I am not sick. I am not well. It's a strange thing, and in these strange times, it is hard to know what to do with yourself in this situation. So. I stay away from people. The good news is that it is probably NOT covid. William was diagnosed with the flu today, type A. Whatever that means.
I wouldn't have thought that I had caught covid so quickly from our tenant, Deb. But erring on the side of caution, we will stay away from people (Tim did not go to church on Sunday), and wait to see what happens next. If it gets no worse, I see no reason to test. I will keep on with the ibuprofen.
Today we loaded up the dump truck with a load of firewood, brought it home and stacked it. I texted Deb, the tenant with covid, and asked if she needed a porch drop. She said, "A half gallon of 2% milk," which was easy enough since her house is four doors down from where we were working. I ran it to her porch (along with a raspberry filled doughnut that came along for the ride). We talked, her from her door in her bathrobe, me standing in the front yard. Her symptoms are mild, and she's just handling everything with otc analgesics and happily reading books. I imagine that it is a nice respite from working so hard. She's also been under a bit of stress. Her daughter, Piper, is also on her 7th or 8th trip into Poland to provide humanitarian aid in Ukraine.
After the wood, there were little odd jobs aplenty to keep me busy. I worked on my house plants. Brought the geraniums in from the concrete urns for the winter. My sister wintered them for me last year and they did beautifully. She tells me that anyone can do it. I'm not so sure about that, since I have routinely killed my poor wintering geraniums for years now. These ones are the perfect color of red and I love them, and I will feel quite bad if they die over the winter.
I scrubbed the bathroom floor, washed cleaned the kitchen after lunch, and made a southern window sill beautiful with bottles, bits of colored glass, and plant cuttings.
I haven't seen my cats around, and I've been worried about them. A few nights back, pulling out of the driveway, Ginger was in the front yard. I tried to call him to be fed. He did not come.
I'm reading Tiny Beautiful Things by Cheryl Strayed. That girl can cut through the crap, I'll tell you. I have two more books on their way. 'Your Second Life Begins When You Realize You Only Have One,' It is not the poem but a book by Raphaelle Giordano. The other book is 'Passing On', by Penelope Lively.
The sick people at my son's house are all on the mend, and life there is returning to normal.
All is well in my corner of the world.