It's my turn this month to host our book discussion group, which has no name. We are reading Geraldine Brooks's "The Year of Wonders: a novel of the plague."
Coincidental with my reading of this uncomfortably graphic account of a year in a 17th century English village plagued with the Plague, was the introduction into our household of a nasty, vicious rhinovirus which has progressively felled us, one by one. First, Daughter got the fever, blahs and cough two weekends ago. Last weekend, Husband came down with it: fever, blahs and debilitating coughing. Two days ago, it was my turn: fever, blahs, and coughing. So on Superbowl Sunday, our domicile sounds like a pest-house, with three people coughing, blowing, retching, and throat-clearing.
Contrast this with the weather outside: sunny, 70s, and glorious! Little white daisies are blooming in the park; young people are strolling by in pairs or are riding their bikes through the green belt.
I went out for a few minutes today and sat in the sun. Felt good. Hope we get better soon.
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