I was looking over my 2015 calendar this weekend, remembering that during this same time last year I was “stricken.”

Remember?

I thought I had made it through this January’s germ gauntlet.  Maybe I have.  Maybe the health setback I experienced was related to something else.  Maybe it was the bright and blinding full moon that beamed through my bedroom window after midnight.  All I knew was that when Handy stopped by yesterday at around 10:30 a.m., he was surprised that I hadn’t even unlocked the front door and taken in the Sunday paper.

I texted “Use your key.”

He was also surprised to see me huddled pitifully under the blankets.

“Wow,” he said.

He set up a chair next to my bed and like a good doctor, folded his hands and asked what I’d had to eat yesterday.

“Practically nothing.  I had a small piece of leftover cornbread and my cup of coffee.  Then I went to the transfer station.  When I got back, I got my list together for the winter market.”

So far so good.

I outlined my Saturday errands.

“Then, it was past noon, so I got a shot of espresso and a local organic snack-ey tartlet thing, you know, steel-cut oats, maple syrup, and cinnamon.  It tasted like soap on the first bite, but I ate it anyway.”

Handy tilted his head sideways and asked about the coffee.

I identified the award-winning handcrafted micro-roasted coffee location.

“You don’t think it was the coffee, do you?” I asked incredulously.

Handy gave me a knowing look and reminded me of a certain cup of coffee that afflicted him once during a Lady Alone Traveler trip.

Maybe he was right.  I hated to admit it, but the hangover-like feeling I was experiencing did share some characteristics of a coffee headache.  Peeking out from under the covers, I let an accusation fly.

“It did have a bitter taste to it” I reflected.

Dr. Handy sat and listened to me chatter for another twenty minutes and then suggested I try to get up and drink a few sips of 7-Up.  I told him I would, but not right now.  Being that it was a beautiful day outside and time was marching on, Handy patted my head and bid me farewell.

Finally, at 12:30 p.m., I hauled myself out of bed and poured a small glass of soda; so far so good.  It was a beautiful day and I wondered how I could recover from the bitter bean attack in some sunshine.  My lawn chairs were in the shed and that would mean Bean boots and trudging through snow.  I settled for my mummy sleeping bag and a pillow and sat on the back steps reading until 3:00 p.m.

The sun felt good.  Nature’s disinfectant, so they say.  Plus some nursery food (Cream of Wheat) for dinner and it’s Monday again.

Carry on.

(Yes, the New England Patriots’ loss was a bitter bean too.)