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This week Brian has had strep throat. He’s been as sick as I’ve seen him in almost 38 years of marriage. It was Saturday when it hit, on the day spent in Union County with my family and at the maple syrup farm. Apparently as we sat on my brother and sister-in-law’s sofa visiting, he felt it come over him, the tell-tale symptoms of a bad cold and worse. He went to the doc Tuesday and got meds which started his climb back to the land of the living. But not before he missed all three days of his part-time job. I got sick once like that. I had felt hunky-dory going into the day but as we sat at a newspaper banquet, I felt myself sinking, deeper and deeper into illness. It was the flu. I haven’t been sick for a while and I wonder if my clock is ticking. I wash my hands a lot – two steps forward, then realize that the tip of Brian’s toothbrush might have touched the tip of the toothpaste that is on mine now –two steps backward. Every now and then I swallow hard – does it hurt? Or a pain shoots somewhere random and I wonder if it’s the start of the aches that always accompany flu or simply the fact that I am 57 and sometimes things hurt. I wash my hands again and again. Where do the cooties live? Where are they lurking? I’ve warned them at work. “If you don’t see me next week, it will be because I have Brian’s strep throat.” I can’t be sick next week I say to myself. I have two programs to give – one on the books for months by now and the other for many weeks. So far so good. But if Wednesday’s blog doesn’t come your way, you can guess why. It’s weird to wait on something you hope never comes.  They aren't real, but I like these silk white tulips in this garage-sale pitcher. The grass is green outside and the white oak leaves are leafing out! This is the earliest spring I can recall in these parts.
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