Long ago, in a bookstore far, far away, I killed some time reading an etiquette manual from the 1920s. It was awesome: all kinds of info about tipping the butler at house parties (that’s overnight or weekend visits to you and me), setting a formal table for 20, and writing invitations and notes of all sorts. I should have bought that book. It was so American – that someone who didn’t already know all of this might need to know it – and I loved that about it. Plus, it had a section that really stuck with me. It focused on how to act towards someone who is grieving. It was lovely and compassionate and practical and contained all sorts of common sense that is far better to pass on than to acquire by trial and error.

I knew much of it, of course. You send flowers or other memorial. You write condolences. You offer general but also specific help. And, being from the Midwest, I also knew you bring food. I knew you bring food because grieving people shouldn’t have to cook and because they’ll have people stopping by and need food to serve and because they lose their appetite and may not feel like cooking.

What I knew but hadn’t put into practical knowledge was this gem: people with a limited appetite are not tempted by great piles of food. You must cajole them into eating by offering very small portions of easy, comforting foods regularly.

And so it is with the sick. That tea and crackers above? That’s been my diet for two days. I had some plain white rice last night and that didn’t go so well, so it’s back to the crackers. Oh, there’s been some ginger ale in the mix too, of course. If you give me a few crackers, I’ll eat them. If you show me an entire box of crackers, I must turn away in revulsion. A half glass of ginger ale sounds okay. A full glass? What’s with that? Why are you trying to make me sick all over again?

My dashing husband has caught a lot of very deserved flak for his inability to care for the sick. Or, to be specific, for his inability to take care of me when I am sick. Or, to be more specific, for the way he practically abandoned me when I had pneumonia and then again when I had swine flu. The diagnoses brought him around, and then he was great. But until the doctor proclaimed me terribly ill, he seemed to think I was taking a very sweaty two-day nap. A combination of hypochondria, germophobia, complete inability to admit there could be something wrong with me other than “being tired” (because then I would be truly mortal and we all know what that could lead to), and a projection of what he thinks he likes when he’s sick (to be left alone!) have, in the past, conspired to make him take some very unfortunate turns on the “caring for ill spouse” track.

I say “in the past” because he really turned that ship around this holiday weekend. First our son and then I had extremely unpleasant stomach viruses. Ernest got it first – Thursday night. (Anyone who has ever been in charge of cooking the bird can imagine the visions of mass food poisoning that swam through my head as I tried, again and again, to get him to the bathroom in time.) We spent Friday doing endless amounts of laundry, bringing the child ginger ale, and more thoroughly cleaning his room than it had ever been cleaned before. Crannies were reached. Surfaces sterilized. Stuffies bathed.

My turn came Saturday night. I will spare you the details and you should be thankful I do because they are horrifying. Experience has given me both the timing and the aim to avoid creating loads upon loads of laundry, so we were grateful for that. I was then in bed, sleeping on and off, for all of Sunday. My dashing husband really came through. I was left in peace, and yet never had to go downstairs. I was hydrated and warm and distracted. I’ve looked around and most information I can find about “caring for the sick” is targeted at the seriously sick – people who are dying or people with cancer. There isn’t much out there for just taking care of someone who has the flu or other short-term illness that nonetheless leaves them fairly incapacitated. For your reference, just in time for winter, here are some completely anecdotal and unscientific guidelines – a recipe, if you will – for caring for the sick:

1. Offer small amount of easy foods regularly. Leaving a bit near the bed at all times is an excellent strategy if it isn’t disgusting to the sick person. What are easy foods? Plain crackers, plain rice, maybe rice cooked in broth, yogurt, broth, simple soups (like that classic chicken noodle), Popsicles, gelatin, ice cream for sore throats. Sore tummies tend to need sweet things, colds and flus salty things, but that could just be me. In general, you might want to avoid dairy, but if it sounds good (as malteds do to me when I have a sore throat), who am I to judge? In any case, you want things with actual salt and sugar in them – no artificial sweeteners, no low sodium. Sick people need those simple sugars and the salt helps them stay hydrated (funny but true).

2. Make sure the sick person always has a beverage (or two!) at hand. Ginger ale and herbal teas are grand, but whatever sounds good to them is a go. Keep the cold things cold and the hot things hot. For sore throats and colds, I highly recommend the curative (or at least symptom-reducing) powers of Honey Lemon Ginger Tea.

3. As you bring food or beverages in, take old plates and glasses out.

4. Sick people need quiet. Try to avoid asking them questions beyond “Do you need anything?” The sick person may want a bit of company, but they still probably need quiet. Quiet company. Calm company. Do not bicker with your mother or work out plans with your kid in the sick room. And for the love of god, do not the three of you argue about how to make Jell-O in the sick room (I’m just saying, as an example).

5. Make sure the sick person has entertainments. Books, if their eyes don’t hurt too much, an iPod with podcasts on it, DVDs or a laptop on which to stream movies. This is not necessarily a time for the new and the fresh. Old favorites may be the easiest for the sick person to enjoy – that way if they fall asleep for a part it’s no big deal.

6. Keep the sick room as aired out as possible. Fresh air is a great cure-all, even when enjoyed from bed.

7. Keep the sick room a comfortable temperature for the sick person. Heating pads and hot water bottles work wonders for the chilled (and against sore tummies), cool clothes and ice packs relieve the feverish.

8. The seriously ill may need to be reminded/helped to change their pajamas/clothing. Do this at least daily. More often for the feverish. Clean sheets are nice, too, if you can manage it.

9. Hey! If someone’s temperature is over 102, call the doctor. Just to check.

What do you need when you’re sick?

Lemon honey ginger tea – for one

Put about 1 tablespoon freshly shredded ginger in a tea pot or other steeping vessel. Pour 1 cup boiling water over it and let steep 2 to 3 minutes. Meanwhile, squeeze the juice of 1/2 to 1 lemon, depending on juiciness and your love of lemon, into a large mug. Strain ginger tea into mug. Add honey to taste – you want to use a lot to help coat your throat. During the day, sip to soothe. At bedtime, add a shot of bourbon or whiskey or brandy or cognac if you like.

Of course, you don’t have a large gray mug with a blue stripe around the top that a college roommate once gave you for your birthday that survived the mass mug-culling of 2004 (the year we decided we didn’t really like to drink our coffee out of mugs but preferred these things called “coffee cups” which we find oddly better suited to the task with their thinner rims and whatnot, but that’s us and we’re sort of dainty and persnickety like that) that you kept specifically for when you are sick and need honey lemon ginger tea but that always makes you a wee bit nostalgic and wondering what ever happened to that long-lost friend.* But you probably have some sort of mug or cup around which you can wrap your fingers to warm them as you slowly sip this elixir.

* I just used the google-machine and found her in a snap. Somedays I just love the internets.