Northwoods Woman

Wednesday.  Day 3 of me being tortured with a head cold.

Maybe tortured is a little harsh.

On second thought, no it’s not.

It wouldn’t be so bad if I could just stay at home and feel miserable all by myself.  Silently groaning at not being able to breath out of one nostril that is so stuffed up that it’s oozing icky mucusy stuff into the rest of my head, making me brain dead to everything but my basic bodily functions.

And every once in a while a rogue drop of liquid will break free from the pack and quickly slip southward (usually during the most inopportune time).  (I know everyone has had this happen, so quit saying “ewww”.)

How can one small nose create so much gunk?  And where is it stored when I don’t have a cold?

Oh, and my nose feels like it’s as big as a softball and as bright red as Rudolph’s.

There is usually a pattern to this:  One side plugged one day, the other side the next, and then the dam breaks loose and I’ve got oogy stuff coming out by the gallon.  So far that pattern hasn’t happened.  Ugh!

So instead of taking a sick day from work and staying home cuddled up in blankets and trying to blow my nose off, I share these lovely cold germs with the people that gave them to me:  my co-workers.

Because my Mama raised me to share things.  She just didn’t break it down into categories.

 

It started with a sneeze.  And then another.

Of course, with all the dust in our house this time of year, I didn’t give it much of a thought.  Plus, I eat lots of garlic so that fends off most illnesses that come my way.

But I came home yesterday from the Memorial service for a person that I adored… and started sneezing again.  Yes, I had hugged many people, but I do this every day.  And then the unmistakable slightly heavy head that I knew was not a good thing.

Crap, I was getting a head cold.

Normally, I would just say “Hey, my body is just fighting off something that could be worse” and deal with it.  But no, there was more at stake here.  And that was my reputation as a cook.

No, I’m not a professional chef of any sorts, but I like to think that I can make certain dishes pretty good.  And that is why I volunteered my services to a committee at the college that was building their coffers for our Christmas party fund by providing the food for a workshop next weekend.

This was when I wasn’t being threatened with a head cold.  I need to be able to smell and taste what I’m cooking in order to make something edible.

Then I looked closer at who was putting on the workshop:  the son of the man who owns Famous Dave’s.  You know, the ultimate BBQ restaurant in the upper Midwest.

Crap! Crap! Crap!  This guy knows quality food, and I was expected to deliver something spectacular to him, plus 30 other people.

Breathe, Sandy, breathe.

I am making the spaghetti sauce for a main dish, which I could do in my sleep.  But you still need to be able to smell and taste as you go along, and when I make a sauce like this it takes a minimum of 6 hours so that all of the herbs and spices will get together and have a party.  It will also be vacationing in the refrigerator for 4 days until the big event which will take all of those flavors and enhance them even more.  It is a fine science and I want to make sure that the end result will make everyone wanting more.

OK, I can do this.  I’ve done it before for many other events so I just have to do my best and make sure that it comes from the heart.  That’s what real cooking is all about, isn’t it?

Death, the one appointment we all must keep, and for which no time is set ~ Charlie Chan

:::

We have had a fair amount of loss in the community over the last couple weeks, and each one has been so shocking because of the unexpected circumstances.

– The son-in-law of a co-worker in a tragic accident, leaving a wife and 5 children (with one on the way)

– A former co-worker of a heart attack

– A former customer of mine and student of the college, had a massive stroke and leaves 7 children (3 of which are under the age of 18)

I was even  brought the news that a 30-year-old young man that my daughters went to school with died from complications from surgery, and a neighbor from our previous homestead community passed away.

All so tragic and so terribly sad.  The moccasin telegraph along with social networking sites spread the word of these deaths quickly, alerting friends and family alike to the untimely deaths of people we knew and, in some instances, did not know directly, but which affects us nonetheless.

Living on the Rez, death seems to come as a common occurrence.  Don’t think of that as a crass and unfeeling statement, but rather as a view of what I have come to accept living up here.  We are a small community, and when tragedies such as these – so many in such a short time – happen, it can be overwhelming.  If you let it.

I think about each of these people and how they either touched my life or the life of someone I know.  I reach back into my memory banks and relive my memories of those that I did know.  It’s like opening a book and reading the chapters of my life and the parts where each of them fit it.

And the hardest part of all of it?  Knowing exactly what each one of their loved ones is going through at this time, because I have been there.  I have walked in their shoes.  This is a time of anger, sadness and unknowing.  It is a time of unimaginable grief that you think you will never be able to get rid of.  And in a small way, you never do.  Those memories of good times and bad will always be there.  But the pain, oh that horrible pain, can be all consuming.  But it will ease over time.

If you allow it to.

When I think of those young kids that would always greet me with a smile and a hug whenever they saw me, having to witness their Mother’s passing, I just want to curl up into a ball and cry.  And then I think about the wonderful way that she raised them, with such love, compassion and self-worth, and I know that they are strong.  They will get through this rough time in their life.

Just like the rest of us who have had to endure the passing of those that we have known and loved in our lives.

As Mr. Chan says, there is no set time for death.  And in a way I am happy for that, because if there were, we wouldn’t be able to live every day to it’s fullest.

And enjoy living.