continued

In the early evening, Ed and I come back to the farmhouse (we'd met up at Paul's for a post work drink -- cappuccino for me, a bit of soup for him). I have our own tomatoes from the summer out, defrosting. Time for a soup. But I'm dragging my feet. And reapplying shea butter to parts of my face affected by a cold. Ed says -- a nap, a short one. Come on. Just let go of everything.

I can't I can't I can't...
It can all wait. Upstairs. Nap time.

I doze off to the sound of the odd noise Ed's laptop makes -- wheeee oooooo, wheeeee oooooo...

A half hour later, I'm up making tomato soup from our (frozen) summer tomatoes and applying endless dabs of shea butter to my upper lip. Colds do awful things to one's face.

There is no easy photo from this day. Morning breakfast. At the kitchen table, which means there was no sunshine pouring in on this day (we eat here only when the sun isn't a consideration).





And in the afternoon, I pass by this lookout point -- it's Madison's Lake Mendota and if you ask me, it's never looked more somber.






I like winter, I really do. But you stick me with a cold and take away my sunshine and I'm less enthused.

One more day, then a weekend of rest. Until then...