Mark and I are both under-the-weather.
Shelley Paulson Photo
It hardly seems fair. We are having absolutely beautiful fall days and we are both down for the count. We generally have better timing; he gets sick, then I get sick. Never at the same time. It makes for nothing getting done. I would not want anyone looking into my barn right now. A poor opinion of my horse-keeping would be had. Not to be helped, though. I'm now old enough to know better. The work will keep. I need to lay low so I can get back on my feet sooner. No more, the days of dragging myself along by the self-placed ring in my nose, valiantly attempting to do too much and only succeeding in prolonging my misery.
I have a stock pot of chicken wings on the stove which will eventually become chicken soup, my cure for all that ails me. Other than that and the basics for the beasties, I am taking to my recliner with some chamomile tea and remaining there for the day.
I will return to my bright, cheery self ☼ soon, I'm sure. But for now it will be a box of kleenex and a droopy me. And a beautiful day taunting me through the window glass.