It’s big news here on the farm when Maria gets sick, and I can hardly ever remember it happening.

Her stomach got queasy last night, and she was too exhausted to dance long at her belly dancing group. She came home early and has been sleeping and in bed all day. She felt some light-headedness.

I’m trying to pick up her load, but I must watch her every minute to keep her still. She’s got some viral thing going but has no fever and no interest in speaking with or seeing a doctor. I’m making her rice and fish for dinner and ferrying tea to her. She does have a small appetite.

She canceled her art class at the Mansion, and I might have to cancel mine tomorrow. We also canceled dinner with friends in Saratoga at an Indian restaurant we love.

She says she’ll be fine in a day or so, and that’s up to her. I’m not going to nag her or tell her what to do, not that she would listen.

Maria is a perpetual motion machine, a continuous energy source, and it is strange to see her so worn out and still. Fate is staying close by. I went out to close up the chicken but found she had already done that, having slipped out while I was writing.

Maria is the heart of the farm in so many ways, it seems off base without her.

I can handle it.