at least it wasn't Covid..
I thought that the boys' illness was due to too much sun, and attributed a weak spell I felt myself to vacuuming in the heat, but in retrospect we may have actually been sick. The clue was that by 9:00 on Friday morning I was so weak and dizzy I couldn't stand up, and that I wasn't able to eat anything between Friday breakfast and Saturday supper. There was also some time spent in the bathroom; I won't trouble you with the details. So I guess, as well as heat exhaustion, we all picked up some sort of stomach bug among the throngs at the pond. A 24-hour bug, thankfully, rather than the coronavirus—which I assume was also a possibility if we were in a position to be taking on germs at all. I wonder if four months of social distancing and mask-wearing have let our immune systems start slacking off?
The most notable thing to me about being sick—besides the kindness and consideration of my family—was that I was able to reach a point where Gatorade was palatable. More than palatable, even; more like the nectar of the gods, at least when it was watered down with ice. It had the stuff my body needed! I wonder if any of that appreciation will linger now that I'm almost back to normal? I don't think I'll risk a trial.