Oh, I’m not splayed out on a bed, moaning my head off; I’m not even sitting somewhere with my head in my hands. What I am is sore-throated and coughing stuff halfway up that feels like when it makes it all the way it will be green. I’ve been giving myself the Alka-Seltzer Zesty Orange Cold treatment, along with lots of liquids and wrapping up in puffy throws to discourage the goosebumply chills. By the way, if you bunch up part of a puffy throw it makes a great pillow substitute and props your head at just the right angle for Kindle reading.

For the past hour, I’ve been feeling really depressed, harboring-rather than actually thinking-worrisome thoughts about who is going to keep things going if I just decide to lie here forever. My spirits seem to be better now – I think I’ll be up in the morning and take a stab at the day – maybe making a big list of necessary duties . . . not the least of which is making sure that the dog has fresh water.

I believe Kendallville is setting off fireworks tonight to celebrate 150 years of existence; I hear booms through my earphones and Shane is barking. He barked last night at the thunder storms. I have not been in a celebratory frame of mind of late when it comes to public gatherings. I think I felt more connected to the settling of this country when I carefully mowed around the rose bushes that were transported from New York about 150 years ago and replanted in the newly-cleared soil around a house in LaGrange County. They bloom a deep crimson rose and fade in stages to white. I suppose it would behoove me to add some rose food to the soil around them – see, I got ceremonial with the behoove thingie.

And now I am going to shut up and just let my mind wander wherever it wants to go and take whatever forks in the road it may find; and yet, I suspect that it will sooner or later wind up right back here.