Schlepping

Suddenly it hit me like a freight train and I have been in bed now for a week.  Everyday I wake up and discover, yep, still sick, then I slink into the bathroom, down my cocktail of drugs and go back to bed.  It has been this screeching halt to my life except for wedding planning in a delirium and reading books.  That’s it.

Andrew has been my knight, as always, in shining armour.  He’s made all the meals, oh wait, he practically always does that anyway, and he has kept the kitchen so amazingly clean right down to polishing the granite.  And he comes home every evening, walks into the bedroom, and smiles down at me, as though I might just then be looking like a million bucks.

We had a visiting pastor and his son, a great friend of Matthias, stay with us Saturday night and I just couldn’t bear the isolation so I schlumped out to visit for awhile.  Andrew had made an amazing bulgogi dinner.

Sunday, thankfully, Meghan and her family came over for lunch.  Sweet little Anwyn came sneaking into my bedroom to say, “Hi, grandma,” and was soon followed by Canon and Athan.  Out in the kitchen I heard the pastor say he could make guacamole.  There was a party going on and I was missing it.  Once again, I dragged myself out and just sat.  It was really great to hear the commotion, the conversation.

Now it’s Wednesday, again, and I’m ready to feel better.

Here are the books I’ve read this past week.  Click on them for my drug induced review.

A Place Called Saturday by Mary Astor