'night 'night

In the last seven days, I have gone to work on one day and worked a total of a bit over four hours. I'm so sick that I'll need to have a doctor's note to prove that it's OK for me to return to the office. Ted, too, has been sick this whole time. Not quite as dramatically so, but with a couple miserable days and still -- right now in his sleep -- coughing.

In that same seven days, Ted has gone to work on seven days and worked a total of around 93 hours. And tomorrow, he does his usual open-to-close shift. That's 15 hours in one day. He'll finish around 9:00pm, come home, do a quick nighttime routine, go to bed, and be up again at 3:00am to start Monday with a weekday-standard 12-14 hour day.

Despite his own illness and ridiculous work schedule, he came home today with a box of tea for me. He thought it might help me sleep (something that's been a problem this week) without adding to the pile of medications. He brings me hot compresses, bottles of water, new boxes of tissues (Puffs with lotion, which he went out and got mid-week), hot cups of water with honey that's impossible to squeeze out of a stupid bear bottle, and anything else I need while I sit swaddled in pajamas, afghans, cats, and the couch. Anytime he moves from one place to another, he asks if he can do anything for me.

Ever wonder why the line "in sickness and in health" exists in the marriage vows? I am so lucky.

perspective

I missed a day. In my defense, it was the day I went to the doctor and was diagnosed with a viral infection, a bacterial infection, and a fever. In all, I worked about 4 hours this week -- and I'm still not well. At least I have an understanding of what's going on and medication to treat it.

I've whined a lot this week. These dual infections have kicked my butt. But, as my friend, Chris, pointed out yesterday, things could be worse. She writes, "Amidst all the political commentary, I read today that amputations are being carried out in Haiti using only Motrin in place of anesthesia. Certainly puts my life into perspective." Motrin is one of the drugs I'm taking -- for respiratory and sinus infections. Perspective, indeed.

I started watching the "Hope for Haiti Now" benefit tonight. Let's just say that crying doesn't help when your head is full of infected mucus. Time to do something for someone else.

sleeping on the sofa

To prevent drowning. Thought I was going to die in bed last night. Tomorrow it's either work or the doctor.

day 2

Miserable. Nothing to post. No energy to even go find a stupid picture. Afraid to go to bed without a plastic drop-cloth for my faucet-nose. Wah.

out sick

No revelations in the world of sanguinary blue blogging today. I have a cold that's made me fairly miserable all day. And my old emachine finally bit it today. The only reason I can post this pathetic entry is that I'm using our store computer.

By the way, both Ted (who also has a cold) and I are using up the Kleenex tissues like they're going out of style. Unfortunately, our noses are both now in need of Puffs. And despite a current inventory of 27 boxes of tissues in the house, none of them are Puffs. Drat.

not even a choir

Not many people see this blog. Precious few, really. So, why have I made such a concerted effort to write here every day? I suppose it has less to do with finding an audience and more to do with getting back in the groove of writing. So, why write here? If I wrote every day in my journals, I wouldn't be faced with the limitations that potential readership brings. Perhaps the pressure to write something that's actually interesting is greater because of the potential readership.

Well, whatever the case, I'm too distracted to explore it more thoroughly today. My "to do" list is lengthy, and the morning is half over. Contemplation will have to continue some other day.

wanderers

Ted wanted to go somewhere today. There was no clear concept as to where, or to do what. Just somewhere other than home, on his one afternoon off in the week. The weather was beautiful. As we ran a few errands around town, we saw a noteworthy number of people wearing shorts and shirtsleeves. I don't know that I would have gone that far. Mid-40s is nice for ditching the scarf and mittens, but that's about it. Anyway, eventually we decided to do some camera shopping and head out to Rochester.

We did some reconnaissance at Best Buy and Walmart, made some decisions about the necessary and unnecessary features, discovered that the memory card from my old camera is obsolete, and ultimately decided to let Costco be the deciding factor. With that, we headed West on Routes 4 and 16 to, as it's called at my office, RochVegas.

Naturally, we started at the Warehouse Store, where we found a few irresistible bargains and our first Christmas gift for 2010! Ted was flipping through one of Jim and Jonathan's books, and found some great recipes ideas. He asked if I had the book. Funny thing is, I do (I have almost all of them). Great! "New" meals to try!

We purchased our goodies and headed out. Instead of getting back onto the highway, Ted suggested we go explore Sanford, Maine. Why not? Before we knew it, we were wandering through Lebanon, Sanford, South Sanford, North Berwick, South Berwick, Rollinsford NH, and Dover NH. We didn't look at any map, and we don't have GPS. We just wandered. By the time we got to Dover, we started to recognize the roads again. Right about then, the sun started to sink into the fantastically colorful horizon. We headed home.

unrelated

The day started with a very cold Warehouse apartment, which prompted three cats to snuggle deeply with me (the fourth has a burrow in a box of pillows and blankets). Schmoo laid impossibly on top of my feet. Woodle nestled alongside my arm. Milo was solidly pressed against my head: really, he was on my head -- but we were very warm and comfortable. After my morning routine (during which, Milo didn't move a muscle), I found myself unable to make the bed. My husband would say that wasn't strictly true. Had I asserted my position as Master/Mommy/Alpha, I could have simply moved Milo from his deeply embedded and tremendously schmumfy entrenchment in my pillows. But I just couldn't. Guess we know who the real alpha is in the house.

The day ends, and I just found on Facebook a momentous event in the love story of two of my former co-workers. On Chris's page, a Wednesday wall post from Cliff reads, "I love you Chris. Marry me tomorrow." And today, on both Chris and Cliff's pages, new photo albums of a mountaintop wedding in Colorado. I haven't talked with any involved parties, so I don't know if it was actually as spontaneous as it appears on Facebook. No matter. It's terribly romantic, either way.

Can't wait to see what tomorrow holds.

two-timing

It could be called 'feast or famine.' I went a full year with only two blips on the blogosphere radar. Then almost like a switch was flipped, daily posts have magically appeared. Almost like a resolution. (By the way, I don't make resolutions.) But now, there's more. As of today, I'm also writing for my company's blog.

Interestingly, writing blog entries for work feels much less like a chore than writing blog entries for sanguinary blue. Perhaps because it's so easy to find things to talk about when it comes to the wonderful company where I work. It's much more complex to write about my own life in a public forum: there is a lot of internal editing that stops the presses before they even run. Meanwhile, ask me about my favorite chutney or the beautiful gardens or the amazing chef who taught class last night, and off I go to the races!

* Photo by Katie Ring, Stonewall Kitchen photographer

tonight's menu

* Roasted Root Vegetable Bisque with Apple Cider and Warm Spices
* Braised American Kobe Beef Cheeks
* Parsley Potato Rossiti
* Blood Orange, Kumquat and Marscapone Parfait

Lest you think I'm actually that ambitious, let me say that all this scrumptiousness was from the genius of Chef Ben Hasty by way of the Stonewall Kitchen Cooking School. And oh. my. heavens. was it delicious. We've had his food before, having brought a visiting friend to The Dunaway Restaurant a couple summers ago. Now that he's at Epoch, we'll definitely be planning a trip to Exeter sometime in the near future.

the santa pocket

At left is the adorable key chain I bought at a certain fantastic retail location before Christmas. With the push of a tiny button on the back, his lantern lights up and he gives a hearty "Ho! Ho! Ho!" How could I resist such Santa-ness? Unfortunately, one of the links couldn't hold up against my robot clock key chain (at right), which has had much more practice at weathering the battleground that is my keys (mine is the same model as the picture here, though it's pink). So, to keep Santa safe, I tucked him into the outside pocket of my purse. Some other day, I'll go into detail of the screenplay I will someday pen about Santa battling an army of pink robots with clocks on their tummies.

Years ago, my Mom crocheted a lapel decoration for everyone in the family -- a fabulous, yarn brooch of dear old St. Nick, which adorned my overcoat for the holidays. Right around New Year's Day, I removed him from said lapel and, well, tucked him into the outside pocket of my purse.

Today, while looking for something all together unrelated, I stumbled across my Santa stash. And I realized that the same side pocket of my purse also contained an open package of hearing aid batteries. They belonged to my Dad. I'd gone to pick them up to bring them to him at the hospital the day before he died. I know I should donate them to an organization that will give them to someone who really needs them. But I can't bring myself to let them go.

I love my Dad. I miss my Dad. I am blessed that thoughts of him bring me happiness, that I was by his side much of the last week of his life, that we didn't leave important things unsaid. The therapists of the world might say that I have closure. Still, the hearing aid batteries aren't leaving the Santa pocket any time soon.

not even a peep

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