Every once in a while, my heart and diabetes medications disagree, and I get sick for a day or two. This ranges from headaches to exhaustion to digestion problems. I know how to lie down and wait for the problem to resolve, which it always does.

In the meantime, there is that liberating feeling of total relaxation. I can’t read, walk around, take photos (well, I did sneak out for a picture or two), or right. While it is no fun to be sick, I always feel strong and renewed when it passes, yet another victory in life’s chess game. It makes a move; I made a move.

Maria is a wonderful caretaker, but I love that she never lets it overcome or displace her work. Today, she sold out the new batch of beautifully painted scarves she made this week. She’s already done the shipping.

She’s visiting a friend right now; I promised I wouldn’t go outside until she got home. She takes great care of me when necessary, but never gives up on who she is or wants to be. I can feel grateful, not guilty.

I just need one photo.

My stomach is already getting better.

Maria is picking up a book I’m very excited to read; it’s called Solito, by Javier Zamora, who, as a 9-year-old, set out alone from El Salvador.

It took him four years to get to the United States and across the Souther Border. The book is written from the perspective of a 9-year-old and how he learned to survive this experience.

It is the story of what it means for courageous and impoverished people to get to America, even as we have come selfishly and ignorantly to hate and resent them and turn them into political footballs. For the poor and desperate, America is still the beacon of safety and opportunity.

I pray it always will be.

The haters would like to put a “Stop, Don’t Go Back” sign on the Statue of Liberty. They will never succeed, never stop the yearning for refugees from getting here; the wall is a joke to them, an absurd and useless barrier to people whose lives are on the line and who are fighting for a better life for their children.

That is a lot more powerful than hate.

I’ve been in bed all morning, dozing in and out. I was surrounded by a circle of love and support when I woke up. Maria was next to me with a cup of tea, Bud was dozing in my lap,  Zinnia was doing her therapy dog thing and watching me like a hawk, and Fate was hoping to get outside to run around the sheep.

It felt beautiful, a warm and loving circle of love and support. In an hour or so, I’ll be reading “Solite” and feeling more robust as the brutal cold hits us overnight. We are prepared. We have done everything we can do. So many people to the North will have it worse than us.

I knew I was sick the minute I woke up this morning. Zinnia went into her Therapy Dog Mode below; she always knows I’m sick before I do. She sticks to me like glue. I see it in her eyes.

How lucky I am to have all this love and support in a ring around me. I know it helps me to heal.

I’m getting stronger as I wrote this. A few more hours of resting will set me straight. I am grateful, not sad, every time I get the chance to feel better.