sick day

i've been home the past two days with a sinus infection and laryngitis. yesterday, i laid on the couch all day, feeling as if someone had hit me square in the face with the back of a frying pan. today is a little better. i'm still fighting the urge to actually get some work done around here. i have serious issues with resting and doing nothing else. all i can see is clutter that needs to be picked up, laundry that should be thrown in the washer, and beds that need to be stripped and changed.

charles shultz wrote the following in his 1967 book about happiness:

i discovered yesterday that daytime television pretty much stinks. thank goodness for the bob ross (joy of painting) episodes i have on dvr. i pressed 'play'on those and never looked back...

today i've been grading papers and trying to work on lesson planning for next week. piddling on my blog is my break for now. so i'm going to spend the next few minute posting a little bit of this and that...

here is my adorable husband around the age of two (with my mother-in-law, martha):

what a cutie! this is the same man who sent me a dozen roses last monday, who convinced me to stay home and take care of myself this week, and who left the following note for me yesterday morning: not poetry, perhaps, but the thoughtfulness and love behind it have caused me to tuck the note away in a special place.

speaking of poetry, i recently rediscovered the poetry of robert creeley. my three favorites: for love , the rain, and the hill. i'll close this post with both the text of the hill and an invitation for you to comment on any of creeley's work.

It is sometime since i have been
to what it was had once turned me backwards ,
and make my head into
a cruel instrument .

It is simple
to confess . Then done ,
to walk away , walk away ,
to come again .

But that form , I must answer ,
is dead in me , completely ,
and I will not allow it
to reappear -

Saith perversity , the willful ,
the magnanimous cruelty ,
which is in me
like a hill .