Late this afternoon I gave up all pretense that my runny nose might be allergies and conceded the ugly truth. It’s a cold. Minor disappointments follow: Missing the Pentecost sequence again (I hate that), missing the chance to go to Mass on Memorial Day again (double hate).
Now what usually happens when you are a sickly person who comes down with some kind of common complaint is that people who love you immediately inform you of all the reasons you are responsible for your fate:
- You’ve been doing too much.
- You haven’t been active enough.
- You sleep in too much.
- You aren’t resting.
- Your diet could be healthier.
- You are too preoccupied with your diet, you need to relax.
- You really should get in to see a doctor.
- You probably caught something at the doctor’s office.
Thank you, helpers!
And this is why being me is so much fun: Because it’s just a cold. An ordinary cold. My robust 11-year-old had it, and now my robust 8-year-old has it. They, too, have been stricken by this thing that makes them loll around the house, complaining and wondering if there isn’t something they can take to make it all better.I wasn’t really looking for something to offer up this weekend, but if I’ve got it, I’m going to enjoy the fact that it’s something utterly normal for a change.
I pray for the intentions of my readers, and this weekend is particularly devoted to remembering the bereaved and the fallen. With that in mind, I’ll ask that you please keep another newly-widowed friend in your prayers. Thanks.