No one likes to be “under the weather,” but this is the time of year when we’re lucky to dodge a “bug,” the 24-hour flu or an out-and-out viral infection that puts us flat on our backs for days on end.

I don’t consider myself paranoid and, in fact, I might be a little on the careless side when it comes to avoiding contact with people who are carrying around something that has the potential to lay me low.

But, after all, people are everywhere. They’re standing in front and behind us at the post office, checkout line at the grocery store, or sitting beside us in church. Then, there’s that little sneeze or cough that makes us take a step forward or ease over a little in our pew.

That’s about all we can do. If we get through the cold and flu season with just a sniffle or two, it’s pure luck. I, for one, didn’t make it this year.

The amazing thing is how you can feel perfectly fine one minute and 30 minutes later know that something has hit you in the back when you weren’t looking. That happened to me three weeks ago.

Monday started off as a normal day at the office. I was feeling fine when lunchtime came and, as usual, went home for a light lunch and quiet break. But, along about 2:30, my hands and arms started to feel achy. By 4 p.m., my whole body was calling for help.

I had scheduled an appointment to meet with an electrician when I got off work. We were going to talk about landscape lighting. He was on time and came with pencil and pad in hand.

The temperature was moderate and, under normal circumstances, I would have been adequately dressed to be outside for a maximum of 30 minutes.

However, in this case, I had my arms crisscrossed over my jacket and was hugging myself in an effort to minimize the shaking that was running from head to feet. Mercifully, he suggested that we go inside to look through the material he had brought with him. In just a matter of minutes, he offered to get back to me with some quotes.

When I closed the door behind him, everything went straight downhill.

There’s never a good time to be sick. A lot was going on at my office. I missed a Valentine’s dance. I had coordinated a birthday dinner for a very good friend. Everyone else was there. My Kiwanis club was having its annual Builder’s Cup dinner. I stayed at home and ate chicken noodle soup.

There are a lot of ways to describe how I felt. A truck had hit me. A train had run over me. Someone had slugged me with a sledgehammer. A ton of bricks had fallen on me. It was a combination of all of these, and I’m not the least bit embarrassed to say that, after a week and a half, I was feeling somewhat sorry for myself.

But how could I? My neighbors, Barbara, Glen and Becky called to check on me. They went to the grocery story and to the pharmacy to pick up cough drops and prescriptions.

My friends called to ask if there was anything they could do. Suzanne brought over grilled eggplant soup and flatbread. Glen brought over an enormous sweet roll and homemade vegetable soup.

Last week, we had two days when the temperature reached the 70s. I opened all the windows and left them up until late at night. I washed everything on the bed from pillows to mattress pad and “aired” the down coverlet.

So far, it’s been a mild winter. But, March is the meanest month. I’m not quite ready to come out from under the covers. But, I’ve stuck my head out to peep around.