So this is an image I downloaded from the Internet, but my lines were there, much more definitive, in about 20 seconds into the 5-minute waiting time for the results.
We moved our SleepNumber bed to the new house yesterday, but it wasn’t set up so we stayed at The Compound last night. We have two beds here, one full, one queen, that will be sold in the estate sale. Dave and I wrestled the sheets and comforter onto the queen bed, and both of us slept there.
At about 2:00 a.m., I woke to a feeling that I had to get out of that bed because everything in my body hurt. I first decided it was the mattress so different from my bed, but about an hour later, I thought, “Oh sh*t, I have Covid.” My throat was sore, and my nose was running so much that I put a wadded-up Kleenex in my C-pap mask under my mouth. I later transferred my tissue to above my lips, since, well, stuff was running down my mouth. I thought maybe my temperature was rising. Cough, cough, cough!
After being awake for two hours in that miserable bed, I got up and thought I’d just quietly pack a few boxes. All I could manage to do was sit in a chair. I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I finally eased back into the bed. I think I dozed a little. 6:00 came quickly.
I started searching for our Covid tests, and don’t you know, that husband of mine had them readily available. He’s a little more organized that I am.
The first test was quick to produce a positive result. I thought, Wait a minute, I better check the expiration date. 07/22. Oh well, we won’t pay any attention to that one. The next two in the medicine cabinet had expiration dates of 11/22. Well. Let’s just see.
Once again, those bright little lines rushed across the test result card. I texted everyone I’d seen in the last five days and told them to watch out!!!
I have a fever. Last time I checked, it was 101. That’s uncomfortable, but bearable. My throat is sore. A homemade diet Margarita makes it feel better. My ears hurt. My head is a bowl of moving rocks that seem to want to find a way out of my skull. Every joint hurts, joints I’d forgotten about or didn’t know existed. I lean on my nebulizer machine.
My mind: There is a big fog surrounding my head, and it takes me twenty seconds to find the name of something I want to talk about. The latter doesn’t bother me too much because I was already a bit wafty with names and words before the virus hit.
The moving continues. Neil went to the Xfinity store to pick up cable boxes, installed those and the network, and assembled and hooked up the TV our realtor gave us as a housekeeping gift. Tomorrow, when I go over there, I’ll have new stuff to work with. Tonight, Neil and his son will move some refrigerators to the garage, and bring back a table and chairs that doesn’t really look good in the new house. He’s already done something like this just a couple days ago. When we moved a table, umbrella, and six chairs to the upper deck, it was obvious they just did not fit. No one could get under the table comfortably. Neil replaced that extremely heavy set with a bistro set I had planned to leave at The Compound.
Neil checked the koi and winterized the irrigation system. He keeps an empathetic attitude and doesn’t complain (too) much. Actually, he doesn’t complain at all.
Dave will sleep in the queen bed again tonight. I’ll sleep on a full bed in my Dad’s room. We’re going to have a freeze tonight. I’ve moved every plant to the walls of the house for safety. Tomorrow we may have to take them all inside. There is a huge palm at the other house that should have been brought inside. Some of my favorites may get indignant or even freeze, God forbid.
I cannot think too much about the plants right now. I’ve done what I can do. Thank God for Neil. Thank God for Dave Revell, the best husband in the world.
This better not take more than a few days.
Sledding. Christmas gifts for the local grands were four-foot $10 plastic sleds (I’m sure they were made in China). The boys got blue and Carly got hot pink. We put the sleds on the porch instead of under the tree. Our Christmas this year sported 70-degree temperatures. Jaxton ran around yelling, “Come, look! I got a swed! I got a swed!” (He’s three.)
She was a hoss of a tiny woman, revered by both sides of my mother and father’s family. She looks so much better in black.
painted and upholstered for The Cellar. Bought these two years ago for $10 each, or was it $5?
This morning, I trained my eye on a red-headed woodpecker working his way up a tall elm rooted in The Ravine. My peripheral view included chickadees, more redbirds, purple finches, house wrens, and…a robin! I don’t think I’ve ever seen a robin in the snow.
Murphy loves the snow. She digs in with her face and plows.
So here’s something to do that requires nothing but attention: Poetry. Yes, I know that is reading, but it’s almost, well, not–at least for me. I am fond of Mary Oliver (who isn’t?) so I’ve taken out all of her books that I have on a shelf and I carry them with me, upstairs and down. Here is just a little bit of a poem that stayed with me from last weekend.
On the Ravine 