If dust were a commodity, we would be rich. And if dust bunnies brought any price at the sales’ barn, we would never have to work again. As it is, our dust bunnies are composed of one part long-haired gray cat hair, one part black and/or white dog hair, one part whatever is under the bed fuzz, and the ubiquitous Texas dust that comes in with the ever-changing wind. Oh, to be a beggar for dust and dust bunnies! But we will never be poor in dust or dust bunnies as long as there are floors in this house!
At least the wind brings in different odors each day. Once in a while we can smell the old-fashioned petunias out front. The roses smell wonderful, but their scent doesn’t go very far from the bushes. At least the dead fish smell has abated since the birds and the rain have made a difference in the lake. Golden algae bloom may have its own smell for all I know, but it definitely made a nasty odor out of the fish it killed. Even though the numerous flocks of birds were interesting to watch on the lake, it is great that they no longer have a reason to congregate on this particular lake. Dead fish are a lot like the odor from a feed lot, but no one makes any money out of the dead fish unless they could gather, grind them, and use them for fertilizer. Hmmm….
The wind brings something other than dust to our house; it also brings a headache or two from the allergies it stirs up. It can seem like a perfectly beautiful day outside, and Fang and I will have bodacious headaches from something in the air. Whether it is mold, pollen, or someone’s leftover smoke from a prairie fire, we get the headache to mark its passing. T’aint fair, McGee! Beautiful weather shouldn’t have to be spent indoors hiding from allergens or popping pills to avoid the headaches. But such is life.
Allergies were classified as a “maybe so” problem when we were younger. No one ever mentioned being allergic to anything. One teacher objected to my mother’s taking me out of school to go see the doctor one day because he didn’t believe anything was wrong with me. Then Mother had me uncover my arms and show him the weeping sores that had accumulated from my allergies to the sheep on Granddad’s farm. It seems that some people are just irritated by the feel of wool. Very few are actually allergic to wool. Not only was I allergic to the wool and lanolin, I was allergic to cotton because we fed the sheep cotton seed hulls. Go figure!
Recently some doctors have tried to say that fibromyalgia is not an actual disease. I remember that they used to say the same thing about “chronic fatigue syndrome.” Whether we call it allergies or one of the fancier names, it can be plum miserable to have a headache or just generally feel as if the weight of the atmosphere is lying on one’s chest. Of course, one doctor who treats people with the newer technology says that all medicine traditionally has been a matter of poison or cut. Thinking about that makes me wonder if the reason people live longer these days is that we have choices about how much poison we take or what we allow to be cut. One of these days that doctor who has begun to work with near-infrared laser and hyperbaric oxygen treatments will be the norm rather than an experimenter. The doctors’ tools may not even include a scalpel or drugs. But in the meantime, I will dance with the dust bunnies and take another allergy pill. Sigh.