Laurel Anne Hill

Return of the Laurel

Okay, I’ve allowed myself some pensive days during my recovery from Covid-19. Now it’s time to get with the program at hand: The return of the person known as Laurel Anne Hill to her prior productive state of mind. Not that I’ve been unproductive for the past week, quarantining with and happily cooking for my eldest step son, whom I accidentally infected before I knew Covid-19 had caught me. My “normal” state, however, tends to be one of gross over-productivity: succumbing to the impulse to go way beyond what’s needed.

I sip the last drops of wine from my glass. Dinner’s officially over. I offer another prayer of thanks for food, housing, church, family, friends, vaccinations, boosters and antivirals. I pray for all who have lost loved ones to death, whatever the cause. The face of my beloved David drifts into my thoughts. Nearly five-and-one-half years have passed since cancer claimed him.

I’ve caught up on the bills today. Taken care of some of my regular donations. A load of laundry swishes in the washer. One grocery run awaits me in the morning.

I gaze over the crest of my laptop’s screen at my mother-in-law’s old mahogany buffet. The elephant in the room (in the form of my third novel) stares at me from its bookstand. I sigh. We both know it’s time for me to crawl out of my covid cave and start publicizing this book again. Plague of Flies: Revolt of the Spirits, 1846 has no ability to leap into the hands of potential readers and sell itself. Too bad. Plague did win award number eleven for me at the end of June. I found out the good news several days before Covid-19 landed on the doorstep of my respiratory system.

Chanticleer International Book Awards (CIBA):
OZMA Fantasy Fiction 2021 Grand Prize

Have you read my book? If so, please go to Amazon and post your honest review. What you liked and what you didn’t.

Thank you,

Laurel Anne Hill
Author and Former Underground Storage Tank Operator

Hello Readers:

A new day dawned this morning. No surprise. After all, scientists have predicted we earthlings have at least five billion years before our sun turns in its future retirement notice. Not that people will be around by then, except maybe in spirit form. The way world politics continues to head, I sometimes wonder if humankind will even manage to survive five hundred years. Unless we learn to permanently disengage the nuclear war button and permanently engage the “Save Our Planet” one. Soon.

My new day included reaching the ten-day milestone that I likely can’t transmit my remaining bits of Covid-19 to others if I follow basic precautionary measures. That aggressive virus made me cough like my lungs would fly out my mouth while my brains shot out my ears. Yikes! Yes, I’ll still wear a mask in public places. Yes, I’ll still practice social distancing and avoid groups that are large or contain vulnerable people. I don’t plan to return to church in person for several weeks. And I’ll chill out for an appropriate while before visiting unvaccinated family members or friends. Or before going to in-person medical appointments. But with the help of vaccinations, boosters and antivirals, I’ve been blessed with this new day, and hopefully, many more to come.

More new days to exercise my body so I can keep walking. More new days to write so I can keep thinking. More new days to communicate with the people I love.

Way back in the early 1960s, I decided to study microbiology in college. The microbial world contains countless “friends” of humankind. Such organisms help us digest our food. They colonize parts of our bodies so their nastier neighbors can’t easily take over the territory. Unfortunately, sometimes the line between friend and foe stretches mighty thin, particularly in the immunocompromised.

But for now, my wonderful allergic-to-so-many-things immune system hasn’t forgotten how to mount a defense against ruthless invaders. I thank it and my hardy resident microbiome for protecting my “castle walls” through my recent bout with Covid-19.

Have you talked to your microbes and white blood cells lately? Thanked them for a job well done? At least take the time to nod and smile.

Laurel Anne Hill
Author and Former Underground Storage Tank Operator
(Who also talks to her plants.)

Archives for July 2022