Ah yes... you know this time of year and the people who go with it. They are people who can't speak four words without blowing their noses. Tissue corporations celebrate this time of year because usage skyrockets. Friends, I will welcome you to what we call the Blossumb Festibal. We've celebrated this for many years but some seem a little worse than others. This is one of those.
Each morning we have a ritual which begins with me kissing Mr. S on the forehead. This assumes he is up before me. We'll discuss that later. Now back to me walking from our bedroom to the living room. During this mini-walk, a steady stream of sinus stuff drains out of my nose. By the time I reach the living room it's not pretty but I am thinking it must be at least kind of shiny. I must pause our head smooch tradition to dry myself off and start again. Some days I can't get even that far.
If there is good news here it is that we aren't infected with anything. When our kids and grandkids had this issue we called those trails of snot green elevens. If you have had children you will remember these snot stripes. They were disgusting but necessary and it seemed to me that grandparents were the only ones who cared about them. Parents had given up caring because you can only wipe something off a childs' face just so many times before it gets stupid for both child and parent. Snot doesn't stop and kids don't wipe their own faces because they really don't care. I've seen some clumsy attempts but I would rather they didn't try at all. I rest my case.
Grown ups are a whole different matter. Most of us try to avoid any kind of upper respiratory infection because we know it will make us a whole lot more sick than the little kid who gave it to us. We hide out during most of the winter months when infections are rampant and try to be well. We congratulate ourselves for a season well spent. For reasons unknown, we forget that Springtime will bring us a world of hurt with no kids in sight.
The kid? MOTHER NATURE... that rascal. She's out there throwing pollen on every conceivable surface and laughing herself silly at every sneeze. So far this week, I have had four attacks which rendered me helpless and required new clothing from waist to socks. This doesn't seem fair to me. Why the socks? Never mind. The answer is too complicated for me to explain. Some of you will understand and join in my humiliation. It's a darned good thing we got a new washer and dryer last year. Gosh, that's peculiar. No matter the number of years, we seem to always need a new set during this season, especially as we get older.
ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! There's a load of laundry right there.
See what I mean? Sometimes I even have to put my shoes in. This Mother Nature humor can really get out of control. At least for me, it's nothing new. We had a dear friend who loved to take pictures of me blowing my nose... or swiping it... or holding a handful of tissue. About 35 years ago he began building an arsenal of photos which made all of us laugh. I had no idea just how bad my nose-tissue relationship was before that time. My guess is that there are at least 15 or 20 years of these photos and I doubt they will ever be seen, aside from the ones he shared with us. I am forever grateful to him for bringing this problem to the forefront.
I double dog dare you to ask your doctor how to deal with your runny nose and sneezing. Because I have COPD and Asthma mine have kept providing me with meds and nose squirter thingies which feel like they are reaching my eyeballs and don't really do much good. I am thankful for their level of help, however small it may be, because I have to breathe at night and it turns out that my nose is an important part of that process. I'm certain that yours is, too.
What I know is that if the exterior of my 20 year-old dark blue Ford Taurus has turned golden with pollen from trees I have no hope of a normal life until this time of year is over. This sprinkling of gold will not make my car new or bring a sinus-endus fairy. I have already tried. Didn't work. We just keep fighting the good fight.
In our 1,030sq.ft. home we have 6 boxes of tissue. ACHOO!
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