A productive illness

Sometimes it's nice to be sick. Not terribly sick, just a little sick. Sick enough that I feel compelled to stay home near the tissue box and use a day or so of the massive amount of paid sick days I have amassed. Not so sick that I cannot get a few things done around the house. So far I have

• Read for a couple of hours in bed. I'm smack in the middle of Salman Rushie's Midnight's Children (a friend and I agreed it was sort of embarrassing that we consider ourselves literary sorts but have never read anything by Rushdie) but stopped to read the next book for the mother-daughter book group Sophie and I are in. She and I agreed we would cheat and that she would explain the plot and a few main characters and set me up with a few comments so I wouldn't have to read it, but my conscience got the better of me.

• Done a couple loads of laundry, mopped the kitchen floor, cleaned a bathroom. My house cleaner is out of town for a couple of weeks.

• Finished one batch of crème de mûre, started another.

• Bottled some limoncello. Finally. It's a lengthy process. I'm looking very forward to trying Jen's limon sunrise cocktail (and you thought she was all about butter).

• Practiced the piano for half an hour. I've been playing on my parents' piano during visits and have overcome my horror at how much worse I am than when I was fourteen enough to be enjoying it again. I brought back a bunch of music home from my parents and have been playing on the little electric keyboard (a toy, basically) that I use to play with Sophie's violin practice.
  

• Watched All My Children while eating lunch. Or maybe it was One Life to Live. I can't tell the difference. Anyway, Dorian Lord is not looking good.

• Installed these nice little holders in my laundry room for mops. You're probably wondering why a general contractor's wife would have to do something like this herself. But if you're a general contractor's wife you already know. Something about cobblers and children and shoes. Seriously, I bought these holders about six years ago.
  

I couldn't get the screws in all the way, but I know of no better way to send Husband into a blind panic than to call him at work to ask where he has hid the electric screwdriver. General contractors have this bizarre notion that they alone can safely operate power tools.

This is all in the way of saying that I'm well on my way to doing everything except what I should be doing today:

Completing my on-line traffic school course

which needs to be done by the end of the month. Seems I was in just a little too much of a hurry to get to the mountains last spring and was driving a wee bit too fast. Did the officer not notice the full rack of skis on top and the impatient little ripper in the backseat? He might have, but the asshole bagged me for going eight miles over the speed limit about fifty yards from the speed limit sign ahead where I would have been within the limit. I hope he dies of hemorrhoids.

The truth is I really really really do not want to waste my valuable convalescence doing on-line traffic school. I just do not think I am well enough. Instead, I'm moving on to

• Mexican chocolate ice cream. I'll let you know how it turns out.

• A pumpkin seed sauce for the enchiladas I'm planning for Sunday dinner.

• Sorting through recipes and moving them into a new folder box. The old one is falling apart.

Or maybe it's time for a nap? Another chapter of Rushdie? A blog post on the best grilling sauce I've discovered this summer? A nap.