Once a year I get sick, drop ten pounds and take two weeks to recover. The sickness is actually not the worst type. It’s mostly a sudden loss of appetite, chills accompanied by fever and the feeling that my heart will explode from my chest if I take one more step. To me it sounds like a flu, but others always insist it’s not the flu. I don’t know why they care if I call it the flu or not, but I get this every year.
This year it’s lasted an extra few days which has interfered with my blog writing. My fingers are giving out as I w r i t e t h i s . . .
So I thought I’d just share a few bedrooms from Robert Todd Lincoln’s summer home Hildene. They’d be perfect for a sick day. Can you find the servant’s bedroom?