Today is our 34th wedding anniversary. I don’t remember what we’ve done on many of those anniversaries but I’m betting I won’t forget this one. I’m in the basement; Richard is upstairs, and I need to stay here for another two to four days until the results of the Covid test I took this afternoon come back. I haven’t been anywhere to catch Covid 19 and neither has Richard. We did have a bout with what we suspect was food that had turned rather nasty. We don’t know exactly what to blame it on but both of us were affected. Richard got over the discomfort by the next morning. I had aches, no energy and a slight fever so I slept most of the day yesterday. We were supposed to sing a duet in church this morning. When I wasn’t back to normal by dinner time last night, I decided to do the responsible thing: I retired to the basement, booked a Covid test and let the church folks know that the duet had become a solo. In normal times I’d shrug, hope I felt better in the morning and get on with it. I’m guessing many of us won’t be taking that approach again for a long time if ever. 

Because I had a bit of a fever, I got an appointment for a test within 24 hours. There wasn’t much of a lineup at the testing site and I’m grateful they are doing a throat swab now rather than what I’m told feels like a brain swab via the nasal passages. Now I wait. The last symptom, a headache, finally gave up early this afternoon and I feel fine. This whole thing is a bit of in inconvenience. I’ve had nothing on the calendar for weeks and then in one week I have three or four things all in a row. No matter, I’ve long since learned that the world does not turn according to my convenience, much as I sometimes wish it would. I think we will probably celebrate our 34^th anniversary by eating take-out on the lawn at least six feet apart. When it comes right down to it, I can think of many worse ways to celebrate. I’m pretty sure I don’t have Covid. The adventure continues.