– Brian Carter
I mentioned my long holiday cold last week and today I wish to thank all of you who suggested cures.
Allow me to pass them along with warning: Some sound dangerous and a surprising number of them involve alcohol. (Consult your physician.)
For example, Bill Dekle, of Millen, Ga., writes: “We old diabetics can’t touch it, but one pretty good cold remedy is hot tea and rum, and go to bed.”
Dr. Bukk says “You drink a fifth of Jack Daniels, and then rub the empty bottle on your chest.”
Former Chronicle cartoonist Clyde Wells is more serious. “Six years ago a 4-month cold turned out to be a serious sinus infection … happens sometimes to old journalism people.”
Nancy Cisick wrote: “Take a men’s handkerchief, wash rag or tube sock. Coat one side heavily in Vick’s salve. Find a large safety pin and pin it snugly around your neck. Then take a small teaspoon full of Vick’s salve and put it on your tongue. Let it dissolve down into your throat and up into your head. I realize the jar says “Not to be taken internally” but I grew up eating Vick’s and I haven’t had a cold since the ’50s when my parents started making me wear it and eat it.”
Finally, Jerry Love, of Aiken writes: “For a cold you should drink a quart of prune juice. It won’t cure the cold but you won’t dare cough.”
GET THE PHONE? My Sunday comments about the diminished use of home telephone “land lines” brought this comment from Seth Benson, of Millen.
“You are right about the Do Not Call List that we all belong to,” he wrote, “that it only stops the salesmen from calling at dinner time, but all politicians and charities continue to call just the same. I have told my state senator many times that these things are as much sales calls as the others, because these people are ‘selling’ something we don’t want to buy into. One thing you can be sure of is that most politicians or survey takers won’t talk to an answering machine.”
TODAY’S JOKE: Everett Fernandez shares this one.
The farmer’s son was returning from the market with the crate of chickens his father had entrusted to him, when all of a sudden the box fell and broke open.
Chickens scurried off in different directions, but the determined boy walked all over the neighborhood scooping up the wayward birds and returning them to the repaired crate. Hoping he had found them all, the boy reluctantly returned home, expecting the worst.
“Pa, the chickens got loose,” the boy confessed sadly, “but I managed to find all 12.”
“Well, you did real good, son,” the farmer beamed. “You left with seven.”