Could it be that hubby will sleep with the fishes?

I have not seen the light of day nor left the house since last Thursday, when me buds and me cleaned the garage. I was battling the first symptoms of a cold at the time but muscled through them. It was worth it on Thursday- the garage was (and is) gratifyingly and spectacularly improved and I was feeling great warmth and gratitude toward my good friends for their efforts. On Friday, it was a different story. I was as stiff as a board and aching from head to foot. Perhaps throwing myself away had something to do with that.

I was smart. I took it easy on Friday. The muscle pain increased, and by Friday night, the GI stuff started, and I am NOT discussing the military. (Though incendiaries did come to mind as I did long tours in the head. EVACUATE!! EVACUATE!! Literally.) Saturday, the cough began and it was all down hill from there. Muscle spasms. Murderous headache. Nausea. On Sunday, I spiked a temperature which by Tuesday rose to 102. Cold sores. Fever blisters. Chapped lips. Sore throat. I was exhausted, and spent most of Monday and Tuesday sleeping. The fever finally broke Wednesday and I began to feel better. I actually left the house twice today, once for groceries and once to buy Mama a hamburger.

It has been a rough week, but things are looking up. Now that the garage is clean, I'm thinking of having my talented son teach me how to use power tools. I would like to build things without sacrificing sundry limbs and wobbly bits. I have a table I want to sand and decoratively paint. I have a chair I want to design for the Literacy Council Chair-ity next month. And there are household repairs I would like to do myself.

Women don't usually get trained on power tools, at least not women of my generation. I can use appliances, but lawnmowers, trimmers, sanders, drills, table saws and routers are as outside my realm of experience as are trips to the moon. I am hoping that is about to change. I think Jake will be a fine teacher. He already knows I am a klutz, so I've got that going for me.

I could be a craftsman, I think. Hell, after a week where I have been discarded, recycled and sick as a dog, I think I could be just about anything except nursed by my husband, who was thrilled by the garage, by the way. He did his part by storing the Christmas stuff and cleaning off his bench, work that was necessary and appreciated, though I must admit that THIS little exchange gave me a bit of a turn:
Mama: (as Dave comes in for dinner) What did you do today, my son?
Dave: I cleaned the garage.

Excuse me... he cleaned the garage? You mean like someone who wipes off the counters has cleaned the kitchen?

I admit, I bristled a bit about that. I'm sure he didn't mean it the way it sounded... Man, I sure hope the Old Lady Mafia doesn't hear about this. I'd hate for them to kneecap my old man. I am too old and too fat to be a glamourous widow. I need a spa trip before they whack him.