What is it about illness that makes you feel during the day as if you truly are feeling better and then, the sun begins to go down and the aches come on and the eyeballs start to hurt and the throat feels scratchy again? Why?
I don't know but it's true.
When the children were little they'd fool me with normal temps during the daytime when I thought their illnesses had passed, only for them to come to me in the late afternoon with those fever-eyes and I'd kiss their foreheads with my Mama Lipmometer and sure enough, hot-browed again.
I'm making Fuck-This-Shit soup. Sounds tasty, doesn't it? Leftover venison and the broth it cooked in with onions and garlic and more garlic and ginger too. And vegetables. And I'll make a salad with arugula and apples and a pecans and of course I have bread rising. This loaf has a ton of oatmeal in it and whole wheat as well. It's not sourdough but it'll do.
Funny how I can't do housework when I'm sick but I sure can still cook. When the day comes when I can't cook, just go ahead and call the undertaker 'cause I'll be on my way out. Help me pick out my winding sheet and lay me gently down because I'll be dying for sure.
Well, that's not going to happen for a long time I hope.
The sun is down, the chickens are closed up, Mr. Moon is home, it's cozy inside and smells good, or so I hear and imagine. My nose is too stopped up to really be able to tell. But I'll probably feel even better tomorrow and maybe I'll go for a little walk or maybe I'll trim back some of the dead brown things that are making the yard ugly. It would be good to clear away the dead so that perhaps spring will feel more welcome when it's time for it to make its appearance.
I was talking to May today on the phone and I said, "I lead such a little life," and she said, "But it's a good one."
She is right.
I think I'll put barley in the soup. And maybe make a dressing for the salad with blueberries and vinegar and olive oil and a little sesame oil.
I ain't dying yet. I promise.