Ah! Woe is Me

I was feeling sorry for myself today, because my husband and visiting daughter got to traipse off to NYC to visit my granddaughter, while I had to stay behind because I’m sick. I thought I’d perk myself up by watching the movie Bright Star, Jane Campion’s take on the poet John Keats and his muse (and love) Fanny Brawne, but I ended up sobbing uncontrollably, along with Fanny, after Keats died in Rome. I continued to sob some more while I reread The Poems of John Keats, a lovely, leather-bound book given to me by an ex-boyfriend I first met in Amsterdam in 1968, on my first trip to Europe. (He was leaving me to visit Keats’s apartment next to the Spanish Steps, so he promised me a present when we met up back in the USA.)

Ah – isn't there just something to love about crying over spilt prose?

Because I still need cheering up, plus a quick reentry back into the 21^st century, I’m going to curl up under my quilt and watch the movie 17 Again, which both my husband and daughter saw last night and promised me was entertaining.

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! This afternoon's turned into a two-movie, marathon-watching, beautiful day in my indoor, homebound neighborhood.