Tag Archives: cold

Stupid Brain Tricks

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By Vicki Hughes         Posted March 21, 2013

My brain seems to be having a few issues. Perhaps it feels a little bit like my outdated laptop when I ask it to do way too many things at one time. It just sort of hiccups and misfires and needs a reboot. (Not Responding)

Last week I noticed it several times while I was showering. I wanted to cool the water off because it was too hot, so I immediately felt compelled to turn the cold water down, thereby scalding myself.  Bad hand! I meant colder, not hotter. Do what I mean, not what I say.

A couple nights ago I was trying to communicate with the fan in our bedroom. The spring weather in L.A. (Lower Alabama) means that one day you’re running the heat, and the next day you’re sweltering without the a/c on. I wasn’t about to go to bed without my trusty fan working it’s magic on a warm spring evening.

First, let me tell you, my fan has too many buttons. One turns it on and off, one adjusts the speed from Gnat’s Breath all the way to Hurricane Force, another tells it to oscillate or stand it’s ground, and yet another is a timer. I’ve never used the timer. That button is is dead to me. All I wanted to do was tell the fan to come on, and blow steadily on my glistening self, at a medium speed. I feel that is a reasonable request.

Except my brain kept telling my fingers, “On and oscillate. Nooooo. Wait. Don’t oscillate! Crap. Off. No! I mean ON. Oscillate. Are you kidding me?! You know I meant steady. Wait! What the hell am I doing?! ON. STEADY! STAY RIGHT THERE! Jeeze Louise, it’s hot in here!”

They need therapy for women who talk to electrical components. I can be their leader.

I also like to leave myself cryptic notes, both on scraps of paper, and on my phone calendar. “Get the drfl from C.” I look at it and think…”Drfl, drfl. Dog’s right front leg? Disgusting rat fink letters? Is C for Chelsey or Cyndi at work? Dare I call them and ask them if they know what a drfl is? No. It’s too risky. WHATEVER. If it’s important, someone will yell at me, and I will find a way to survive. Damned drfls.

I have been a little frustrated through the winter, over the disruption to my walking schedule, which I am slowly getting back to. However, I have soothed my guilty conscience with the fact that I walk several miles every day, going into rooms, only to realize I have no idea what I am doing in there. I get a workout huffing it back to wherever I started, hoping I have left myself some hieroglyphics about where I was headed before twelve things happened to interrupt my train of thought.

Check BB. Hey, I know that one. Bank balance. Yesssssss! Fist pump. Now if I can just remember to log on and pay that bill before a squirrel runs by and screws me over completely. Hey….where’s my pen?

© Vicki Hughes 2013

 

The Magic of Soup

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By Vicki Hughes       Posted March 16, 2013

Soup is magical. It conjures up all that is good in the Universe. Love, hope, nourishment, comfort and sustenance. It tells us we will be okay and it’s fine to feel five years old once in a while.

Right after Christmas I had a cold. I went to work sick. I sneezed, and my nose ran through my cold meds. I had a very long day, especially since it was December 26th, I was sick, we had a skeleton crew, the phones rang off the hook, and I was there till 7:30 pm. Did I mention I was also having some lovely cramps? It was a shitty day, not to put too fine a point on it.

When I got home, looking much like I felt, which was not good, all I could think was, “I hab a code.” But wonder of wonders, my Momma had made a pot of tomato-butternut squash soup. It was thick and savory and waiting to be eaten! This is a definite perk of having my Momma living here. She’s an awesome cook. She’d also cleaned up all the debris of Christmas and that too was a mood enhancer after the day I’d had.

I’d hoped to sleep it off and awaken the next day fresh as a daisy, but I was stuffy and puffy, leaking and hoarse and really not suitable for dealing with the public, let alone doing personal services like facials and leg waxes. I made the decision to keep myself home and attempt to be some help to my team via text, but I knew they were neck deep in the trenches and I felt bad for not being there on a very busy day. If I wasn’t worried that I might take them all down with Cholera, I’d have been there.

While I was frantically texting my Front Desk Coordinator, trying to help her with a software meltdown, my Mom asked me if I wanted her to make me some Turkey Vegetable Soup from our leftover Christmas turkey. Answer? “Yes. Yes I do.” Because I may not be able to fix lots of things, but I could accept this bit of solace and allow it to heal me and restore a modicum of peace in the chaos.

Soup makes life better, especially when your mom makes it for you while you’re sick and look like warmed over hell.

Soup is magical because it takes simple, humble ingredients and converts them into comfort and sustaining nourishment. Soup doesn’t pretend to be anything it’s not. It doesn’t puff itself up and try to compete with Chateau Briand or Crème Brule. It’s just soup, and that’s enough. Soup has healthy self esteem. It doesn’t try to impress you with a lot of fancy dance moves. You toss a few veggies and some liquid in a pot….add whatever you have on hand, and viola! Soup. And whatever was bugging you before bugs you just a tiny bit less. If you still need a little boost, toss in one grilled cheese sandwich, and call me in the morning.

© Vicki Hughes 2013