I was looking over my 2015 calendar this weekend, remembering that during this same time last year I was “stricken.”
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.
(Yes, the New England Patriots’ loss was a bitter bean too.)