I swear by ColdFX, vitamin C and lots of fluids when I get a cold, and that combination is keeping this cold under control, at least until bedtime. When I am up in the wee hours it is very soothing to make a pot of herbal tea and stir natural honey into it. Usually I choose camomile; sometimes mint or ginger; since Christmas, I have more choice ... many mints and Nova Scotia History tea .. and tonight, pomegranate and rooiboos.
I almost never choose rooiboos because my first experience was at the Green Door, and it tasted like twigs and bark, possibly some that an African monkey had urinated on. This is far more appetizing ... likely the sweet combination of pomegranate and honey.
I can feel the beginnings of a cold sore starting. These only happen to me when a cold goes underground, and then only rarely. I used to get them all the time when I was a teenager, and I suffered more from the embarrassment than from the pain. I've gotten over feeling embarrassed by my appearance. The eye infections which allowed me my grand entrance to the hall of fame in the ugly contest have accomplished that. A miniscule cold sore couldn't possibly match the visual impact of an eye bulging under swollen red lids.
When the swelling had almost disappeared and the eye was open, I asked Nature Girl (who is eight) whether I still looked ugly. She looked at me carefully and then said, "Yes," in a matter of fact way.
At least she didn't draw my picture. Mud Mama aimed her new camera at me, adjusted the focus and declared that she had produced a very good portrait which she would blog when she got home.
And at least she didn't react with horror as Kati, her cousin, had when Fozzie Bear had the brain tumour. Kati (about eight at the time) looked at the cat in horror and said, "Oh, she's ugly," and ran away.
My readers will be glad when I finish this pot of tea and return to my bed rather than rambling incoherently at 1 a.m. It may have something to do with the steroids I am taking for the eye infection. Tamarack said they affected her personality when she took them. She became nasty and hard to get along with. I (fortunately) have become far more energetic than usual, getting more house cleaning done in two days than I normally accomplish in two weeks. Maybe it raises the testosterone levels and fires the muscles?
Okay, enough. I am off to bed with the last cup and one of my new Christmas books, Through Black Spruce, a beautifully written story in which the narrative voices alternate between the ghostly one of the old man lying in a coma, and before that lost in a world of alcohol, and that of his niece who sits with him every night and tells the story of her sister who got lost in the world of models and drugs in the city. The story unfolds inexorably and naturally, and reveals much about the lives of modern day Crees living in northern Ontario.