Once upon there was a little boy who had allergies. He was allergic to everything. Rumor has it, he was allergic to his own body chemistry. His eyes were so puffy when he was born, people joked that he looked like Edward G. Robinson (google him if you're too young to remember him). The first baby photos of him weren't even taken until he was three months old! (A real Uggo.)
Over the years, the allergies consolidated themselves to Chocolate, Peanut Butter, Grass (not weed you pot-heads, but lawn grass... as in rolling around in it with his shirt off), Mustard, Ice and I'm sure a few others things (although the memories are conflicting and contradictory - see Conflicted Memories for an alternative universe).
One day, this little boy visited an Allergist (Dr. Lecks of Philadelphia) who scratched his back many painful times until he bled and spit on the Nurse who was holding him (the Nurse yelled at him and his Mom yelled at her!). After that, seven years of allergy shots followed - sometimes once a week, sometimes twice.
This was not all bad as the little boy's regular Doctor kept a little box of toys for his patients atop his filing cabinet. Since this little boy was in so often, he was allowed to root through the box to pick out his favorites after every new box arrived - these were set aside in a special box just for him!
What followed was seven years of nary a sniffle, until one say (in May of 1983 - on a US Submarine Tender in Guam to be precise), he got Congested and it has never gone away. Over time, he grew miserable
Flash forward to October 2007. After about six months of every OTC Decongestant and Antihistamine on the market, someone suggested an ancient Chinese secret (not Calgon Water Softener - click there for a blast from the 70s). OK, so it's not much of a 'secret' but definitely 'ancient' and definitely considered 'Chinese' - although it dates back to Neolithic times which pre-date the Chinese, but as usual, I digress).
Acupuncture. A therapy wherein very fine needles are used to stimulate specific points in the body (in the most layman of terms). Western Medicine is hesitant to embrace it... a large majority of our society still pooh-poohs it (but how can one accept the pooh-poohs from a people who won't believe in a 4000+ year-old medical treatment, but have no problem putting their faith in a less-than 2000 year-old fairytale - but again, I digress).
All I can say about it is (and I HATE needles) that it does not hurt (but it can be a little uncomfortable) and usually I can feel the positive effects by the time I reach my car. After about twelve treatments, my allergies... er, ah... the little boy's allergies subsided for the first time in a long time. He's even gone back for other issues of a digestive nature and found immediate relief.
If you have not tried it and have anything going on that you would prefer not to be going on, take a stab at Acupuncture (pun intended). You will be most likely be extremely and pleasantly surprised at the results!
Anyone who knows me, knows I love hot weather. I love heat. I can get into my car on a hot day and enjoy the lizard heat, not even rolling down the windows right away.
Of course, my love of hot weather does have it's rules (and what doesn't in my life!). Right now, Los Angeles is in the grips of a Heat Wave. As Mark says, "No Bueno". It is Sweltering! It's been upper 90s and now in the 100s for over a week. It is becoming intolerable. Currently at 11PM it is only down to 82 Degrees (my perfect Day temperature, but not good for a Night temperature).
All of this has some people thinking of cooler climates (it is fun to accessorize I'm told). But I don't miss Holiday shopping when you have to take off your big coat and scarf and gloves when you get into the Mall and juggle them with parcels and packages. You can't continue to wear them inside as you'd start sweating. Sometimes it's off and on and on and off (especially when not shopping in a dedicated mall). Check out an East Coast Mall's 'Lost & Found' sometime. We're talking Glove City!
And let's about winter weather. Ah you gaze out or your frosty window one chilly wintery morn and see a pristine blanket of white over your world. It's so beautiful and silent and if you're 5, you can stay home from school and play.
Well I'm not 5 and I can't stay home when it snows. And just what does it do to one's car you might ask (if you've never experienced it, you'd never know to ask)?
You get to wake up 30 minutes early just so you can go out in the snow, de-ice the door lock so you can get the key in, start the engine and turn on the defrosters... all this frigid fun in preparation to start scraping layers of ice off of the windshield so you can drive to work. Oh, and all of that doesn't take into consideration the possiblity that snowplows have piled street dross up against your tires and you might have to shovel them out before driving off... slowly so you don't skid into another vehicle. And don't forget to brake gently, evenly and ahead of time so as not to bump into the car in front of you.
And even if it doesn't snow, I hate Winter. It's cloudy and gray, dreary and sad. And it's sooo cold. My Mom used to bundle me up in so much clothes, I'd sweat and freeze - my woolen mittens would be little blocks of ice on my hands. Very hard to play with fingers that won't bend!
When it's not winter and the temperatures do finally begin to approach happy levels (for me, 65-85), I have to contend with Rain. I hate Rain (which I find strange for a Pisces - but maybe my cuspy Aquarian gets in the way, being a water-bearer and needing to control it). As a matter of fact, I hate Rain so much that I hunch my shoulder and run from it with the fear of the Wicked Witch of the West.
Ever hydroplane while driving? Into other cars? Into a tree? (I still miss you black Mercury Zephyr).
My weather positives? I love the Blue of the sky (and Los Angeles "Blue" is nothing like the East Coast "Blue" I grew up with). I love Sunny days, every day (growing up I'd watch the Brady Bunch and they never even owned a coat!).
I love Wind. I love Thunderstorms - the loud booming and blinding flashes of Lightning (until the Rains start, of course). I used to put a lawnchair out on Long Island and sit in the front enjoying the show.
Oh well, it's night now and I can't see the weather. It's just dark and time to turn off the A/C (oooo, it's down to 80 now!) and sleep in my briefs under my ceiling fan. Tomorrow promises to be only 93. Oh goody.
A hot summer day. I'm in the house just after dinner and I suddenly hear bells. Kind of a clangly, ching-chinging kind of bell. But I know what it means.
My brother, sister and I grab our money and race out of the front door of our little apartment and run to the turnaround where we see that wonderful square truck and already a of couple kids in line just outside the side window.
What's all the fuss? It's the Ice Cream Man of course. What a fabulous invention - a truck that comes around and sells ice cream! Our truck in the suburbs of Philadelphia was from Good Humor - a company that started in 1919 and began selling from a truck in Ohio very soon after that.
I was allergic to Chocolate (among other things) as a kid, but I soon discovered the joys of Strawberry (my brother and sister could have Chocolate Milk, but I loved my Strawberry Quik from Nestlé). That forced me on a search for non-chocolatey palate bliss, which in turn led me to the Strawberry Shortcake Ice Cream Bar - the thought of it now is causing my mouth to water. What a delicious diversion on a hot day.
But, it's the Ice Cream Truck - ingrained in our minds (for those who grew-up with one - er, an ice cream truck, not a mind). This morning I heard the bell and my mind took off in childhood directions. I IM'd Mark with a "Oooo, Ice Cream Man!" and he responded "Go, Run, Be Five" - and with that, shouldn't we all?
Once upon there was a little boy who had allergies. He was allergic to everything. Rumor has it, he was allergic to his own body chemistry. His eyes were so puffy when he was born, people joked that he looked like Edward G. Robinson (google him if you're too young to remember him). The first baby photos of him weren't even taken until he was three months old! (A real Uggo.)
