Kristin Clark Taylor, Opinion contributor Published 5:00 a.m. ET March 22, 2020 I realize now, facing coronavirus and an altered world, that Mother’s no-nonsense patterns protected not just me but every person in our household.I went into a mother-mandated quarantine when I was about 7 years old.I still remember suffering from a nasty cough and a way-too-high fever that made me feel limp, washed out, and yearning desperately for a very large scoop of chocolate ice cream — “to break the fever” — as I explained to my mother. I even remember the doctor peering into my mouth and describing it as, “an angry little throat that’s as red as a berry.”So Mother decided to shut everything down. With six other children, a husband and two tabby cats under the same roof, she did what she had to do. She’d done it before and she’d do it again, and she did it without apology or wasted words: Contain the contagion. Simple as that. It was not just a common-sense courtesy but a non-negotiable, rock-solid mandate of communal living. Even as a child, though, I remember being distinctly aware that I’d been so quickly isolated because I was so deeply, deeply loved.   My

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