Thursday, April 9, 2015

Sense & Sore Throats

Dear John,
 
Today went pear-shaped before it even started. I will attempt to tell this in an organized fashion.
 
The storms started right after I got all of us off to bed last night. The first thing I knew, I had a German shepherd lying on my head with his paws in my face. The storms weren't even here yet but he knew they were coming. I tried to calm him down, then accepted the inevitable and got up. I sat in bed with the laptop doing some on-line work that needed to be done, with his big head in my lap and the cats on my feet. It settled down around 1:30 and we went back to sleep, only to repeat the entire process from 3:30 to 5:00. There wasn't a lot of sleep had around here last night. It was a good thing I was off today.
 
The alarm went off at 7:00 for church. I sat up, yawned, swallowed, and immediately regretted it. I had a nasty sore throat, so I went back to bed. We keep passing this thing around at work - sore throat, runny nose, and ugly cough. We've all had two or three rounds of it now. We should stop being so generous with each other.
 
In an attempt to be sensible, I did very little today. I emptied the dishwasher, ran a load of laundry, and took care of the litter boxes, went to the post office, got a bottle of lamp oil from the hardware store, and bought bread and sliced cheese. I refrained from dusting, sweeping, and cleaning the bathrooms. Be proud of me - I was sensible without you being here to make me do it.
 
Andrew Wyeth - Wind from the Sea
I was also sensible about the windows tonight. I opened the house this morning. It went up to 70, and it was lovely sitting by the open window and knitting. It's still 67 and I hated to close them, but it's going down to 45 tonight and only up to 57 tomorrow. So, twice in one day, I was sensible. This must be a record. You used to laugh and say that, if you weren't here, I'd never close the windows. I'd have icicles hanging from the ceiling in the winter and the windows would all be open. I do leave them open when you'd close them, but I'm not quite that bad. I think about you every time I shut the house, though, and smile.
 
So tonight the windows are closed and I'm smiling, thinking about you. And I'm happy because the time is coming when I can leave them open at night, and you know how much I love that. But not as much as I love you.
 
Adore you,
Joan.


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