You all have asked me, “Are you glad to be home?” And the answer is, yes. Not glad to be done with vacationing in the Stockholm Archipelago. That was addictive, and one twitches a little on backing off from addiction. But certainly happy in my little ranch house, with the fading family fortune, a Pottery Barn sofa and my wildly growing herb garden. Happy with the little set of rituals I live by. I think almost everyone is glad to be home, when it happens. True home.
The only thing is that I have had a terrible sore throat. So bad I couldn’t even drink tea. I don’t do well in the absence of tea. I went to the doctor, twice, to make sure it wasn’t strep. High WASPs with a New England mother do not like to go to the doctor ever, much less twice in one week. It implies that we do not know how to Buck Up and Get On With Our Responsibilities.
But it wasn’t strep. At which point I started to wonder whether a wayward Baltic organism had made its way into my swallowing regions. The doctor looked at me like, “Oh dear god. Not another person who has watched too many episodes of ‘House.'”
He prescribed opiates. He even used the word, “Opiates.” At which point lauren reminded me of the opium trade and I couldn’t go there, even though I take Xanax to fly, but that’s psychology which is an entirely different matter. High WASPs believe in nerve tonics. Emily Dickinson told us they were all right.
Fortunately, after dizzying quantities of ibuprofen (in place of codeine), some chocolate, and a lot of ice water, I’m feeling much better. And feeling better reminds me of the good part of coming home. I think to myself, “Oh, that’s right. It’s a joy to be alive. Oh good.”
I always feel like I’ve gotten away with something unspecified when I recover from illness. You know the glee of a child who gets to stay up late because their parents have a party and everyone drinks too much?
Although I can’t say I’ve really given up on the Baltic organism. Have a wonderful weekend.