When I was sick in bed

I remember the times when I was sick in bed with a slight cold or sore throat as a child of seven or eight. This was in Sarajevo, Yugoslavia, usually on snowy winter days. I loved those spells of minor illness. I lay in my parents' bed covered with a thick feather comforter while a fire burned and glowed red in the wood-burning porcelain stove in the corner of the room. In the afternoon I would get a visit from my aunt Lori, the wife of Uncle Rafo, my mother's brother. She would always bring a new book and an exotic delicacy, such as a banana - sometimes even pineapple!