Rose Season

Whoever you are, I sure hope pretty pictures don't nauseate you. The rose was a rose was a very pink rose, and I had the camera on the extra vivid colors setting by mistake.

I can't resist taking pictures of flowers just after it's rained, even though I know it's like making out with them, and that's really weird.

This one reminds me of a time last fall when our family was hit by a stomach virus. I'm not saying that the image makes me nauseous because it's treacley. I haven't made my point yet.

My son fell at the park and hit his temple on the metal slide, but seemed fine. A few hours later he threw up, and then he threw up again, so we called the doctor who said that he probably had a concussion and we should take him to the ER. We took him to Methodist, against our doctor's wishes, but when we got there, something just didn't feel right for some reason, so we drove into Manhattan to go to NYU. They couldn't get a conclusive cat scan there, so they just assumed he really did have a concussion and we were told to follow up with a neurologist and to curtail athletics.

As soon as we got home, I started throwing up and was very sick all night. Meanwhile, my daughter, who was sleeping over at a friends house, had been sick as well. God bless you, Lori.

The next day pretty much everyone was sick, and I could barely move from bed the whole day. When I became conscious off and on, I was aware that I had been having the strangest dreams of something growing and generating, from the inside out, as if my life force was trying to remake me after the germ had reversed all my normal processes, and it was like watching a flower gather it's essence or a mandala grow out of a tiny speck in a kaleidoscope. I watched my life bloom again.

It was a striking experience for someone who's often felt she had to make herself something or other by force of will.