Knock, knock ...

An upper respiratory infection is making the rounds in these parts.  People were sick with it the week my grandfather died.  I sat at his funeral, listening to people cough behind me, and told myself I was NOT going to get sick and take that nasty bug back home with me.  As an aside, I think I get my strong will, at least in part, from my grandfather.  I didn’t bring that bug back with me.  However, when I got home, it was already circulating here.   

I fought it with disinfectant wipes, soap, and essential oils.  But, it knocked on my door this weekend and, after fighting it for days, I finally stayed home.  After coughing and feeling like I couldn’t breathe for much of the night, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself.  Yup, here I sat, stinging and watering eyes, reaching for my inhaler, cursing bacteria, when ….

My aunt messaged me, suggesting steam and some chicken soup.  My family and I place a lot of stock in chicken soup.  ;)  Then, a bit later, my father emailed me and asked if I needed anything.  Homemade chicken soup?  Of course, that would mean he’d drop everything, go shopping, and my mother would make some soup.  At that point, he’d drive an hour to bring it to me.  I told him I was all set.

Despite a coughing fit, their messages put a smile on my face.  I started remembering times when I was sick as a little girl.  My mother would make a “bed” on the sofa with blankets and tuck me in.  Fluids, fluids, fluids…!  I remember being in Kindergarten and my mother bringing me yet another glass of something.  I sat on my makeshift bed and said, “NO!”  I was not drinking another drop.  She sat and explained the importance of forcing fluids when sick.  I sat and stared at her.  I’m fairly sure my arms were crossed and my nose was in the air.  Whenever I was angry as a little girl, I had a habit of putting my head up and to one side, arms crossed or on my hips.  (I refuse to believe I still do that now…) My father told me a bird would come and eat my nose on more than one occasion, which usually led me to stomp my foot and go to my room, without even being sent there.

At any rate, after looking at my mother for a bit, I said, “I will only drink if you put it in knock-knock joke cups.”  I looked at my mother; she looked at me.  Then, she walked out of the room, out of the house, went to the market.  She bought knock-knock joke cups and came back victorious, proving I might also have gotten my strong will from her. 

Ah, the ‘70’s….  Do you remember the little paper cups with knock-knock jokes on them?  Little Dixie cups, maybe.  I knew a lot of knock-knock jokes by the time that cold passed.  I secretly suspect she made me drink more juice than she would have normally!  ;)  I also remember my father coaxing me to eat by arranging the food on my plate to look like a person’s face.  He was very artistic! 

Hmmm….  One of my colleagues and I had a conversation this week about the word “bad” and how we define it.  Yes, I could sit here on my sofa, without my blanket bed and knock-knock joke cups, and feel sorry for myself.  What bad luck!  After all, it seems as if I’ve picked up every bug that’s gone around this season.  Or, I could take this moment to focus on how much I’m cared for.  My colleagues who told me to stay home today and take care of myself if I wasn’t better this morning.  My mentor and friend who messaged me last night to check on me and told me she was glad I decided to take care of myself today.  And, frankly, she likely copied materials this morning for my classes.  (Thank you.)  My aunt and father who are pulling for me and suggesting soup.  My mother, who will likely, when she reads this, set about making chicken soup.  (Mom – I have canned soup.  Am about to heat some up now.)

It’s all about point of view, isn’t it?  When things knock, it’s up to us to decide what we hear.

Copyright 2013 -> Shannon