I’m feeling better. My get up and go is on the sidelines ready to dive in and become part of me. My husband, on the other hand, is looking exhausted. I don’t know why; I have to admit he’s been a saint these last few days. When my sister becomes ill, she can’t eat. When my husband is not well, he doesn’t touch food. Looking down into my depraved looking eyes, Ruedi did tenderly ask, “Can I get you something, Sweetheart?” I struggled to answer without coughing and whispered, “Yes, Honey Bunny, just a small little thing…” While he’s mentally checking about our soups and yogurt, I mustered a faint response, “Maybe a T-bone, not too thick, honey. An inch, inch and a half will do. You make great French Fries. That would be awesome and, of course, spinach. If you cream the spinach that would be better, my throat you know. Nothing cheers me up than home made brownies or key lime pie. I don’t want to put you out.” I smiled my sweet, pathetic smile and blinked my teary eyes. I guess that wouldn’t be exhausting if I would do that only when I’m not well. It’s just that I make the same request when I’m feeling absolutely okay.
Posted on: Sat, 27 Jul 2013 18:36:53 +0000
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