The Phone Call

Otherwise known as... The Most Visible Scars

I am STILL dealing with my own personal plague-- a sinus infection which has decided it simply can't give me up.  We're going on our third week together.  I'm dying for us to at the very least separate until this time next year.  If the infection is still with me on Wednesday, I'm returning to the doctor for stronger drugs.  Drugs that will actually help me.  I'm at the stage where I'm threatened by the possibility of burial by used tissues.  They are all around me, piling up by the minute.

This afternoon after work I stopped by my favorite Publix to pick up the ingredients for chicken soup.

Again.

I didn't make chicken soup last week because I had made it three times the week before.  I was over chicken soup.  Today, however, I found myself craving more warm soupy, noodly goodness.  I put garlic, spring onion, fresh grated ginger, jalapeno peppers, and curly Chinese noodles in my soup.  It is the most comforting elixir... ever.  I had a slight hiccup when I discovered that I had used ALL of my containers of low-sodium chicken broth save one (I usually use two and make an extra large batch!) but I added a bit of water and continued my merry cooking.  Today's soup is definitely more noodly than brothy but that's okay.  It's still warm, soupy, noodly goodness that I made myself... with a slight interruption.

Monk called.

Monk (not his real name... just a title he uses in reference to his monkish ways) and I have been friends for sixteen years.  We were introduced by one of my former boyfriends... and even though neither of us speak to that person anymore (not out of malice... life just... happens) we have remained friends over the years.  Monk visited me in Japan in 2002, and is my stand-in date whenever I'm attending a wedding in Atlanta, where he lives.  Once he took me to two weddings the same day.

I'll never forget that.

Monk got married once, a number of years ago.  It didn't take.  He is the kindest and best of men, and continues to spend time with his step-children even though he is no longer married to their mother.  They formed a bond that couldn't be broken.  I love that about him.

So, when I was up to my elbows in sizzling garlic and the phone rang... I had to let it ring.

First things first. 

When I had a moment, could put the phone on speaker, and work and talk at the same time, I dug the phone out of my purse.  Monk.

I called back, and Monk started off by checking on me.  He had read Friends with Kids.  I told him I was okay.  It was the sinus infection.  It was the baby.  It was the dad of four who couldn't stop talking about the four children.  It's okay.  Life goes on and three days later I'm in much better shape.  Perspective.

We talked for a while, and I enjoyed our talk.  Monk offered his counsel, as he always does, and when we hung up, I felt even better than I had when I dialed.

Not just because my soup was in a mug, ready to be devoured.

Monk is the man against which I measure every other man, and if he saw me as I saw him, we would make a perfect match.

But he doesn't.

And I've made my peace with that.  Almost.

Because now, he's a monk.  A handsome, tall, firefighting, monk-- not so interested in women after getting burned.

Burns can leave the most visible scars.

He talked of coming for a visit in May.  That would be great.