C is for Caudle

Caudle -- a noun, a drink made for invalids usually made of warm ale or wine mixed with bread or gruel, eggs, sugar, and spices

Which sounds revolting.

But I've been under the weather for a few days and am almost willing to try anything to feel better. PlusI'm pretty sure Opie would make me a caudle if he thought it would help because I am a CONSTANT DELIGHT when I’m sick.

First of all, I refuse to go upstairs and go to bed. I have to sleep on the couch—because when I was sick as a kid, my mom would always have me sleep downstairs on the couch, closer to her.   “So you can keep me company,” she’d say.  “And so I can take care of you.”

“GO TO BED!”  Opie keeps insisting. 

“I should keep you company,” I say.  “And don’t you want to take care of me?”

And, since he is a wise man, he hasn’t mentioned that as much as he might like to take care of me, he’d prefer to do it in a way that doesn’t involve breathing in a constant influx of germs. 

A situation not noticeably helped by the fact that, at random intervals, I yell at him to take some Vitamin C and wipe everything in the house down with Clorox wipes.  “I don’t need you getting sick too!” I shout.

If you think THAT is entertaining for him, you should have been here when HE got sick a few weeks earlier.  He had a touch of fever so he came home from work early and went immediately to bed (he didn’t care about keeping me company AT ALL). 

Unfortunately for him, later that afternoon, as I was sitting down to have a cup of tea and watch the birds congregating around our feeders, I realized that Bubba had killed a squirrel in the yard.  Right in front of the window.  Which meant that instead of the soothing sight of cardinals and crackles and the like all I could see was carcass.  Dead, bloody carcass and a circling dog who thought it was the best toy ever.

Clearly, a husband-waking emergency.  So, instead of brewing him a caudle, I tiptoed upstairs, touched him gently on the shoulder and said “Hon?  Bub killed another squirrel.”

“Ok,” he said.

“I can see it from the window,” I told him then.

“Ok,” he said again and closed his eyes.

Some people probably think I should have left the poor man alone and dealt with this problem myself but there are 2 big problems with that theory:

1.       I have a firm rule about handling freshly killed, possibly vermin infested creatures.

2.      Bubba has a tendency to think freshly killed, possibly vermin infested creatures make great gifts and has been known to go so far as to PUT THEM ON MY FOOT when I step out of the house.

So, I gave Opie a gentle poke or two…and maybe a teeny-tiny shake.  “Hon? Did you hear me?  About the squirrel?  And Bubba?  He’s still outside. With the squirrel.  You need to get it away from him.”

And he got a little surly about the whole situation, “You need me to deal with this NOW?” he demanded. “You can’t do something?”

“Did you hear the part where I mentioned the squirrel is DEAD?” I countered. 

Seriously, I don’t know how he and Bub survived all those years without me here to put things in their proper perspective.

But that's life in Oklahoma...I watch birds and am considering brewing caudles, Opie takes care of dead things, and Bubba is a squirderer.