Sherry L Huckabee: Some Things Are Too Good To Share

MMMM-mmmm… How can a preservative-laden, empty-calorie, marketing-constructed box of noodles with powdered fake cheese, of all things, taste so damn good? Oh but it does. Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Right up there with Oreos and Koolaid and ‘The Wizard Of Oz’, few things can conjure up that feeling of all-is-right-in-the-world in that absolute way we felt it as children. That cheesey yumminess slides across your tongue and for a few moments the only thing that exists in the world is that pure feeling of child-delight.

This was my first day out of bed since Tuesday after a five day battle with the Transylvanian flu. My hope is that in my seventeen-plus hours of sleeping a day, my body was building up its line of defense against what must be a whole new batch of critters from the ones we have back in the states. It wasn’t a full out American flu – only a little coughing, no fever, barely a sneeze, and, thank god, no stuffy nose; just a persistently annoying sore throat and that awful pressure that makes your head feel like it is going to explode like some scene in a B budget movie. No, the main target of this Transylvanian strain was the joints. I had the flu in my joints once in my life. October of 1992. Considering that was fifteen years ago and I still remember it, you can guess how unpleasant it is. Have you ever walked too long in shoes that were too tight? You know that awful aching sensation in your feet? Now imagine that sensation in every bending, turning, shifting place in your body. Fingers, shoulders, knees, toes, hip bones, elbows, and every, single, solitary vertebrae in your back. It was as if elves had snuck into my body Monday night and replaced all my joints with joints two sizes too small. The five days of continuous sleep was punctuated only by hot baths, sleeping pills taken out of desperation, a little reading as I waited for sleep and salvation to return, sweet kisses from my sweetie, and food force-fed to stave off the hunger that was staving off the sleep that was the only thing that would stave off the aching. If this is what life feels like at 80, I want no part of it.

Imagine my sheer joy this morning (okay afternoon) when I opened my eyes and rather than wanting to go right back to sleep or jump right in the tub I wanted, mmmmm, coffee! I hadn’t had a cup since Tuesday. Setting the coffee to brew, I took a hot shower, dressed warmly, turned on the heat, put my newly contrived foot warmer on the floor (an iron skillet with a heated iron disc in it and a towel over the top), sipped on my coffee, and admired the freshly fallen eight inches of snow outside my window. Checking my emails, sipping the wonderful concoction of milk, honey, and coffee (try it, it’s good), I felt almost human again. Okay so the aches are still there but the call of the computer was louder and, much to my delight, the desire to write. As the snow has fallen in this dead of winter, my writer’s eyes have been slowly opening like spring buds. More posts have been started and will be posted in time, as will pictures, for, well, some certain nagging favorite aunt who will remain nameless. J

So here I sit, in snow-covered Transylvania, writing and sorting through pictures, appreciating my life, despite the little aches in my body (at this moment anyway) and finishing my second bowl of macaroni and cheese. There is enough for a third bowl already calling my name. Perhaps I should save some for Hans? Nah, there are some things that are too good to share!