I’ve been asking for it, and I finally got it, a good-sized head cold with lots of sneezing and fuzzy-headedness. Of course, everyone thought I might have Covid, but I live with a fearsome guardian, and I took one of those Covid home tests that the post office has been giving away for free.

No Covid. Just a cold, I am prone to them in the winter, between heart stuff, diabetes, wood stoves, temperatures that rise and fall by 40 degrees in one day, and an abysmal record of taking is accessible.

Not to mention the occasional naked dash outside to capture the quick-rising sun.

Commander Wulf has moved in just like the Ottowa police and is taking charge. I am in no position to ignore her or make a fuss. She and Sue Silverstein love to get together to bully me, and it works.

I had a lesson with Andrew on Lightroom, and then the calendar was clear. I was going to rest. And I did rest.

So I took some essential steps. First, no going outside in the cold and wind to take photos without wearing scarves, heavy gloves, and a winter jacket and shoes.

Second, don’t going outside to take photos at all today (I only snuck out one time to take some evening dusk photos, which are beautiful). Maria says I’m a big boy, and if I want to risk getting sick taking pictures, it’s up to me.

Sometimes she even means it.

In any case, she got to the studio early this morning and worked through the day and early night. I don’t want her to be caretaking me. Neither does she. Nothing gets in the way of her art; bless her.

I set aside two hours in the afternoon after blogging in the morning. I listened to Paul Simon, Johnny Cash, Alison Krauss, Bob Dylan, Roy Orbison, and James Taylor.

(When I was a young reporter on my first assignment covering the anti-Vietnam protests in New York City, I got knocked on the head a lot by police who didn’t like protesters or reporters.

I even got arrested trying to stop the police from beating up my friend Matthew, who dissed one of them.

Matthew disappeared; I’ve never seen or heard from him since. And we were best buds. That still hurts. I think he’s in Canada.

The charges were dropped.

I also heard some of these great musicians playing in Greenwich Village, where I had a two-bedroom apartment for $300 a month and ate Sicilian Pizza for dinner with a coke every night for a year or so.

It’s the music bringing this back up; I’m not into nostalgia.

I spent two hours with my headphone on, dozing on and off, drinking some syrupy decongestant, and waiting for Maria to show up and yell at me.

And I was doing what I was told to do. She doesn’t believe it.

When she gets focused, I obey. I’m just an old man with a stiff back and a runny nose.)

Tonight, I rallied, got up and made us a Cauliflower Pizza with slices of pear and mozzarella, strips of kale, and pine nuts. It was great.

I wanted to post this photo because Andrew and I worked on it this morning. I did some voodoo on it. The photo was taken to the South of the farm in print, but the sun rises from the east. I learned how to put it there.

I couldn’t resist putting a sunrise on it; this was a learning lesson, but I wanted to share the photo; I’m having a breakthrough week.

Also, the staff at Bishop Maginn High School, which is shutting down in June, loves my suggestion that we give the kids a first-rate prom, the last at Bishop Maginn High School. We need to inject some joy into that place before all the refugees move to a different school.

The staff and kids love the idea; I’ll be meeting with school officials last week to post the details. Stay tuned.

Please come along with me on this journey to close off Bishop Maginn in style; these kids have had a brutal couple of years and are not losing their school.

Let’s give them something to smile about and look forward to.