skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Along with the news, sports and weather, a couple of our local stations give allergy, sun-sensitivity and pain indexes. Most of the time I give little notice to these things because I am not one of the people susceptible to these things.
HOWEVER
Last weekend there was a sharp increase in the grass pollen. Grass pollen was never one of the things that bothered me. Cat dander, YES. Mold spores, YES. Hardwood pollen, YES. Mildew, YES. Dust mite dander, DAMN!
But, last weekend the formerly innocuous antigen jumped all over me. My sinuses and eyes were assaulted. My Living Air machine generally protects my breathing environment. This stuff got by it.
I needed a French drain for my head. The isolation and lack of usefulness while enduring this sort of thing adds to its misery. I heard the days were rather pretty.
I loathe antihistamines. I am against most anti-anything. They failed and the fall-back is a short course of steroids. Great. Breathing and trembling – after 3 days of absolute wretchedness. For two days being wretched would have been an improvement.
Draining is the opposite of being clogged. Been there too.
I'll take clogged. When clogged, at least I can still blog.
When free-flowing, blogging is not an option.
Sitting at the keyboard means sitting upright.
It is good to be back, off my back and letting the words come and hopefully connect to you.
I'm going to be looking for a fresh medication to thwart the evil effects of my new nemesis and be prepared for the assault of the ever-fun ragweed. And be in touch with my inner allergy-free self. In that world where I never sneeze, never weep and every breath carries that extra-happy h-air that makes this world bearable.
Unclogged blogging - breathe it IN.
© Tim www.timjohnsonphoto.com
Measuring time is a sick addiction. Many of my clocks are tuned to the single atomic clock that is averaged out and corrected thousands of times a day. Still, the people that love me the most know that “ish” has to be added to most any appointed hour. They also know that when I am with them I am WITH THEM.
I do have one clock from which I have removed the second and minute hand. Maybe the hour hand is next.
Night and day seem to mark time nicely. Light and dark. Very natural.
I can get away with saying any and all of this because today is my 61st birthday. It's not that I am shy about expressing myself at any time, but marking another year is the time for generalized reflection.
My hands were steady enough to produce some dandy lettering work this week. My client was happy. It is always gratifying to think that am able to do what I love to do and that I get paid to do it.
Tomorrow I get to travel to the beach to do a wedding. That's decent work too.
Never in my younger days did I imagine this life for myself.
I also never imagined having a birthday without a Mom-made Boston crème pie.
Yep. Home-made just isn't the deal. My Mom is the real issue. Her death 8 years ago brought to an end the saga of the oddity of my birthday treat.
Once upon a time in the mountains of Virginia I happened to eat a bite of heaven. My only request for BIRTHDAY CAKE after that was Boston crème pie. That tradition lasted till I left the mountains.
Mom did make the occasional pie when I visited, but it was not birthday Boston crème pie, but it was heaven.She made the whole thing from scratch and love. Duncan, Betsy and all the other imitators just couldn't “measure” up.
You had it Mom, you always will – maybe you'll have a slice of heaven waiting for me there.
I'll get that birthday hug too. Your sweetness and the sharp, starched apron.
Then, no clocks, only FOREVER: Boston crème pie and everyone and everything Precious.
© Tim www.timjohnsonphoto.com
