When you hear the word “fever,” what do you think of?

I hear Patti Page crooning the song “Fever.” I see my youngest granddaughter at 3, cheeks flushed, temp at 101 degrees, eyes begging, “make it go away, Grandma.” I see my husband dying from complications caused by multiple myeloma.

But say “fever” to me in February 2019, and my mind clicks in to “cabin fever.” With no medical degree, I’ve diagnosed myself to be suffering from this malady.

Its symptoms range from boredom — exactly how many times a week does one’s home need to be vacuumed? — to overeating — three pounds of red grapes in one day are probably not nutritionally necessary — to bravery–through clenched teeth, after hearing the weather forecaster predict snow for the next day, I say ‘of course, I can stay inside another day’ — to just plain grouchiness — spilling wet coffee grounds on the kitchen linoleum can lead to words a genteel, mature lady should not say.

So in spite of no medical degree, I’ve prescribed healing procedures for this malady — interacting with people, preferably friends, family, even close acquaintances, but a Hy-Vee clerk with a friendly smile will do. And sunshine — buckets of it.

However, if mother nature continues to rain down her wrath upon Midwestern earth in the form of snow, ice or negative degree temps, wine and chocolate will do.