Here’s a photo Ellen took of me a few days ago with our cat Snaps. I’m down twenty-six pounds from my last photo and I wanted a record of that; I suspect that at least some of it will come back as I finish healing. The big thing is that the antibiotic I’m taking makes me a little sick and it has messed up my sense of smell so that almost everything tastes wrong, different, or even sickening. Note Father Hugh of Paddington who stayed with me at the nursing home. The white fluffy thing on my knees is a prayer shawl given to me by my church, a great comfort.
My muse continues her return, I am working on the subplot in which Betsy’s first husband pays a visit. He is a retired Chief Boatswain’s Mate Aaron Ryan (called Rooster), loud and rude and very amusing, and he makes Betsy’s current beau Connor uncomfortable. How could Betsy have been taken in by someone like him? (Because she was very young and naive and he was sweet and protective of her.) He calls her Betsy-Boo, she calls him Ron-a-Roo. This is going to be fun.