Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SATURDAY, April 21, 1990 TAG: 9004230184
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A9 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MONTY S. LEITCH
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
"What's the matter with you?" I asked.
She said, "Pine pollen." As if that was supposed to explain everything right there. I asked her what she meant.
She said, "Pine pollen" again. "All over the car. All over the grass. All over the inside of the house."
I started to crack that people who live in the woods of Southwestern Virginia often have to deal with pine trees, but she was "Eee-eeee- eeeeeez-ing" again. So I waited a minute to let her catch her breath.
"It's just allergies," she said. "Everybody has them. Hay fever. Runny eyes, stopped-up nose, post-nasal drip. Eeeeez. Something. Everybody. This time of year. Eeeeeez."
"Pine pollen," I said back to her, thinking that must explain everything after all. But she said, "Yes. And wild mustard, daffodils, tulips. Eeeeeeez. Crab-apple trees, grass. Eeeeez. You name it."
I said, "What about lilacs?"
She said, "Lilacs, too. All God's beautiful things. Eeeeez. It's just the price we pay."
I wanted to challenge her theology on that, but she'd started hacking and snuffling. Then the telephone receiver banged suddenly, and she said, "Sorry. Eeeeeez. I was just dabbing my eyes and I dropped the phone."
I wanted to sympathize, I really did. So I told her about the time last spring when I drove the mower too close to a bursting scrub pine and found myself engulfed in a yellow, stinging cloud of pollen. "I couldn't open my eyes for five or 10 minutes," I said. "My husband had to get the hose and squirt me before I could open my eyes. You just can't imagine."
" Eeeeeeeeeeez," she gasped. "Don't tell me any more. Just thinking eeez about it. Eeeeeeez. I've got to go."
"You know," I said, "somebody told me once that allergists flock to this part of the world, because they never lack for business here. Especially in April."
My poor friend groaned, and hung up.
by CNB