My body seems to have further betrayed me, leaving me able to speak only in uncomfortable squeaks and odd pitches. Laryngitis I suspect. Maybe the next couple days will demonstrate the virtue that monks find in taking vows of silence. Then again, talking is a hard habit to break and I still try to verbalize my thoughts, only to find once again that I sound like one of the Chipmunks with a bad cold. Yes, that bad. Just ask J.

I may not be able to talk, but I can still bake. We watched the whole BBC production of Pride and Prejudice last night, though I slept through much of it. And J enjoyed it even if his enthusiasm for Jane Austen is less than fervent. I think we finished the last tape (VHS!) near 2am. I awoke this morning with fits of coughing and restlessness and after adding a few logs to the hot coals in the stove, I set about finding a recipe for a breakfast baked good. Not willing to wait for anything requiring yeast, I first settled on biscuits and then opted for scones. I will admit they were not attractive — at any stage. I think the fog lodged in my head prevented the proper thought and care.

Nonetheless, the scones were fetched from the oven and though unshapely, we ate them eagerly with butter and lemon curd. And mugs of hot coffee. The coffee was a Finca Mauritania roast I ordered via this joy + ride, roasted by ed whitman (to learn more, read ed’s blog, Coffee is Food). It was a tasty and strong brew thanks to poor ratio calculations on my part. Again, I blame the brain fog.

I am feeling a bit stir crazy now, so I think J and I are going on a short jaunt to run some errands, including a bookstore visit, which is always welcome. And hopefully a winter walk to clear my mind. I hope your weekend is filled with slices of sound and silence.