This reminds me of the time when I was in Barcelona for a holiday and got an infection before I even left. Tapas was out of the questions, and so was sangria. The legendary cough followed me through the Gothic Quarter, down La Rambla, up the Sagrada Familia and Park Güell, into the Palau de la Música Catalana, and by the time we were at Herzog & de Meuron’s Forum Building (how sad; it was closed) I was finally almost well. Maybe it makes for unusual memories but we found a Wenzhou (where is that?) cuisine restaurant where I could have some soup for the sick. What do sick people eat in Europe? So everyday I flushed myself with hot lemon-and-honey drinks. “The aunties at the supermarket said it works just as well,” said the husband when out on an errand to find a lemon for me this week. So we’re doing okay with calamansi and manuka honey; finally I get to use my manuka honey that sits away in cool storage, almost forgotten, only once in a while peeking out to the daylight when we open the cabinets for the plates and bowls. I hope I get well soon as the bag of chips sits on the table, waiting to be devoured and there are dreams of chocolate cake. And then it’s another cycle of tissue-blowing again? That better not be. There’s a baby to be taken care of.
+ photo credit: Playground