Sniffling, Snuffling, and Snorting

 After three weeks of illness, I'm beginning to feel human again. For three days now, I've sweated like a miner. No idea why, except it may be my body cleaning itself of whatever made me sick. I suspect, but have no verification, that it may have been covid again. That would be my third bout, if so. Since I don't have fevers and the onset was very slow, I just don't know. I had similar symptoms: headaches, fatigue, and some foods tasted off. Last time I couldn't smell for a year but that doesn't seem to be a factor when cleaning the cat boxes.

I actually thought the B1 had stopped working and my fibro symptoms had started again. Turns out I might have been wrong. I'm thankful the worst seems to have abated and I'm feeling better, still somewhat tired but much better. I have a loose cough and am constantly blowing my nose to clear it out. Things are draining. 

I have plans to travel down to Georgia sometime in the coming week, and from there, I'm going to go to Alabama to visit the graves of my great-grandparents and put grave stones on their graves. They've never had stones, although my grandparents do. When the grands were buried, it was a big expense and the family was rather poor. Their vault covers are above ground and one has a crack in it. I wish I could get that fixed but can't afford it. The other is older, rounded top with metal loops that were used to lower the stone in place. It is sad when the graves get in such contition and there is very little family left to care for them even if they were interested. My siblings and I have tried to keep thing clean and in good shape on my grandparents and mother's grave. My brother is buried there now too. He doesn't have a stone either. Maybe later I can do something about that. 

While in Florida, I'm hoping I can visit other family but I'm on a time crunch and not sure how long I can stay. Mike and my sister, Phyllis are taking care of the cats while I'm away. I don't like leaving them so I guess I'm officially a cat lady. 

I've got the laundry done, the floors vacuumed, and the den curtains washed this week. Phyllis won't have to clean house and I have a long list that I need to take care of when I get home. 

I hope everyone else is well. I just read that October will end in a widespread cold snap, so be ready to bundle up.

48 Birthdays

 

I have a birthday this month, # 67. Recently, I thought about my Mama. She was only 64 when she went home to be with Jesus. I miss her more than just about anything. 

It occured to me that Mama has missed 48 of my birthdays. She never saw me finish high school. She never saw me marry. When I went to Europe, she was not there to see me off, not once but twice. Nor was she there to greet me when I came home.

When my children were born, Mama was not there, nor was she when my granddaughter was born. Mama never rocked my sons or granddaughter. Mama never told them stories about my childhood nor read them stories from books. She never sang Hobo Bill, The Railroad Bum to them, nor Rock-a-Bye-Baby. 

When I needed advice or was in pain, she wasn't there. When I needed prayer, she wasn't there. When my husband died, I wanted my Mama but she wasn't there. My aunt and uncle stepped into as surrogate parents when Mama died but there has always been a hole where she stood. 

Mama never saw me go to college. She never read my articles in the college paper, never read the writing I did in other areas. She never witnessed my graduating from college. The first of her descendants with a degree and she missed it. Magna Cum Laudy, Mama! Can you believe it? I have as brief image formed in my mind of her standing in the audience smiling broadly. It isn't real. She wasn't there. And there is an echo of her voice from a long time ago where she said, "My girl can do anything." 

48 birthdays, Mama. So long, so very long, Mama.