Plaid Tidings
by VATERGrrl
Long strands of twinkling white lights meant to resemble icicles illuminated the heavy wooden beams of artisan's row at Pike Place Market. Although I'd begun to tire of them in other settings, thinking that Seattleites were just deceiving themselves into thinking the Emerald City could be a true winter wonderland, here they were charming. And there was always comedic value in seeing the strands sway and clack as the fishmongers tossed twelve pound coho across the high steel counter, the gutted salmon's mouth gaping between the dangling lights.
But as I stood there contemplating the faux frigid ice fingers, a tickle began building in my nose, and I dug into a side pocket of my insulated rain jacket for a dark green handkerchief. Cupping it to my face, I turned away from my companion and let a loud "hurrrr-shooo!" fly into the cloth.
"Bless you, Daddy." Laura Catherine, my four year old daughter, took her "job" of blessing me very seriously, even though she giggled immediately afterward, finding my sneezes hilarious.
"Thank you." I blew my nose with exaggerated noise, earning another giggle.
"You honk like a goose!"
I tucked the `kerf back in my pocket, taking Laura's small, mittened hand in my own. It was a brisk 35 degrees in the unheated "high stall" section of the market, and Lynn had bundled our daughter up in a fleece hat, scarf and mittens to keep her from catching a chill in the damp afternoon air. My mother had made the ensemble from a yard of Hello Kitty-printed polar fleece, ingeniously tying the mittens together with a length of pink cording that slipped through the sleeves of Laura's coat, preventing her from dropping them.
"Like a goose, huh?" I swung Laura's arm in small, gentle arcs. "Why not like a turtle?"
"Dad - eeee," she complained. "Turtles don't honk. They - uh, they . . ." She frowned in concentration, her light auburn eyebrows nearly meeting her nose. She pondered for a moment, trying to recall exactly what sound a turtle made. Her preschool teacher kept a small box turtle in the room, and Laura was always full of stories about what Tuttle had done during her half-day.
"I know," I supplied. "They moo, right?"
"No-ooo, Daddy. That's a cow."
"Oh."
Laura's face lit up as she remembered the sound a turtle made. "Snap! Snap, snap!"
"That's exactly righd, sduggids buggidds." Snuggins buggins was my pet name for her, adopted from a book I'd read while completing my residency in pediatrics, and she didn't seem to mind when I mangled the "n" sound due to congestion.
"Here, hode od to by coad a secod." I let go of her hand to extract my handkerchief again, turning my face away from her before I gave a prolonged, burbling blow into the cloth. Since I'd come down with a cold a few days earlier, I'd taken care to keep my germs away from her, washing my hands until they were chapped red and even switching to tissues so I could toss them as soon as I'd used them.
Now that I was past the most contagious stage, I felt comfortable going back to my standard handkerchiefs, but I was still cleaning my hands with alcohol gel every chance I got. No sense in tempting fate, after all.
"So, what do you think we should get Mommy for Christmas?"
The booth ahead to our left was filled to bursting with batiked fabric of every cut and color, and Laura darted in under a display of scarves, looking up into the middle of them and twirling so that they fluttered around her. The vendor, rather than yelling at her to leave the merchandise alone, smiled and folded her arms across her denim jumper-clad chest.
"That feels nice, doesn't it?" She asked in Laura's direction. I reached over to pull my daughter out, but the woman in the booth stopped me with a shake of her head. "We should all be so easily entertained. She's not hurting anything."
Laura stopped twirling and poked her head out as if the scarves were a festive stage curtain.
"Peek-a-boo, Daddy!"
"I see you, Bug." I touched a scarf near her shoulder, letting the silky, light fabric run through my fingers. "Would Mommy like this one?"
"Mmmm." Laura considered, then rendered her verdict. "No. She likes green."
"So she does." I assured the lady we'd consider coming back for a scarf, then walked toward the next booth. Again, Laura immediately charmed the vendor, this one a young woman with a hot pink buzz cut. I took my time examining the merchandise, a selection of soaps in a vast array of colors and scents. I couldn't really smell any of them very well, so the young woman had to point to a calligraphed sign which indicated that all of the round, brown soaps were pumpkin spice, the rectangular green were rosemary lemon, and so on.
"This one smells like cotton candy." Laura lifted a cake of soap in my direction, and, to humor her, I sniffed it. The soap itself was a delicate pink color with little sparkling flecks in it, very artisanal. As I bent back up, I felt a persistent tickle announce itself, and I pinched my nose to keep the itch at bay.
"You don't like cotton candy, I take it?" The young woman, misinterpreting my pre-sneeze expression for disgust, walked closer.
"Uh, well . . . " I stammered, regretting taking my hand away from my nose. The itch escalated into a persistent burn, and I raised my arm to smother a sneeze in the crook of my elbow. "Kishhhh!"
The soap was potent enough to trigger a mini fit of five sneezes, and it was all I could do to cup my bare hand to my nose and mouth, misting my palm in the process. `Heh-kshoo, hihhh-shhhh. Chhhh! Chhh! Chhhh!"
"Bless you." I heard my daughter and the young woman offer in unison.
"Thag you." Once more, I turned away to blow into my handkerchief, folding up the dampened section when I was done.
"Maybe soap isn't the best thing, either." I felt a bit bad, having visited two stalls already and not finding anything, but I knew I had to find something that Lynn would like which I could live with.
"What about a picture?" Laura took my hand again, and I was glad she was wearing mittens.
"That might just be a fine idea, sweetie." We walked farther down the high stall area, giving the multitudes of flower vendors a wide berth, even though they were mainly selling cedar wreaths and holly sprigs at that time of year. "You know, your mother loves that picture you drew for her last month."
"Yeah." Laura skipped along beside me, her eyes growing wide as we passed the fishmonger. I held her up close to a monkfish that had been set on the ice, its gaping maw looking menacing. She shrieked when the jaws snapped shut, but smiled once a man behind the counter revealed that he'd made the fish pretend to bite by pulling a string. And, of course, we had to stop to pat the brass pig at the corner, a symbol of prosperity and luck.
A few steps later, Laura began pulling me in the direction of another shop, this one specializing in northwest coast Native American jewelry, prints and drums. "I think Mommy would like that," Laura said, pointing to a large, framed print in the window. I looked at it and nodded my head.
The artist, working in pen and ink, had sketched an amazing likeness of Sisiutul, the two-headed sea serpent who was as much a figure in Nootka legend as Raven, the trickster. Both were transformative figures, but Sisiutul, according to myth, was sent to test the courage of young men and women on their vision quests. As the story went, if you were afraid and tried to run away, the two heads of Sisiutul would pursue you and devour you, or his haze would turn you to stone. If, however, you held your fear in check and stood your ground, Sisiutul's two heads would see each other as he came around to devour you, and in seeing himself, Sisiutul would disappear, freeing you from your fear.
I thought of how Lynn had revealed her fears to me, how she'd sat so stoically in the courtroom and faced her rapist, and how she had taken it upon herself to lecture to sororities about the dangers of rape, date rape, and rohypnol on college campuses.
"Yes. Yes, that's the perfect present. Let's get that for your mother."
We went into the store together, glad to be out of the cold and damp, and Laura told the store clerk in a quiet but confident voice that we wanted "that picture in the window, with the snake." The man chuckled indulgently at my daughter, then moved to take the picture out of the window.
"Would you like me to gift wrap this?" He set the framed print down on the counter, awaiting my reply.
"Please."
As he was placing the frame into a box and folding Chilkoot blanket- patterned paper around it, Laura found a rack of greeting cards with northwest coast patterns on them, and was staring intently at them when I came over to her.
"They're kind of pretty, aren't they? Lots of bold lines and colors."
Laura's face scrunched into her look of concentration again, and I assumed she was trying to decipher some mystery in the figures. Instead, she inhaled sharply, raising her hands up to her face as I'm sure she'd seen me do a dozen times that day, and released a soft but insistent "Hiiih-chooo!"
"You aren't funning me, are you, Laurie?" I wanted to think she was imitating me, the way she got such a kick out of my sneezing.
A moment later, however, I saw her face scrunch up again, and before I could find a tissue in my pocket, she sneezed twice in a row. "Hahhh-shhh! Hahh-shooo!"
"Gesundheit, kiddo." I bent down to place the back of my hand against her forehead, and felt a slight warmth that I knew was not from the afternoon's excitement.
"Hihhh-shooo!" Laura sneezed without warning, misting the front of my jacket, and I could see a thin trail of mucus threatening to slip down the divot in her upper lip.
"Bless you again." I unzipped my jacket to get to an inner pocket, pulling out the trusty spare handkerchief I kept there in case of a particularly bad allergy day. Unfolding the light blue cloth just once, so that it was still a thick, compact rectangle in my hand, I lightly pinched Laura's nose between the layers.
"Blow." My daughter complied with vigor, enough so that I had to unfold the cloth a second time to give her a dry surface. She blew until the sound changed from wet and gurgling to a dry puff of air. "Good job." I gave her nose a final swipe and then tucked the cloth into my jeans pocket, knowing that I'd likely need to offer it to her again in a hurry. We walked back up to the counter, where the clerk had finished preparing the framed print, and I paid him with my debit card.
"Happy holidays. Be well." I wished him the same, grasping the package with one hand and Laura's hand with my other. Rain splattered against the door, and a strong wind fought against my push. The light mist we'd arrived in just an hour and a half earlier had given way to a true downpour, and I shrugged off my jacket to place it securely around Laura, lest she catch a chill.
As soon as we exited the store and stepped out into the cool, sodden air, my nose started twitching, and I tried my best to rub my nose against my shoulder, since both my hands were occupied. Sniffing hard, I gave my nose one final, fruitless rub, then trudged on back toward the car, Laura in tow.
A moment later, the urge to sneeze overwhelmed me, and I doubled forward with an unmuffled "Huh-ershooo!" That was followed, unmercifully, by another barrage, which I couldn't contain or control. "Hih-shhh! Uhh-shhh! Huh-shhh!"
Unwilling to drop either the package I held or Laura's hand, for fear she'd be lost in the now swelling holiday crowd of evening time shoppers, I could only sniff harshly, tipping my head up to keep a suddenly running nose at bay.
"Daddy?" Laura's concerned voice forced me to look down, and when I did, she motioned me to squat down next to her. Once I'd done that, Laura slipped her hand into my jacket pocket and pulled out the dark green handkerchief I'd used earlier. She unfolded it nimbly, then held it up toward me. When I dipped my head down, she mirrored my motions of just a moment earlier, cupping the hanky around my nose.
"Blow," she instructed in her tiny, authoritarian voice, and I complied as best I could without making a mess. With great care, she dabbed at my nose, then made a satisfied noise.
"Thank you." I cleared my throat and straightened, watching as Laura tucked my handkerchief into her own coat pocket. At that point, I couldn't resist laughing at the precision of her imitation, and I scooped Laura up in my arms.
"I guess both of us don't feel well, right, Buggins?"
"Yeah." Laura snuggled into my shoulder and neck as I walked the last drenched block to our car. She scrambled into her car seat, and I snapped the latches tight around her before pulling my handkerchief from her coat pocket and substituting the light blue cloth.
"Here you go," I told her, tucking it into her hands. "If you need to sneeze on the ride home, or blow your nose, you can use that." I buckled my own safety belt and set the windshield wipers to high intermittent, pausing to blow my nose thoroughly before setting the car into gear. "You think Mommy will make us some hot cocoa when we get home?"
"Yeah. With barshbellows!"
The ride back to our house was quiet, save for the occasional sneeze from Laura and my prompt "Bless you" in return. Lynn must have been watching for us, because the front door opened just as we approached the top of the walk.
"There you two are! I was starting to worry about you, out in the rain."
"We were okay, bobby. Bud we deed sub hod chocolid. We're sig." Laura raised my handkerchief to her nose and blew lustily for emphasis.
"I can hear that." Lynn boosted Laura up in her arms and then leaned around our daughter to give me a peck on the cheek. "And how are you?"
"I'b sig, too. Cad you bake us sub cocoa?" I winked to show her that my congested voice was just for fun, and she smacked me in the shoulder.
"Okay, my two sickies, into your pajamas and then I'll make you some hot chocolate." I pretended to race Laura up the stairs, letting her win by at least two treads. Lynn followed us up, taking off Laura's clothes and getting her settled in warm pajamas before she poked her head into our bedroom.
"Oh, Cory, maybe I should have taken her out today. You sound miserable."
"Nah." I unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it into the hamper, followed more slowly by my jeans, which had only partially dried out on the trip home. Lynn tossed me a bath towel from the linen closet, and I took a moment to dry off my legs before pulling on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. "I just feel like crap for giving Laura my cold, that's all." Slipping a dark blue sweatshirt over my head, I sighed, then rubbed at my short hair with the towel.
"Cory, you did everything you could." Lynn took the towel from me and caressed my hair with it. "You, of all people, should know that kids are little germ factories, and they don't give a thought to hand washing or any other universal precautions."
"I suppose you're right, but -" My breath hitched, and I pulled the towel away from Lynn, muffling a rapid-fire fit of sneezes in the terrycloth. "Huh-chhhhh. Hmm-ppffff. Huh-shhhh!"
"Bless you." Lynn's mouth quirked up, then she giggled, just like her daughter.
"Ad whad's so fuddy?" I asked, dropping the towel onto the bed. My wife pulled open the top drawer of our shared oak dresser, taking out a red-bordered blue handkerchief. Rather than hand it over to me immediately, she just smiled, then leaned in to kiss me right on the tip of my nose.
"You, Rudolph." She pecked me lightly on the cheek, then, as her lips were moving away, she whispered something distinctly naughty in my ear.
"Why, Bissus Claus, I dever dew you had it id you! For shabe, you're a berried wobud. I cad be driving your sleigh todide - whad woud by boss say?"
"He'd give you a bonus?"
I grabbed Lynn around the waist and growled at her, "Watch id. We already have ode bodus..."
As if on cue, Laura appeared in the doorway to our bedroom, scuffing the plastic feet of her sky-blue and pink sleeper against the low pile rug in the hallway. "Cad I have a hug, too?" She walked under my arms to wedge herself between me and Lynn, who picked her up for a group hug. I nuzzled my face into her bright red hair, while Lynn planted a kiss on her forehead.
"Okay, then." Lynn was the first to speak, setting Laura back down on the floor. "I think maybe I should make that hot chocolate for the two of you."
"Yaaaay!" Our daughter dashed from the room, intent on finding the marshmallows, I supposed, leaving Lynn and I alone again.
"Whew. I dode doe how she geds the eddergy to rud aroud - isud she supposed to be sig?"
Lynn simply shook her head. "She'll be slowing down pretty soon, I think. Give her a couple days, and she won't want to do much but sleep or watch televsion. Oh," she added, holding out the dark blue handkerchief to me. "Your nose is running."
"Egh." When I blew, it produced a wet gurgle, and it took me the better part of a minute and five different unfoldings and refoldings of the handkerchief to get my nose even marginally clear. Giving a little sniff, I tossed the used hanky into the hamper, swept up the damp towel to throw in with it, and then rummaged about in the top drawer for another `kerf, this one a bright red and green tartan. It was one Lynn had bought for me over the last few years, as my tastes ran to demure and nondescript pale blues, dark blue and green, and the occasional white-pattern-on-solid-background bandanna for flair. Lynn, bless her heart, was more inventive, and seemed to take an odd delight in finding flashy, extravagantly-patterned handkerchiefs, usually via the internet since Seattle was not exactly a mecca for hankie afficianados.
"It's perfect, Cor." She hooked her arm through mine, and we set off back down the stairs, intent on a nice cup of hot cocoa and a quiet evening at home.
Written as part of the 03-04 Winter Challenge challenge