I’m listening to Eva Cassidy while the sweet bread rises in the bread machine, the apple crisp bakes in the oven, and I sautee onions and mushroom for a turkey meat loaf that will be for dinner. My mother is still sleeping at 1:30 in the afternoon. She sleeps about 15 hours a night these days, including many trips to the bathroom.
I usually sleep late too, but on this pouringly dismal day, I’m up earlier than usual because of a series of return phone calls from various doctors. My tests came up with nothing to indicate why I am getting “head rushes” accompanied by a fog that drifts over the lower part of my right eye. So I guess I’ll get my eyes checked, again. I made an appointment with a neurologist for my mother to see what we might be able to do about pain management for her. Ah drugs!
Meanwhile, I cook. I hate to clean. I leave that until when I can’t stand it any more. I figure I’ve accomplished something when I clean up from my cooking.
Across the evening sky all the birds are leaving
Oh but then you know it was time for them to go
By the winter fire I will still be dreaming
I do not count the time