When I was growing up, there were three basic health rules that we needed to follow or… “you’ll catch your death of cold.” The rules were simple: #1. Don’t get your feet wet. #2. Keep your neckandears (always said as one word) bundled up against the cold. # 3. Don’t sit in a draft.
Yesterday, I came down with a terrible cold – one of those hacking, weepy, froggy, runny sorts of colds that you’d like to just sleep through. Of course, now that I have put away childish things, as it were, and, more importantly, now that the love of my life is wheelchair-bound, there is no rest for the wicked. And wicked I was. I broke all three of those rules.
Broken Rule #1 is clearly the fault of the chickens. And the ankle-deep, sopping wet grass between the house and the coop. And the fact that my boots are over. Totally over. With holes. I have more on order and they will be here today, but in the meantime… my feet have been wet every single dewy morning.
Broken Rule #2 is also the fault of the chickens although it’s is not so cut and dried. I do have warm hats and scarves and a barn jacket with a flannel lining. But, with temperatures soaring into the 80s during this unseasonable weather we’ve been having, I can’t seem to think “bundle up.” So it is, morning and night when I go out to do my coop duties, I have been breaking Rule #2.
Broken Rule #3 is my own fault. Can’t blame the chickens or anyone else. Both days that I was signing books at the Cranberry Museum, I sat right in the middle of a wind tunnel! The first day it wasn’t so bad but I was positioned in a way that few people saw me. The next day I was on the opposite side of the room and… it was worse. My hostess couldn’t have been nicer about suggesting that I move but I demurred, hoping that increased book sales would offset the chill. I’m here to tell you that my wishful thinking definitely didn’t work. I don’t think sales increased and I definitely felt worse-for-wear after the day was said and done.
So, there you have it. Another case of Mother Was Always Right. So now? It’s chicken noodle soup and Mentholatum®. Fortunately, the Madigans brought a huge supply of the former (for Nyel, but he’s sharing) and the latter is one of the staples of the household – my father’s influence, actually. He probably knew that I wouldn’t always follow the rules!
Oh, you poor thing! A wee dram of Jameson’s is just what you need!
We want to know what book you were signing? Hugs … J & B