Well, what do you know about that--I wasn’t inching off my sickbed after all. Or if I was, it was just to prepare to take a flying leap right in to the deepest center thereof. I had pneumonia! Who has time for that, I’d like to know? And then a fresh wave of illness moved through the rest of the house, too. At the low point, it seemed reasonable to wonder if perhaps we were part of a government experiment, or being secretly filmed for reality tv, but a sympathetic pal assured me that we were just stuck in a draft version of the script for “Contagion,” written by Sartre. However deep the mystery, it’s often the simplest explanation that unties the knot.
But the sun seems to be feebly shining here now, and I have cautiously rejoined the ranks of the upright and functional. Once again, the strong links of the chain of food and friendship held us firmly. Bless its power.
Seems fitting, since we have been kept so well by food and friendship in the last ten days, that the post I was trying to write as I sunk slowly under the desk was about putting love back in the lunchbox. Probably not surprising that the post appears to have been translated from Urdu, possibly by an iPhone app, nor that the photos are not terribly in focus. So now that I am somewhat operative again, I'll see what I can do to sort that all out, and get the Loving Lunchbox right out to you in short order.
In the meantime, get some sleep, drink plenty of water and for pete's sake wash your hands.