Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Weapon: Funnel / Arsenal: Chicken Soup




Well, I am two days late on my Life is Funny post. I hope that earns back my claim to randomness in your eyes, NtG. Okay, seriously, I am late with my Life is Funny post because I wanted to do the birthday post for Nick, and then I was hoping that somehow yesterday's post would work out. I mean, isn't it funny that I found Polish Dancers in the library. LIVE dancers, actually dancing, not a video, or book or something. I was amazed and had a great time, but my research at Panera spoiled that, and I couldn't rescue the post for Life is Funny no matter how hard I tried. So you are going to be subjected to a story which took place when Bob and I were first engaged...


Yesterday, I was making homemade soup for my family, and I remembered the first time I made homemade soup for my Bob, who at the time, was Mine to be Bob. He had contracted pneumonia just before New Year's, and I decided to tend to his ailment. Of course, chicken soup was essential. Homemade Chicken Soup. My Momma's recipe. Now, you need to understand that growing up, I had terrible bronchitis. Grown Hungarian men visiting Daddy would cry when they'd hear me cough. You need to understand that the only thing to make a grown Hungarian man's eyes water is saying goodbye to his mama for the last time. Otherwise, their emotional repertoire is joy and anger. There isn't much else they feel comfortable displaying. But a three year old almost coughing up a lung crossed that line. They even gave my mother permission to switch to a nonHungarian doctor *gasp*, since our (meaning Mine, Mom's, Daddy's, Daddy's Hungarian friends) had been unable to prescribe anything to soothe me. As a matter of fact, he stopped writing prescriptions, and told them they'd have to live with it. Did I ever mention that my sister died of bronchial pneumonia as a baby? Now might be a good time to throw that in, just so you can truly understand their panic.
My momma made chicken soup for me every day. Well, she probably made it every other day, but I ate it every day. While it didn't cure my bronchitis, I do believe that Mamma staved off the pneumonia single handedly until they finally found Dr. Goldberg, when I was almost six. (No internet in those days. People found good doctors by word of mouth. And you didn't just want to switch willy nilly. You wanted to switch because the doctor had a good reputation in treating more or less the same ailments you had.)
So anyways, I was worried about Mine to be Bob, and brought the ingredients for chicken soup to his house. I didn't surprise him. I told him that I was coming over to take care of him and make him well..
Well, he sees the chicken as I unpack my bag....
Bob: What are you going to do with that?
HRM: I thought I might need someone to talk when you took a nap. What do you think I am going to do with it? I am going to cure you with it!
Bob: How?
HRM: (I place my hand on my hip) By rubbing it all over your chest, silly. Take off your shirt.
(long pause)
HRM: My, you really are feeling poorly. Homemade chicken soup, dear...
Bob: I don't like homemade soup. I prefer Mrs. Graas.
HRM: Good to know. When we have a casual lunch in the future, she'll save me a lot of work. I'm sure she makes fine soup. But this is my Momma's recipe for Chicken Soup. This should chase the pnuemonia right out of you.
Bob: Helen, I don't like homemade chicken soup.
HRM: But you never tasted...
Bob: Helen, I'd rather you didn't..
HRM: Okay, here is how it is going to be. You are going to eat two bowls of homemade chicken soup twice a day, even if I have to wait until you nap, stick a funnel in your mouth as you snore, and pour it in! Am I clear...
Bob: That was not the picture I had in mind when you said you'd take care of me.

Well, I didn't have to sneak up to him with a funnel while he napped. He was a most cooperative patient after that.
His reaction to the soup.

HRM: Well. Now that you've tasted it, what do you think of Momma's Homemade Soup.
Bob: It's okay.....
HRM: Dang straight. And you will be to, provided you keep eating it like I tell you to....


No. I wasn't threatening him again. I was testifying of the power of the soup. I couldn't have been too mean. We did get married afterwards, after all....


How about joining my friend Wendy's blog carnival with your own post about how your life is funny?

9 comments:

Bridget Chumbley said...

Great story, Helen. I could use a good bowl of homemade chicken soup (that I don't have to make myself)... *sigh*

I love happy endings!

Ginny (MAD21) said...

'...not what I had in mind when you said you'd take care of me...' LOL

Great story. I'd like some of that magic soup, too. :o)

katdish said...

Poor Bob...

He never had a chance. You enchanted him with your soup and aggressive care.

Wendy said...

He doesn't like homemade soup?! Just how sick does a person have to be to utter that statement? I just can't wrap my brain around that one...

jasonS said...

Of course, he married you! You scared him to death. :) Only kidding of course. Great story.

I guess I can see preferring store-bought over homemade. My wife thought everything at the store was as good as homemade when we got married. Slowly but surely, she has converted from the kingdom of darkness to the kingdom of light. And the peasants rejoice!

Candace Jean July 16 said...

I was really hoping to see a picture of you standing there with a nekked chicken, waiting to rub it on Bob's chest.

Is he still hen-pecked?

JML said...

"Grown Hungarian men visiting Daddy would cry when they'd hear me cough"

Out of context, a pretty awesome sentence. I hope I meet a girl that'll make ME soup some day!!!!! :)

sherri said...

Great story Helen. Your soup magic sounds great- I want the recipe.

Peter P said...

At the point Bob asked "What are you going to do with that?" I almost fell off the chair laughing.

Thanks, Helen,