On a scale of one to ten, with one being the lowest and ten being phenomenal, my productivity level today has hovered right at a negative eight—below slug level. As is my right as a citizen of the state of Florida on this pollen-dusted spring day, I’m blaming my lack of progress on seasonal allergies.
Okay, the antihistamine is kicking in, I’m not sneezing anymore, but now I can’t keep my eyes open.
I might’ve been in danger of being the star of one of those viral videos last week. You know the ones I’m talking about–where an older person is caught angrily shaking his or her fist at a young whippersnapper. Oh, I was the older person in this scenario, by the way.
The morning didn’t start with me being cranky. In search of something, anything, to knock out my allergy symptoms, I’d gone to Lucky’s Market in Tallahassee to see what interesting natural remedies I might find. While I didn’t locate any products that claimed to make me well, I did buy some really great organic cookies. Surely they had some medicinal value.
After paying for my cookies I decided to walk to Newk’s for lunch. Being careful to check for traffic, I set off across the parking lot, first making a quick stop at my car to drop off the cookies. As I stepped away from my car another vehicle came speeding through with no regard for pedestrian traffic. The driver narrowly missed hitting a sweet elderly woman, okay, it was me, when he made a sharp right turn into a parking space.
I was livid. I yelled, “Slow down, you bladder head. This is a freaking parking lot not a race track!” I might’ve literally shaken my fist at him.
That’s when the driver seemed to think better of parking in that spot and drove away. Although my heart was racing, I realized I probably looked a little crazy standing there. I also realized that perhaps I’d overreacted and might’ve even put myself in danger. After all, I do live in Florida. I have no excuse for my behavior, but hopefully I’ll think twice before erupting again in a state where every Tom, Dick, and Harriet seems to own a gun.
On Tuesday evening I took myself to the Ruby Diamond Concert Hall in Tallahassee to hear New York Times columnist, Charles M. Blow, speak as part of the Golden Tribe Lecture Series. As someone who faithfully follows Mr. Blow’s twitter account, I was eager to be in the audience.
Mr. Blow does not mince words. He does not give the simple answers to issues of social justice that we crave. He does not pat us on our respective backs for seeking those answers from him, having grown weary of white folks relying on African Americans to come up with those answers. In effect he said that we all have access to the same reading material that he does. We can see for ourselves the white privilege inherent in our society. That the calls to action are there, but largely unheeded.
My allergies kicked in right in the middle of Mr. Blow’s talk. My nose started running, and I was frantically searching for tissues in my purse to stem the flood and to catch any sneeze-related fallout. I mostly succeeded. Don’t ask.
Afterwards, back at Doright Manor, I sat in the darkness on the couch, blowing my nose and sneezing, hoping I wasn’t disturbing Studly Doright. I wondered if perhaps my allergic reaction was a physical response to Mr. Blow’s message. Was I fighting to understand or was I in denial? Probably a bit of both.
I have some reading to do, starting with this:
If you have an opportunity to hear Charles M. Blow speak, I encourage you to go and to really listen. Take your tissues, just in case.
I’ve taken a bit of a wine break these past couple of weeks. The colder weather has been more conducive to hot teas and hot chocolate. Today, though, I was shopping at Lucky’s Market (a gem of a store) in Tallahassee and discovered a wine that seemed to call my name.
I like the Apothic red blends, but the aging in whiskey barrel gimmick was new to me and worth a try. The verdict? It’s smoky and deep and silky smooth. I might have found a new favorite.
More about Lucky’s–think Trader Joe’s without the hype, or Whole Foods without the hipsters. Lucky’s is no-nonsense, healthy foods, lots of products in bulk, a meat and seafood department that looks divine, and a section of beer and wine to rival any store in the area. I love their selection of local honeys and have been taking a tablespoon of raw honey a day as a defense against my allergies.
Please note I receive no compensation for this review. As usual I’m just sharing interesting and perhaps helpful information with my readers. Money? What’s that?
Do you have a favorite local shop? What makes it your favorite?
Have a wonderful day, and now more than ever, peace, people.
The wildflowers are growing with abandon just down the road from Doright Manor. I call this one, “I’m Pretty Sure These are Making Me Sneeze, But Aren’t They Pretty.” Maybe I’ll just shorten that to “Ahhhchooo!”
Last night I had a dilemma. I could take the anti-inflammatory drug prescribed by my doctor to fight the pain in my lower back, or I could take a sinus/allergy pill in order to breathe.
Since the anti-inflammatory cautioned against taking anything with acetaminophen or ibuprofen I was forced to choose. Did I want to lie awake all night due to an excruciatingly painful back or due to a headache from the depths of hell? Decisions, decisions.
Then I remembered that Studly Doright had just bought an economy sized bottle of the antihistamine Benadryl. While it wouldn’t necessarily help with my congestion, it might just knock me out enough that I didn’t care about breathing.
Studly has his own medical stash separate from mine, a tradition started back when he once accidentally took the menstrual cramp reliever Midol and subsequently tried to puke them up lest he develop feminine attributes. Since then our drugs don’t occupy the same space. It’s a rule.
His nearly full bottle of Benadryl was front and center among his medicine collection. It took a couple of seconds to negotiate the child safety cap, but soon I had all those little pink pills at my disposal.
That’s when Studly chose to surreptitiously come up behind me and playfully demand, “What do you think you’re doing?”
I shrieked and lost control of the bottle, sending it on a vertical trajectory aimed for the bathroom skylight. Little pink pills went everywhere. Everywhere. I was still finding them behind perfume atomizers and cosmetic jars this morning.
And since my back wouldn’t let me bend over, poor Studly had to pick up all of the pills that landed on the floor. That’ll teach him to sneak up on me when I’m thieving.
Fortunately I salvaged a couple of pills last night ensuring a deep sleep. Of course I still have the same dilemma tonight, and Studly has declared his medicine cabinet off-limits. I wonder how many glasses of wine equal two Benadryl?
Have you ever looked at an ordinary word for so long that it just doesn’t seem right anymore? That happened to me yesterday afternoon as I was looking for an over-the-counter medicine to calm my incessant sneezing, itchy throat, and watery eyes.
The more I looked at the word the stranger it appeared. Was it ALL ERGY? Or perhaps AL LERGY?
When a helpful clerk at CVS asked if I needed assistance I mumbled something along the lines of, “Yes. Yes, I do.”
I hope this product helps with word fixation, as well.