Sometimes I wish we had a Collected Drabbles by Great Write Wayistas.

I'm actually about to pitch that to my agent.

Wow. Remind me to send flowers to the Editor. See how sure I am that it will fly?

Allyson, I'd love to see something fly right now. Jon Karp at Warners just passed on the Chronicles - he loves the idea but wasn't hooked by the writing.

Le sigh. Trying not to be cranky about it.

Sickness/Health

Another surgery, another setback. Me, in the kitchen.

"Digestive problems", they called it at the hospital, another term for just one of many remnants, many after-effects, of that short, destructive bout of rheumatic fever that would take you down as an adolescent and kill you too young.

So much you couldn't eat, so thin, so much determination sparked in me. I cooked for you, anything I thought you might eat: hot fresh bread. Steelcut oatmeal flavoured with vanilla and nutmeg. Chicken done a thousand ways, all of them bland.

The cooking was to comfort myself. The food? Stayed mostly uneaten.

Oooh, Deb, that's gorgeous and painful. And a little bit like the one I have brewing.

All of these are wonderful -- Liese, and Sail, and juliana's spring to mind immediately.

Comfort Food

I probably gained ten pounds that winter.

Your stomach simply wasn’t working, the doctors said – at first, they thought to remove it, feed you through a tube for the rest of your life, which likely wouldn’t be more than a couple of years.

You were shrinking before our eyes. My mother, the round, soft, ample woman of my childhood, was all raw bones, shockingly angular, uncomfortably brittle.

I ate for you. Cake, chips, pasta, ice cream, the warm, golden brioche from the bakery near school. There wasn’t enough food in the world to fill the hole you threatened to leave.

You are all depressing the hell out of me.

I will come up with something about cake...just getting a slow start today, Dana.

erikaj speaks of cake, and I make it appear... this is completely true, and hopefully a little less depressing for everyone.

I had never been this sick before. We thought it was the flu, but on the third day I was weeping in pain. From doctor, to emergency room, to hospital bed. Viral pneumonia, and it was getting steadily worse. Third day, and I’m in an oxygen tent, heavily medicated, and scarcely observed. A doctor finally checks me, and within the hour I’m being transferred to Children’s Hospital. It was my thirteenth birthday.

When I arrived, there was a whole birthday cake, with my name on it, in my room waiting for me. Two days later, when I could eat, I savored every bite of it.

Hee. Sorry about that, Dana. Here's a sweet one.

partnership

Sixteen years old and away from home for the first time. Curled miserably in a blanket on the dorm lobby couch, she cried. He tucked her in, brought her Sprite and crackers, brushed a cool palm across her brow. "Strep, they said. Here, take your pills." Salt savory on her tongue.

Fourteen years later and worn by months of sickness. Curled miserably in a quilt on their living room couch, he closed his eyes. She tucked him in, brought him Sprite and crackers, smoothed his brow. "Strep, they said. Your shot will kick in soon." Bubbles cool in his throat.