The Fourth Day

I have a cold today.  I am not sick.  Over Christmas this past few weeks, we, the kids and I, discussed the definition of "sick" and "having a cold".  Since the kiddos have fledged our nest, occasionally one or the other or all three have mentioned by phone or email they they were sick.

SICK?!!!  Mother Me would panic.  Major maternal panic mode!

And come to find out?  They just had a cold.  A measly, snibbly cold. Sniffles.  A tiny bit of a fever.  Nothing that they should write home about.  Take a long nap.  Drink lots of water.  Eat some garlic.  Gargle.  Vicks.

This morning, I began sneezing and wheezing.  I thought it might be allergies, but what in the world could I be allergic to in single-digit temperatures?  After lunch, I lay down on the sofa for a quick 20-minute nap, as is my sometimes practice.  But that 20 minutes ended up to be a two-hour marathon coma. Complete with really vivid dreams.

And I continued to sneeze.

I sneezed out in the snow in the pasture as I herded the pups out for their evening romp.

I sneezed in the art room as I completed some art works.

I have a cold.

I am not sick.

Today is the Fourth Day of Christmas.

Mel Torme wrote this song when he was 19 years old:

MEL TORME: Good King Wenceslas

1. Good King Wenceslas look'd out,
    On the Feast of Stephen;¹
When the snow lay round about,
    Deep, and crisp, and even:
Brightly shone the moon that night,
    Though the frost was cruel,
When a poor man came in sight,
    Gath'ring winter fuel.

2. "Hither page and stand by me,
    If thou know'st it, telling,²
Yonder peasant, who is he?
    Where and what his dwelling?"
"Sire, he lives a good league hence.
    Underneath the mountain;
Right against the forest fence,
    By Saint Agnes' fountain."

3. "Bring me flesh,³ and bring me wine,
    Bring me pine-logs hither:
Thou⁴ and I will see him dine,
    When we bear them thither."
Page and monarch forth they went,
    Forth they went together;
Through the rude⁵ winds wild lament,
    And the bitter weather.

4. "Sire, the night is darker now,
    And the wind blows stronger;
Fails my heart, I know now how,
    I can go no longer."
"Mark my footsteps, good my page;⁶
    Tread thou in them boldly;
Thou shalt find the winter's rage
    Freeze thy blood less coldly."

5. In his master's steps he trod,
    Where the snow lay dinted;
Heat was in the very sod
    Which the saint had printed.
Therefore, Christian men, be sure,
    Wealth or rank possessing,
Ye who now will bless the poor,
    Shall yourselves find blessing.

Wherefore, Christian people, know,

    Who my lay are hearing,
He who cheers another's woe
    Shall himself find cheering.