Bloodroot of Bliss

After another uncomfortable night of little sleep, I spent most of the morning napping, or trying to. My sisters started texting each other on the occasion of Mother's Day, and I was included in the thread so my phone kept beeping and I had to make replies. Finally I did fall asleep, and for some reason, when I woke up, I was determined to get better. In a spirit of hope, I wasted another one of my covid tests, hoping for a negative result. Alas, the dreaded pink line still appeared, but it was much thinner and paler than before. I hope that means the virus is fading too. I felt well enough to sk the Sparrowhawk to make me some toast and eggs. The scene made me think of the bit in Busman's Honeymoon when Lord Peter turns the corner from his bout of PTSD: "Bunter came out with a plate in his hand and said, 'Oh, your Grace! His lordship has told me to take away these damned eggs and bring him a sausage.'" If there had been any sausage, I'd have taken it, but the eggs were delicious. They were some heritage eggs he bought at the farm store last week. The shells were a delicate blue, and the eggs were a deep gold like the sun.

I did spend Mother's Day in my own back yard, but not without amenities. Tron sent me a precious package containing stickers, packets of wildflower seeds, and scented soap, along with a beautiful card. Both the Philosopher and the Diva called me, and the Nipper did not call, only out of sympathy for my limited vocal ability right now. The Sparrowhawk grilled me a steak, the first cookout of the year.

During my nap, I was on Mars for about five seconds. I was wearing a spacesuit, and working on an archaeological dig at the top of a mountain. the camera pulled back to reveal a dizzying view of terrace on terrace being dug along the mountainside, and beyond that a view of valley and mountains and a red ochre desert sweeping away to the horizon. It was amazing. I got vertigo and woke up, but for those five seconds, it was amazing.