I got up with a slight headache and tried the aspirin/hot cloths on my face approach. Followed by putting my hot mug of tea on my face as I read the paper. Hmmmm. Time to follow my grandmother's advice for whatever ails you: get out and stir around a little.
I went in search of a mirror for the master bath, and realized at the first store I was feeling a little crummy. By store two I was admitting to feeling hot and achy. And store three? Well, I didn't make it that far. With apologies to my grandmother, this "stirring around a little" was only making things worse.
So, I did what any sane (yet sick) person would do: I called my sister and whined. High whine, people. And yet, she took the call. She listened, commiserated, and informed me that the mold count on these hot summer Texas days was off the charts.
Ahh. My old nemesis mold. I glanced in the mirror and realized that I could trace my sinuses where they protruded around my face. Time for pillows on the couch and a long, long nap.
I woke up feeling slightly better, thinking about the need to tell someone that I was sick. Along the lines of "if a tree falls in the forest does anyone hear"? I realized if I don't tell someone that I'm not feeling well, no one knows. And for some reason that made me feel very lonely. Like "buy miniature Butterfingers to consume in great quantities" lonely.
I'm still trying to figure out the balance between these thoughts I'm working through, yet going forward with a positive attitude. A two-Kleenex issue came yesterday while I as thinking about turning one of the three spare bedrooms into an art/sewing/scrapbooking/exercise/TV room. I don't want to just buy a single chair for me: at least if there is a small couch/loveseat I can pretend that someone else may sit in that room with me occasionally. Pitiful, I know. But I do not want to give into self-pity.
I realize I spend about the same amount of time with friends outside of the house as I always have. It's just there is not the constant companionship of a husband inside the house to fill in the gaps any more.
I'm trying to give myself permission to enjoy the alone time, to pursue new interests, and to honor the past in the midst of it. These transitions in life are usually marked by my beginning a new journal. I've kept journals since 1987 and have about 10 three-ring binders to prove it. I always seem to know when it's time for a new one: something major has usually happened, and it's time for a new start.
A verse I have been reflecting on a lot lately is one D and I had read at our wedding:
"The land into which you are about to cross to possess it, a land of hills and valleys, drinks water from the rain of heaven, a land for which the Lord your God cares: the eyes of the Lord are always on it from the beginning even to the end of the year." (Deuteronomy 11)
I'm reminded of this verse often as I ask God, "How do I live now?" My life - your life - is still "a land for which the Lord your God cares." I want to cross into that land of promises for my future. I want this to begin a year of Jubilee; of freedom. I want to fill my new journal with the promises of God that are "yes" and "amen".