Have you seen my left nostril?

This isn't a gross-out post.

This is winter reality settling into our home.

Thanks to some kind soul who brought a child to church who was doing a credible imitation of a seal at Sea World barking all through the church service sans hankerchief or even bothering to cover his germ-filled mouth with his hand, we are now trying to rid our home of "holiday germs". Did he give a thought to our well-being during the season of giving and love? Nope. It was share and share alike in the pews in a display of seasonal sharing that could have and frankly, should have been left at home in the privacy of his own NyQuil laced dreams.

Now, we are swapping around the germs, of which we managed to bring a liberal portion home to enjoy. I can sing bass with the Tabernacle Choir men with excelsior. I am not a bass normally.

Admittedly, there is sort of an odd bonus to this shared and dubious "gift". When telemarketers call, it does have sort of a useful  je ne sais quoi. No telemarketer apparently can resist the dulcet tones of a deep bass  saying "NO" on their carefully rehearsed phone sales pitch for new roofing, gutter and chimney cleaning and subscriptions to the Alabama Teacher's Home for Unwed Stuffed Animals. They seem to hang up more rapidly than they do under usual tonal circumstances.

I digress...

This is all about the search for my left nostril, which, for at least part of last night, was AWOL.

A mighty sneeze overtook me and required both hands filled with tissues to cover and prevent the spread of airborne flung particles of germs.  Unlike our friend in the pews, I don't believe in sharing under these circumstances... I employ both tissues and hand sanitizer on a routine basis.

When I finished mopping up and getting back to normal, or at least as close to it as I can hope for, I realized that either (a) my left nostril was gone or (b) the sneeze was so powerful that it had sonically stunned the nerves to my left nostril rendering it numb and inert for any useful breathing function. Either way, it was an odd and lasting sensation that I am not anxious to repeat any time soon.

Is it possible to sneeze out your mucous membranes? Should I search for them or consider all lost? Will I grow new ones without the helpful assistance of stem cells groomed to become only mucous providers?

These and other questions swirl inside my head. They may never be answered to my satisfaction.

Because I believe in the restorative powers of both good music and chicken soup, I am currently listening to Ray Stevens singing "Santa Claus is Watching You" and cooking a big whacking batch of chicken soup for later on today. And because I believe you deserve to feel whole and well, I'm going to share the digital portion of the activities since trying to shove soup into the computer just leaves a horrible mess that tech support is hard pressed to clean up after. They do whine so very much during the holidays. It's like they think they need time off when I have chicken giblets in my CD/DVD tray.

To that end of being well, whole and hearty during the Christmas season and beyond... here's Ray doing what he does best. Enjoy! And try really hard not to spill your soup, okay?