And the Days "Flu" By...

We Strandbergs are just returning to the land of the living after an interminable bout with what I suspect is the flu. Never mind that we all had flu shots this fall; perhaps only corporate America gets the "good stuff," since our patriarch--who got his shot at work--has remained unaffected by the ridiculously gunky noses and on-again, off-again fevers from which the rest of us have suffered the last five days or so.

There were bright moments amidst the glossy-eyed torpor. The mid-afternoon "family nap" instituted by a mama desperate for sleep was enjoyed by all. Three bodies snuggled under a queen-sized down comforter--what could be better than that?

There was also the pleasure of not having to make our morning deadlines at the Y. And staying in our PJs all day. And drinking as much orange juice as we wanted.

But one of the greatest joys for me came this morning, when I finally had enough strengh to shower again. I hadn't bathed since Sunday, and you can't imagine the feeling, this Wednesday morning, when I rinsed the suds from my tresses and heard an audible squeak as I ran my hands over my hair. It was heavenly.

Forget personal ambition or aims to improve society--being sick brings one back to the simpler things on the needs hierarchy, to the level at which sleep and clean hair are all that matter.