I have been feeling a little bit under the weather for about a week. I have felt as though I was coming down with something — sore throat, headache, sniffling — but since I haven’t gotten around to coming down with anything yet, I guess I’m not. I actually would like to go ahead and get sick so I can get better.
In the meantime, my to-do list keeps getting longer because I am lacking the energy to get things crossed off. The boys go back to school today, so we will all be on a more normal schedule and perhaps that will help.
At the very least, I hope, it will help with the housekeeping. My house looks like there have been teenage boys on vacation there for weeks.
Yesterday I went to the library to finish the fact-checking assignment that has been hanging over me. Passing through the real historic district, I thought I would give you some pictures from it, since I showed you pictures from the faux-historic district.
There are some beautiful houses here, and some with interesting histories.
When the big trees have leaves and the flowers are blooming, these are gracious roads, and people often pass the time of day on the sidewalks while walking their dogs or pushing their strollers.
Our town was first settled in the 1820s, and the 1850s were a time of prosperity and hopefulness.
(If you are thinking that I am ignoring the people who lived here before, I am really not. This was part of the Osage hunting grounds, but they didn’t live here. A few Cherokee arrived in the 1790s, but the Osage were so unhappy about that that the spell from then till the 1820s could not be described as “settled” by any stretch of the imagination.)
Then there was that pesky war, and much of the town was burnt and many of the people ended up in refugee camps. But afterwards, there was rebuilding, including the university which was and largely still is the center of life here, and the turn of the century was a good time for our town.
So we have some fine Victorian and Edwardian buildings.
Still, it is impossible not to notice how much less tidy and picturesque the real historic district is than the one that was set up like a block village a few years ago.
I also found it a bit inhibiting to take pictures here, because I know more people who live here. It is one thing to go into a street where you are a stranger and snap away like a tourist, and another to chance a conversation beginning “So why were you taking pictures of my house the other day?” in the butcher’s.
I would have to continue conversations like that by saying, “Do you know what a blog is?” and so often the answer is a puzzled frown and “I’ve heard that word…”
I haven’t decided whether I ought to rest more in order to stave off whatever it is I am coming down with, or ignore it and work more diligently on my to-do list, but at least the fact-checking is done.
Oh! I can’t leave without sharing with you the remarkable metaphor I heard last night. We are like ice cream in Baked Alaska, the woman said, and prayer is the meringue that insulates us against the oven of suffering.
I bet you’ve never heard that one before.