This is my second majorly nasty head cold of the season. It came on overnight last night. I have no idea how long it'll last, but I'm sure at least part of this is due to the weather we've been having. It has rained on and off for weeks now, and I'm sure the drought - in Anaheim, anyway - is over. Let the pollen wars continue.
Speaking of Anaheim (and pollen), it was announced on the radio news earlier this week that Anaheim ranks Number One as the Allergy Capital of the Country as reported by the Asthma and Allergy Foundation of America, closely followed by Atlanta, Georgia. I think I'm seeing a pattern here.
Anyway, back to my main point. I'm sick. Being the male of the species in this household, that grants me the privilege of being a huge baby about it. I'm certain I've been whining all day long about it, except for the nap I got earlier this afternoon. Mrs. Woody does not get naps, healthy or sick. It's not allowed. Daddy gets all the naps he needs. To be fair, I have encouraged Mrs. Woody to stay in bed whenever she gets migraines and has to deal with that light-sensitivity thing. Unfortunately (or, really, fortunately) she only gets a couple of those in a given year. Otherwise, asking her to lie down for a while is tantamount to asking her to stop being a Mommy.
To tie all this in with this post's title, I need to spin a little narrative. Last weekend Mrs. Woody had me take a turkey out of the freezer. This is the penultimate turkey for this winter. There's still one left. We kinda went overboard this season with those super deals they always have on turkeys during the holidays. Anyway, the plan was to cook the bird last Monday. Turkey, as you well know, will last for days if you're willing to put a little effort in it. Soup, of course, being a mainstay. Monday, however, came and went and we found ourselves just too busy to deal with cooking a turkey. Tuesday passed the same way, then Wednesday. That put Mrs. Woody in a bit of a pickle because we were planning to travel up to visit family over the weekend, meaning that Thursday was do-or-die day. So, on Thursday, Mrs. Woody put the turkey in the oven, and we feasted well Thursday night.
Thursday night was also, as Southern Californians will recall, the latest round of the Storms vs. Humanity title fights we've had all winter long. It promised to pour buckets down here right through Friday. After much consideration and not a little angst, we decided to call off our trip. One of our nieces was a little under the weather (so to speak), and between that and the weather, we just didn't feel like we were supposed to go. We were sorely disappointed, but it happens.
Friday indeed poured, pretty much all day long. (Side note: Satellite TV is wonderful, unless heavy storm clouds sit between your receiver and the satellite that, of course, hosts the very programs you were hoping to watch on Date Night. Just FYI.) We were just beginning to feel smug about cancelling our plans when it happened. I went to bed Friday night feeling that familiar post-nasal discomfort, and by morning was fully engulfed. Yuck.
No fear, though. Mrs. Woody, through propitious circumstance, had only recently cooked the turkey, and spent this morning picking and boiling the carcass. By lunch time we had a huge pot of her wonderful - and healthful! - turkey noodle soup. Twice today I have feasted, and twice I have felt that wonderful down-home comfort knowing that your soup not only tastes wonderful, but was made with far more love than you probably deserve. At least, that's how I view it.
Before dinner, I asked the younger Woodyette to bless not only the food, but Daddy as well. She responded with one of those sweet, pure prayers that only a five year old can utter. Short, but to the point. I know Heavenly Father listens to sincere prayers, and there's no reason to suspect that hers was anything but.
Daddy still feels miserable, but Daddy's Angels - all three of 'em - will keep Daddy as comfy-cozy as possible.