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If I see one more book on Chicken Soup for anything I'm going to quit eating chicken all together! In my family it was "A bowl of Irish Stew" for the soul, or " A nice cup of hot tea" for the soul. But I don't see books flooding the shelves about them. They worked too, or at least my Grandmas' swore by them.
I tried these old fashioned soul cures on my Grandchildren but they didn't cure anything as well as "The Happy Meal Cure". These are desperate times and even I will resort to what works.
On bad days, when the computer tries to flat line, or the dog is realy trying to eat the cat, or writers' block has me pulling what little hair I have left, out, my dear Mother threatens to make up some chicken soup.
The threat usually works and I pull myself together. Those are "The Chicken Soup Days". My older sister doesn't call her bad days anything, according to her there are none in her life now that she has a new boyfriend.
My sister is a gormet cook and over feeds every body. She's estatic to have a consistant mouth to feed at last. We are happy for her, yes, yes, "He sounds wonderful", I say. She remaines the hopeless romantic. "Well got to go", she says, "Im making Chicken Soup for Nick". Silence, on my end of the phone, then I say "Oh, thats nice". Some things are best left unsaid.
I am not a gormet cook, but am better at cooking than relationships. The last boyfriend I had thought Hemingway was a sewing technique. "No", I said, "He's a famouse author, and wrote my favorite book "A Moveable Feast"! "Oh, a cook book"?, he asks. Silence again from me.
He didn't last long and I just gave up ever finding my soul mate. That was five years ago, it's been pleasantly uncomplicated since. I got a male Doxie to assure the bliss would remain, as he would repulse even the most love sick Romeo. As only Doxie owners would know.
This year I will paruse the book stores again. I'm prepaired to with-stand "The Chicken Soup" thing. Christmas is a time of forgiveness, and while I'm at the Mall I'll try the Grandkids "Happy Meal Cure"
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