Malades

I never get sick. At least I never used to get sick. But this first year abroad has our poor immune systems working hard at getting acquainted with all the French germs, and at the moment, our immune systems are taking a beating. The entire Williamson clan is malades. We are huddled in blankets and one-upping each other with sniffles and coughs, because while none of us feels great, all of us know that the most able-bodied of the bunch will get sidled with the care-taking duties.

I made Paula Deen's Homemade Chicken Noodle soup for dinner last night, but it merited no improvements. We are eating oranges (from Spain) and garlic (from Italy), drinking water, washing hands incessantly, and familiarizing ourselves with the French selection of cold medicines and words like mouchoirs (Kleenexes). Oh the joys of the foreign cold.

Perhaps the one redeeming quality of a full blown cold is the pleasure of indulging in guilt-free reading while one suffers. I mean, no one can be expected to conjugate verbs between sneezes. As my selection of novels in English is dwindling (I am reading my last one now), I am exploring the selection of books in our school's library that are labeled, "En Francais Facile" (in easy French). In the first one, La reine Margot, it has taken me about 3 days to read 5 pages; yet, somehow the process is enjoyable to me.

Well, I best get back to my tea and tissues. All this typing is taxing my joints. Feel free to send your prayers and sympathies our way!

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