Cabin feverish

Rob took pity on me Saturday. "You must be tired of being in this house, sick," he said. "Let's go to the lake so you can get out and at least see something."

It was a gorgeous day. It wasn't possible to say no, even feeling so crummy, so we went. Rob drove out along the bumpy the airport road and parked me in the sun, then he and the dog went for a walk around the lake. Getting out the front door used up my little store of energy, so even though I wanted to go with them I stayed in the car with the windows rolled down and did this:




and looked at this:



(Some shot, huh? I pointed my laptop out the window to get it. Who needs focus or framing?)

I could have soaked all the sunshine clean out of the sky and been very, very happy.

Sick day action shots

Rats! I was down for the count on what is typically one of my best days. But I wouldn't say my Friday the 13th was a total bust. I mean I did get to catch up a little on three of my favorite things:


SLEEP


STARGATE


and SEGULLAH.

Better luck next time, eh? (That would be in November.)

Hey, remember me?

Just you wait. I've got something fun to tell you.

No, it's not that. I wish.

And yes, you can take this as proof that I am an official Anthrax survivor. Okay, maybe it was only a really ugly devil-flu, but Lois called it Anthrax, and I believe everything Lois tells me. Except, of course, that her name is Lois. But that's beside the point.

Gotta sleep now. I will spill my guts soon.

xo

P.S. Thanks for being concerned about me, those of you who were.

Cicada

This morning Rob called me outside to look at my dollar store windsock, the one that is perhaps intended to be a grinning, swimming Esther Williams type, but more closely resembles a woman having a nervous breakdown. So on my bright nylon screamer's red streamer there was a teeny tiny cicada, perfect and newly emerged from its now-potato chip shell (which we didn't have the good fortune to spot). It was catching its buggy breath and waiting for the sun to rise high enough in the sky to warm its perch and help it prepare for flight. Aw! If only the Atlantic Ocean hadn't spoilt my camera, I would have snapped a shot of our little friend and posted it here. I mean, I've lived in Utah for how many years? 26 now? and this is the first cicada I can remember seeing. They were a big part of my North Carolina childhood, right up there with lightning bugs. I loved them. Funny to find a small one today, when my mind is a couple thousand miles from here, hanging around my old Southern home. Just for you (okay, more for me), I borrowed some cicada pictures from the abundant internet universe, in case you've never met even a small one.

Unlike this guy, our little pal was all black.
Bodyguard or terrorist? You decide.