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.

And company.

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.