This is part of my recent work. I plan to cut it to this size because I messed up the rest of of it. I'm trying to learn how to use the bigger point and keep cutting gouges into the wood. I need to remember that I am burning the wood, not engraving it. Still, I like the image, so will get out my trusty jig saw and get rid of the right two thirds of it.
Amazingly, I seem to have a cold. One wouldn't think that worthy of mention, but the last time I remember having one was in 1997. And even that one was after many many years of absence. It's not a bad cold, but I am quite interested in it just the same. I observe symptoms I had forgotten existed and experience them with amazement. Each cough is noted and evaluated, measured against nothing since I have nothing with which to compare it. Each sneeze fascinates me, each sniffle , each nose-blowing. My throat is sore, another unfamiliar occurrence. So far it is all so fascinating that I haven't had time to consider if I "feel" bad. What does that mean, exactly? I feel different, but can not judge it as good, bad, or simply unusual.
Once I had pneumonia, in 1978 I think. This cold is a little like that without the machines and shots and pills, the nurses and the respiratory therapists. I was in the hospital then, which certainly made the experience more notable. I existed outside of the regular world. People brought me my food, visitors came. I watched TV and read. All that was required of me was to go to the bathroom myself, though I could have had help with that, too, if I had wanted it. I rode in a wheelchair whenever by presence was required elsewhere in the hospital, usually the X-ray department. My doctor visited me twice a day , appearing to have nothing on her mind but my well-being. I was tired then, too, but it was completely acceptable that I sleep during the day.
No resort could have been more enjoyable.