I was so, so wrong about staving off the worst of the bug. I'm getting the full dose of all possible cold symptoms, and since I refuse to take any medication for colds (because they all make my heart race) I'm able to make note of those symptoms as they tick over: red eyes, sore throat, laryngitis, sinus pain, runny nose, chills and fever, violent sneezing, coughing, and plenty of self-pity. I went to work Friday because hey, I wanted to share the joy and besides, I'm all out of sick leave and vacation time. We closed at 3pm which was fine by me. It was dead quiet on the streets and on the phone.
Now I have four days off to get over this cold and prepare for the advent of Joe Wesson, if advent is the word I want here. I'm terribly excited about his visit. He, more than anyone besides John, helped me get through my eight years in Nashville as gracefully as possible. He was in Alabama that whole time, mind you, but we talked on the phone darned near every week and usually for an hour at a time. He kept me sane because I could talk to him about mutual friends, world news, science fiction, the Internet, and a wide range of other interesting topics. Interesting to me, that is. I was going crazy trying to find common conversational ground with everyone I worked with. Office talk ran along the lines of college football and country music. It was mind-numbing after the first two years, so I really appreciated having Joe to talk to. He was always available for a chat, whereas very few of my so-called friends elsewhere were. It cemented our friendship in many ways.
But of course this means cleaning the house again (oh, hush) and organizing a get-together with our previously mentioned mutual friends somewhere. Not at my house, or at least not formally. My hostess impulse is fully satisfied at the moment.
My Christmas decor impulse is also fully satisfied. We have a beautiful tree gleaming with tinsel, a mantelpiece loaded with plaid moose, shiny tin lanterns, red and white candles, red roses, white daisies, green ferns, and chili pepper lights. We have our front porch and window outlined with colored bulbs. We have an enormous poinsettia which gets moved around from surface to surface as space is required. And a few more Christmas cards have trickled in bringing the total up to a very respectable 20. I am satisfied that the season is being done justice this year.
John is making his second batch of holiday cookies tonight. He made up the Spritz recipe for last Sunday's party, but we never put them out because Kymm brought a huge tin of cookies and forced us, forced us I tell you, to eat those instead. He is working on his mom's recipe for brown cookies ("Why are they called brown cookies?" "They're brown!" "Uh, John, most cookies are brown." "These taste brown!" "You're scaring me."). I'm already a little burned out on sweet things, never a particular craving or downfall of mine, but he loves making cookies and it's fun to watch him have fun so everybody wins.
I have to figure out what to cook for Christmas dinner. We're having John's German colleague Alf over as he's a Christmas orphan. I think I'm in the mood for a classic roast beef with roasted potatos and gravy from the drippings, but that may be a bit ambitious for a gal who will be at the tag end of a cold. Perhaps I'll go to the store and wander around hoping for inspiration to strike. Ooh, bad idea. Time to get out the cookbooks, then, and see what looks good and simple to fix. It sounds like a pleasant way to pass the evening. I'll read recipes while John cuts out Santas and stars, and the cats will snooze by the twinkling lights of the tree, and Dixie will be completely left out of this picture of domesticity since she still shuns us in favor of the backyard and her doghouse.
Fa la la la laaaa cough cough cough cough.
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Border graphic by Jade Leaves Designs in memory of Ginkgo