This is our second day of summer. Or our second day of really hot weather anyway. Ninety-ish out in the sun. Since we haven't had any rain in a month, just these two days have hit the garden hard.
Papa Pea couldn't sleep much last night because we couldn't get the house cooled off and it was not comfortable. I couldn't sleep because I developed a sore throat. You never know how often you unconsciously swallow during a night's sleep . . . until you have a sore throat.
As the day has gone on, a headache and slight pain in both ears have entered the mix. So far it's not really a cold. No cough or drippy nose. I've know something was wrong for a couple of days. Sure, I've been working hard between the garden, the wood working, and all the usual stuff but rather than just feeling tired, I was feeling yucky. Not good. Uncomfortable. These germs were obviously invading my body and trying to take hold.
I feel I've got no one to blame but myself. There's been enough physical work going on around here this summer that I thought I could let myself be over-indulgent in . . . dum-da-dum-dum . . . sugar. Now I'm paying the price. The body just has to work too hard to process an overload of sugar. Or at least my body does. I know this yet I fell of the sensible nutrition wagon, right on my head.
I staggered out to the garden this morning to check the shell peas. Oh, how I was hoping they wouldn't have to be picked until tomorrow. No such luck. Big, fat pods were hanging everywhere and when I touched them, they felt absolute hot. This is NOT pea growing weather, and I felt I had to get them out of that broiling sun.
My dear husband dropped what he was working on and came out to pick with me. I think he (wisely) figured this was easier than hefting my unconscious body back into the house after I passed out in the heat. Sitting at the kitchen table shelling the peas (and then processing them) was a task I could almost handle. Although I did crash on the bed for an hour nap right in the middle of the job.
After dinner tonight, much of the garden was wilted and hanging limply, and I knew I had to get some water on it. I especially don't want to chance losing the blueberries and raspberries that are bearing heavily right now. I had to use the hose to water because much of the garden is so tall our sprinkler arrangement wouldn't do the trick. I got a little less than halfway done when I felt the hose was too heavy for me to hold any longer. (Yup, pitiful, but that's how I felt.) Papa Pea came out and saved my bacon again by finishing the job for me. It took him almost an hour. I know I couldn't have done it.
Geesh, I just HATE it when I feel so beat up and run down and weak. It doesn't happen very often but when it does it sure does make me appreciate how great I feel 99.9% of the time.
When Chicken Mama stopped by tonight she asked how I was feeling and I gave her a report. I said I'd been drinking a lot trying to flush the germies out of my system.
"Not alcohol, I hope," she said.
No, dear, not alcohol. No wine. Just a lot of whine, whine, whine.
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