Pollination, the wonder of God’s creation. I better see a hell of a lot of flowers this spring and summer, because I’m choking on pollen. I washed my car this morning, and it is already covered in a bright, yellow hue. It was as if I were driving through clouds of fog, only it wasn’t fog, it was pollen blowing in the wind. The answer, my friend, is not blowing in the wind. The answer is behind the counter at Eckerds or Walmart. The answer is mega doses of Clariten or Benadryl.
Yesterday, I took Benadryl, and before I could get home from taking the kids to school I was just about to pass out behind the wheel. My head was bobbling like a fishhook in a summer lake. My eye lids were as heavy as twenty pound weights. I feared being pulled over for drunk driving, but I knew if I pulled off the road I would be asleep before the officer made it to the car. I’m not sure if that would have helped or hurt my case. In Paulding County Georgia, it probably would have landed me in the county pokey.
But what of this pollen? Every tree pollen imaginable is adrift in the air. The sky would be blue, but it has taken on a greenish hue due to the blending of the brilliant blue of the atmosphere and the brilliant, yellow of the pollen. Now, it seems that we should celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, but it feels like we already have due to the adverse affects of pollen on the body.
The pollen count is astronomical. I would give you a statistic, and that would be the professional thing to do, but my mind cannot contain any facts, for it is full of pollen debris. I blow my nose and it is chunky yellow debris. The doctors can do nothing. If it would only rain, perhaps we could have one evening of relief. However, the future pollen count doesn’t look to be falling. Why can’t the bees keep all that pollen in their pollen sacs the way God intended them to? If we are running low on trees and oxygen producing plants, then why are we covered in yellow? I cannot tell the fabricated biohazards from the real ones. All I know is that I cannot breath.
Every time I turn around someone is sneezing. My “God bless you,” response has now become, “God deliver us from pollen, even as we seek to deliver our homes and cars from the allergy inducing substance.” What more can I say. Nothing, before I, too, sneeze. White snot, yellow snot, green snot it is dripping down the face of every child in the south. Is there no cure? Is there no balm? Is there no relief?
My head is hurting so bad, that I have no idea what is being penned upon this page. Should AC choose to publish it, more power to them. Perhaps they are in an air filtrated building. Perhaps they can think clearly. We, in the south, cannot.
This brings me to a new theory, perhaps the Civil War had nothing to do with slavery. Perhaps everyone in the south would have been agreeable, had they not been sniffing pollen against their will. Oh, how we love the beauty that pollination produces. We stand in awe of the mechanism by which our world is beautified.
We lay in misery because of those mechanisms, as well. There will be no chanting of “Rain, rain, go away.” We are begging the clouds to rupture and wash away rivulets of yellow pollen. I’m not sure how much more we can take. Those who work outside are wearing masks, but not only that, my dog has found a discarded mask and worked it on his face, as well. He is also miserable.
Cars are yellow. I told my son not to trade in that yellow Chevrolet. But no, he now has a gray truck that accentuates the yellow with its misty gray background. He washes it every five to ten minutes. Does it do any good? What do you think? Of course not. He is now driving a yellow duck mobile around the metro-Atlanta area. Oh, do not fear, he is not embarrassed. Everyone is driving yellow vehicles.
The solution, perhaps we should all go back and revisit the story of the boy in the bubble. I am ready to move into a hypoallergenic environment. My friends are getting sick, as well. The pollen lodges in your sinuses and turns to infection. Oh, the trauma of pollen.
The best we can suggest is stay in doors. Change your air filter. And forbid anyone to open a door or window. In the event that they must leave, they must learn some method of passage through solid substances. As the pollen in this home, can no longer be tolerated.
Perhaps the pollen scourge can be investigated and some type of alternative fuel developed from the heinous overflow of pollination. Otherwise, I will lobby for the destruction of every pine, oak, and birch tree in the south. (Not really, so don’t send your environmental propaganda to me. I’m only kidding.)
The up side to all of this is, I now have expressed my extreme agitation and illness with the sticky, yellow substance that keeps our world beautiful. As soon as it rains, I’ll go check on my garden and continue research on my cross-pollination experiments.
Good day, and try Kleenex with aloe. It is the best we can do for now.