It’s a rainy, overcast, thundering Sunday morning here in St. Paul, and the weather matches my mood.
I’m sick of feeling sick. I’ve been nursing this darned long-lasting crud since mid-cruise, and at this point my breathing is about as bad as it was way back in Winter 2005 when I was diagnosed (correctly? incorrectly?) with COPD. I certainly had all of the symptoms, and it seems the thing that pulled me out of it wasn’t the meds my doc prescribed, but some chinese herbs that I ordered from the UK and took religiously for 2 months.
This is the first time in 4 years I’ve felt this low with my breathing. Yesterday I went for a bike ride with a friend (no matter how bad I feel, I try to get out and at least go down the alley and back – I feel my lungs need the excercise) and spent an hour recovering.
Hannah’s sniffling now, so I fear that I’ve spread this to my darling, beautiful daughter. Bad mommy. It’s raining cats and dogs, thundering, and I’m enjoying the lively weather. I don’t have to be out in it. I’m the only one up, I have my cup of tea and my banana, and life is very, very good… (breathing notwithstanding…)
I’ve been missing my mother, my brother and my cousin so much these past 2 months that it feels like a sharp, continuous pain. I awoke this morning to an essay by Amy Tan on NPR about the ghosts of her mother and grandmother, and I understood.
I’m not sure how I feel about ghosts – the whole ghost-powered economy of so many cable TV shows and books – but I do firmly believe that those who have passed into a different life? realm? do try to lead us sometimes with varying degrees of success.
I do believe that our move to MN was generated by prompts by my mom and brother. If that makes me ooky-spooky, then so be it, one doesn’t choose what one believes, belief reveals itself.
So here I sit on a rainy Sunday morning thinking about ghosts and lungs and feeling that it’s time to get knitting.