What to do

It is a beautiful, cool, breezy spring day outside, and here I sit, curled up in front of my computer, enjoying the view from my den window. The wise thing to do, one would think, is to get outside and take a long, leisurely stroll through the wonderful old town we call home. Everything is in bloom at once from a warm, wet April, and the colors and scents fill the air - with pollen.

There's the rub. The leisurely stroll would go more like this:

Step out the front door and gaze at the fifteen or sixteen tall, old maple and oak trees that are coating the street, the cars, and the lawns with yellow powder that makes my eyes water and itch just thinking about them. Strolling among them means my eyes will shortly be closed and it will take a pair of pliers and a full bottle of Benadryl to get them to open again.

In the next block there is a tall wooden fence covered with honeysuckle vines, full of lovely white flowers with bright yellow centers and a perfume that can close my throat in a nanosecond. Maybe it's because I used to eat the flowers as a child. I'm trying to recall why that seemed like a good idea. For that matter, there were a lot of things I thought were good to eat at an early age that for me to ingest now would need the help of something hydraulic. Ah, childhood.

At the end of that block there is a charming pink rose bush. The flowers are tiny and delicate, the bush has reached enormous proportions. I am actually not allergic to roses, but for about 10 years now a colony of yellow jackets has decided to dig their nest directly under that particular bush. Have I mentioned I am allergic to insect stings?

As I walk I hear the whirring and buzzing of a nearby lawn mower, taking a combination of grass and pollen and tossing it wildly into the air, for all to breathe. I figure at this point it will take about two weeks for my nose to stop running. Now the red rash and itching have started as well. The rest of me keeps walking, but with renewed strength, and in the opposite direction. I must get home!

Two of the more friendly neighborhood pups are out to play. Their homes are between me and my destination, and they are very happy to see me. Their greeting takes the form of an awful lot of jumping and licking and sniffing and leaning against. You guessed it. I am allergic to dogs.

If I do make it back from my journey still standing and breathing, I then take the front steps to my porch, where there is a particular strain of tiny, black, jumping spiders. They make their homes in the nooks and crannies of my old flagstone and concrete steps. There is not enough Raid in the world to get rid of those pesky bugs.

I am basically Buddhist at heart, and am very careful not to harm any other living thing, but one of them bit me once and put me in the emergency room. I am sure my karma is ruined for at least the month, but out comes the spray and away go the spiders.

I will finally enter my place of safety, my lovely glass-enclosed front porch. There I can sit in my grandmother's wicker rocking chair and gaze at all of the natural beauty my neighborhood can hold. It is truly the reason we bought the house, 35 years ago. I wasn't allergic to anything back then.

Of course I already told you (in an earlier post) about the family of squirrels that took up residence in the porch roof. Did I mention the starlings? They had nests there for at least five years in a row, and the adorable chirping of the new baby birds turned way too quickly into a grating squawk that was anything but pleasant, and way too constant. Oh, and I am allergic to anything with feathers.

Now that I really think about it, when we had two feet of snow on the ground, none of these things were a problem. If you heard me complain the tiniest bit about the freezing cold and the impassable roads and the awful heating oil bills, I take it all back.

Ah-choo! Sniff. Scratch.

Oh what the heck, it is awfully pretty out.