And this last little guy is going to help me get the things I need to get my husband well again. (A bottle of aspirin, some more tea, some more lemon, honey, chicken legs, etc).
So, if you’d like to adopt him, click here. You’ll get one helluva note of thanks if you do.
Ok…..time to wash the sheets. Because nothing helps a good spell of restful, healing sleep like a clean set of sheets.
If you appreciate this blog and would like for it to continue, please donate to help keep it going. Every single dollar helps! We couldn’t do it without your support!