Today has been a horrid day. I have spent all but about an hour in bed, with my receptacle beside me, my book in one hand and my troll doll, Ber-Hurt, in the other.
This is the aftermath, I believe, of a hastily heated up chicken roll from a servo.
When I was little, it didn’t matter if I was on deaths door or had stubbed my toe, Nanny’s Chicken Noodle Soup fixed the world.
I remember thinking that if Suddam Hussein would just try it, that he would be so happy that he would let everyone go.
When I woke up sick this morning, my first thought was “I need Noodle soup…”
Dan went on a mission to Coles and brought me home the requirements I needed so I could chuck it all in a pot and go back to bed: chicken wings, chicken stock and hollow spaghetti.
After about an hour, I could smell it through the house and while I still felt sick as dog, I was a lot more comfortable. It took me back ten years, to sitting at the kitchen table as the news came on, with the orange and white salt and pepper shakers and the baby-poo green bowls, slurping away with Nanny on Wednesday nights. The fact that tonight is Wednesday did not escape me. If anything, it makes me wonder if it was Nanny popping by to say hi.
There is always some comfort, no matter how old you are, that one particular meal brings you when you are sick. I know for a friend of mine it is pumpkin soup, another it is dippy soldiers, and for me and my momma, it’s Nanny’s “Chicky Noonle Soup.”
After five hours cooking (you have to have the meat falling off the bones), I was snuggled in bed, with a bowl of my soup that smelt exactly like Nannys. I was worried about my ability to keep it down, but figured that my body, even in its screwed up state, knew that this meal was not to be wasted. This meal was Heaven.
Even now, with a pounding head, my throat on fire and my whole body aching, I am calm, a lot less sooky than I was a few hours ago and ready to sleep this thing off.
When you’re a child, and you’re sick, there is always someone who knows how to do one tiny little thing that always makes you feel better. When I moved out of home, the first time I got sick I remember thinking “aww, Man, now who is going to look after me?”
It makes me wonder whether the remedy for my sickness was in the person who gave me the care I wanted, or whether it was in the safety of whatever it is they brought me.
After making my soup tonight, I think it was a bit of both. It brought back memories of Nanny doing it when I was sick, of mum doing it as well -although, hers was yummy, but it was never the same – and of knowing as I snuggled down in my pink bunk beds that Chicky Noonle Soup could cure any illness I had.
What makes you feel better when you are unwell?
Do you have a particular type of food that is guaranteed to work?