Chicken soup. Turkey broth with pastina. Tea. Crackers. Ginger ale. Toast. Pills. Nose spray. Wooly blankets and piles of pillows, all warm and fluffy. That was my week, largely spent sick in bed. Then there was my wife who said, “Oh, poor baby.” It’s almost a shame to feel better.
This morning, as if being jarred from a dream, she said, “You’re feeling better –– go get the newspaper and, while you’re out, pick up some lettuce at the market." As I said, it’s almost a shame to feel better.
But then on TV and online, I witness the Egyptians who succeeded in liberating themselves. Peaceably. If real joy is best appreciated when it is relative to its opposite, Egyptians are experiencing something truly wonderful.
And it makes me feel good to feel better.
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