Tuesday, September 11, 2012
in bed with my head
It is Monday evening. The sky is gray. And the siren song of a soft rain lulls me to sleep.
I have invested most of the day drifting in and out of consciousnesses.
Despite what you might think, I have not joined a peyote ceremonial lodge. It is something far more prosaic -- and legal.
I simply have a head cold. Probably, as my Mexican friends would contend, from drinking a glass of fruit juice with ice -- or from sleeping with the window open.
So, I indulged in the only remedy that seems to help a head cold. Bed rest and chicken soup.
My hostess cooked up a great dinner. Yucatan pork. Tortillas. A green salad fresh from her garden. Hummus from soybeans shelled by yours truly. Frijoles. Pickled onions. And a blackberry crisp.
Our dining companions were a former Oregonian and his Colombian wife, and a couple from Germany. A group just the right size for cosmopolitan conversation.
It was well worth climbing out of my sick bed to enjoy company and food. But I now find myself back under the covers.
Enjoying the air-cooled evening. And dreaming the dreams of a sinus-stuffed head.