It Takes Time To Heal
Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. Not at all bad, with John Fullbright to boot, singin’ his heart out and makin’ mine ache. He played this song titled, “When You’re Here”: And in my heart, stands a scarecrow, and if he’s hurt he doesn’t say so, and he chases everything he loves away. But at night when it’s colder there’s a bluebird on his shoulder, and he whispers that he’ll hold her one bright day…
Well. That man has a voice that wraps around a person like a soft warm blanket, and that’s just the thing for a week like this has been, and is. See, our youngest has been sick. Started up about when the show did last Saturday evening, and after three visits to the doctor, two sleepless nights, and one prescription for pinkeye (both her eyes), I’m ready to roll myself up and sleep ‘til the cows come home and head on out again.
Hard thing it is, to watch someone you love feeling miserable and not being able to do much. Can’t make it go away; perhaps can make it better. “Takes time to heal,” I tell her, and on this — day seven of not mono, not strep, not thyroid or Lyme or bronchitis but Something — she’s wondering where Time as gone and when he’s coming back.
There was that moment sometime around 1:25 early Tuesday morning when she climbed into bed with me and asked if she could stay and I said yes and we held hands and laughed and talked on and off for hours. And the moment when she was having a hard time even breathing and we just held each other for a bit as menthol-scented steam swirled around. And the moment when I slid before her a thick slice from the middle of a loaf of fresh banana bread, and she took a bite, and laughed and sighed and I asked what was funny, and she said, “This is so good.”
Yes, there are blessings in the swirl of sleepless hours, the head pain, a terribly sore throat, the fever and the coughed-up wads of goo. We’ve watched, together, videos of tapirs nuzzling and gibbons asserting their alpha-maleness, and one of a dog and orangutan who clearly are best friends (those were her choice) and really sad wedding clips of fathers and daughters dancing (my choice), where we both laughed and shed tears. We’ve shared egg white omelets and mugs of hot chocolate, and eaten three kinds of ice cream and chicken soup with spinach leaves stirred in (her favorite). We’ve talked about how other cultures do things and why we pay taxes and why college costs so much and how the dog seems to know what she’s thinking.
I figure a week from now she’ll be off at school again, and fine, and scrambling to get her work done, and dropping by to change her clothes on her way to play practice and slamming the door behind her with a cookie in her hand. For now, it’s more soup, and a hot bath later on, with a few drops of lavender oil sprinkled in. I don’t know that lavender oil does much, but she likes how it smells, and she tells me so, and that’s enough for me.
This meatball recipe has been in the family a good long while, and if you’d rather not do spaghetti, try ‘em as an appetizer, or in a sandwich, or throw ‘em in the freezer for a night you get in late.
1 lb ground beef
4 slices bread, (crust removed) and pulled into small pieces
½ cup grated parmesan or Romano cheese
1 T parsley
1 tsp oregano
1-2 cloves garlic, peeled and chopped fine
½ tsp salt
Dash or two pepper
Dash cayenne pepper
2-3 T olive oil
Place ground beef in a bowl and, using a potato masher, break the meat apart. Add remaining ingredients and mix and mash well. Using your hands, form meatballs the size of large walnuts or golf balls. Heat meatballs on an oiled skillet to medium high. Reduce heat to low, and cook for a good while, turning meatballs every ten minutes or so until they’re nice and brown.
Pour your favorite sauce over and simmer for 45 minutes or so, or until ready to serve.