This cold has got me in its clutches. Yesterday I mostly laid around and coughed. Durwood was afraid that I had more than a cold so I did go see the PA who said, "you have a cold." You know how poorly I was feeling when I came home and didn't say "told you so" just "I have a cold." I stopped at the grocery for a half-gallon of orange juice, the expensive kind with pulp (it's hard to find it with pulp, how come people don't like that part? to me that makes it taste real) and drank about half of it before I went to bed last night.
The only thing I did beside sit staring at the TV was knit a few rounds on the Hello Baby Barley hat. I'm making the smallest size but I still think it looks too big for a new baby. I'll keep going though because it'll fit some baby somewhere.
February 6--Scott T. Smith, Maple Leaf. The stalks of dried grass leaned to the east, blown by the wind that brought the bite of winter on its back. Tangled in the stalks were red, orange, and yellow leaves from the row of trees at the end of the block. I took a picture knowing it wouldn't show what I wanted it to. Until I saw an exhibit of Ansel Adams' photos and learned that he had manipulated them as he printed them I thought that my camera was at fault. Then I thought he cheated by using filters and time in the developer but soon realized that it was a gift to know which shots to fiddle with and then print.
That's kind of lame but I plead diminished capacity since my brain's been consumed by snot. Ugh. I'm off, my eyelids keep slamming shut so I think I'll go lie down and let them have their way.