Change of Plans

 In my last post I told of my impending trip to the Weymouth Center in Southern Pines, but in a flash everything changed.  I could have titled this post "shit happens"  because it did.  First David woke on Saturday night with vomiting and diarrhea.  I nursed him two days and he slept and I thought I had dodged the bullet and happily packed my bags and lots of groceries, along with all my writing accoutrements and headed out Monday afternoon to join my friends for gin and tonics on the porch, supper and chatting.  I unpacked that night, set up my little room, computer on the desk, my writing books in a stack to one side, journals on the other, pens in the drawer, clothes in the closet, I was ready.  Then it was my turn to wake retching.  Needless to say, this colored the week for me and everyone else.

I rested and was nursed until on Wednesday I felt strong enough to return home where I have continued to recuperate.  Only one of my companions was struck down, she on Wednesday night, returned home on Friday, two more were left standing and stayed the whole week, another, she who nursed us, returned home on Thursday and was also spared the crud.

It was not the week we had all been dreaming of.

I'm trying to move on, though it's hard to let go.  But here at home, feeling stronger each day, I've read, written, taken walks, worked in the garden a bit, eventually been able to cook and enjoy food again, slept and spent some quality time with my man.  Yesterday, I ventured down to the creek during the heat of the day.  Some of the mountain laurel were still in bloom, their white flowers hanging over the deep green, some falling, drifting down the stream or scattered on the mossy banks.  I rested my feet in the cool water, too chilly to go all the way in, I was satisfied just to soak my toes and feel the breeze, listen to the sound of the water burbling past, watch the play of light on the trees.

 

Sometimes, there is just no place like home