Friday, April 4, 2008

The Splague


By CHRIS MILLSPAUGH

I’m writing this to you folks as I am being ravaged by one of the worst colds I have ever had. This is beyond an ordinary cold. This is a virus of the unknown. It has no name or resume attached to it. The congestion in my chest is overwhelming. My throat is sore from coughing yet it won’t go away. The phlegm continues to mount up.


It’s--wait a minute. This is a humor column. You don’t want to hear this and, besides, you’ve probably already had this cold yourself. I had to wait until April to take it on. Okay, back to the cold. Have you ever been in line at Atkinsons’ grocery and you heard someone gurgling behind you? That would be me. I was the gurgler. Every inhalation breath is riddled with the gurgling. You cough to get it to come up but your ribs are so sore, you can’t make it happen. What do you do? You end up running out of the store because you’ll never be able to take it. Oh, but we were not going to discuss the horrific. This is a funny page.


So, I attended Sid West’s memorial at the River Run Lodge on Sunday night and it was, indeed, a grand time. The family and friends all had wonderful things to say and there was a slide projector set up with photos of his life arranged in a loop so that they went on continuously. On and on—kind of like this “killer” cold I have.
This “Ketchum Krud” has really got me down. I have this wonderful friend who brings me soups and medicines, and then flees into the night because being enveloped by the “Spa Plague” is no laughing matter.


There was a lot of laughing at the River Run Lodge, though, as folks related stories and events in Sid’s life, and the drinks flowed free. It was wonderful to be able to say hello to so many people I hadn’t seen in a while. Some were from out of town.
Hey, was this cold brought in from out of town? Sure, now it all fits. We’re going right back to the cold.


I wake up every two hours in a sweat. My vision is impaired from the cold medicine so that I can’t read a clock. I’m locked into this touch of horror for the next few days. I won’t be out on the town. We’ll talk again when the dew is on the meadows and nice things are happening and it is warm.


Nice talking to you.




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