Still feeling fairly rotten today, though no temperature and I'm better able to control coughing and nose-blowing. But around 5 p.m. I wasn't happy if I was up, and I wasn't happy if I was in bed. Little things that needed doing seemed beyond my energy level. I did pull myself together enough to scramble an egg and eat it with some good dry toast my neighbor brought (pan tostada), began to read a book, and may even work on my novel a bit--I dreamed a scene last night that I really felt good about. And I hope to go to work, however briefly, in the morning.
Talked to Melinda this morning, and she's been out sick all week, so we must have given it to each other--actually I'm making her Typhoid Mary because she stayed with a friend who was sick--on the way home. And Megan reports today that both Austin boys, now over their throw-ups, have fever and colds. As people say, "It's going around." I always hated that phrase. I once dated man who would say, "I'm trying to take a cold," and I always wanted to retort, "Don't try so hard!"
I capped the whole bad day by tripping over a root when I was out cleaning up after Scooby. Fortunately I was near the fence between the two houses, so I threw down the pooper-scooper and grabbed for the fence. Went down landing on my knees and scraped one shin pretty badly. When I righted myself I looked up and Susan and Jay's bird feeder, still filled with Christmas ornaments, was swinging gaily overhead--glad it didn't swing loose and bounce on my head. Scooby looked like he was saying, Is she going to fall on me again? No harm done, except to my pride, and Scooby was the only one who saw me.
I really really like Michelle Obama. I saw her on TV last night put an arm around Her Majesty the Queen, and I though "Uh, oh, you're not supposed to do that." But it was such a spontaneous, warm gesture that Her Majesty assured everyone no offense was taken and it was a mutually affectionate relationship. They both rate tops with me.
I'm reading a book called Dewey: The Small-Town Library Cat Who Touched the World, by Vicki Myron. It's about a cat that lived in the public library in Spencer, Iowa, for 19 years. But it's also a nostalgic look at Northwest Iowa when it was still the land of small towns and small farms. And its the story of one woman who built a life for herself and her daughter, against some pretty strong odds. Every once in a while, I break away from my addiction to mysteries.