What happens is not as important as how you react to what happens.

God bless the pollen…and all those rare forms who can endure the pollinating seasons without misery and medication. Though I would say those such as myself, who canNOT endure it without misery even WITH medication, are certainly in greater need of said blessing.

It is peculiar that the spreading of some of the very things that bring me so much delight in life – flowers, green things, and all the abundant life that such things bring and support – are the very things that bring me so much discomfort during the growing seasons. One might be inclined to believe me to be some sort of masochist that derives a sort of perverted pleasure from my own sufferings, in that as if nature’s own seasonal activities were not enough to provide me ample misery, I choose to live in the country where such growing things are profuse, next to a thriving creek which nourishes and draws such abundant life. I choose to fling open my windows at every opportunity that I may enjoy the fragrance of such beautiful living things (and their torturous pollen) and the sounds of nature. And of all things, I own HORSES – creatures requiring regular feedings of hay and the very grasses that inflict such misery upon me. My home is filled with birds and creatures with fine, constantly shedding hairs and feathers that bond with dust and pollen to form almost invisible clouds of airborne poisons, almost as abundant as the oxygen required to sustain life.

So here I sit, waiting expectantly for my Benedryl and Flonase to kick in, trusty tissue box at my side, sore red nose, with windows open…poisonous, furry, pollinated household air pollution swirling about my head with evil glee. And I sit here in a peculiar combination of misery and delight in this spring season – one of my two most favorite seasons of all, the other of course being fall. I doubt I could choose one of these seasons over the other as a favorite. As I begin to weary of winter’s cold grayness and short days, spring seems my favorite season of the moment. Yet at the end of a hot summer, as I begin to anticipate the cool, cleaner air of fall, with its color and falling nuts and rustling leaves, I would have to say that fall is my favorite season. It’s not that I DON’T like summer and winter, with their own unique charms – it just seems I’m most drawn to the transitional seasons.

I seem to have the same relationship with transitions in life that I do with the seasons. I get bored far too easily. I like the predictability of routine, while at the same time, tending to get bored and restless with it at the same time. I love transition for the stimulation it brings and relief to the boredom, yet change also brings its own discomforts along with it.

Ah well, I suppose everything has a price. The invigorating stimulation of transitions seem always and only to be enjoyed at the expense of some form of discomfort, be it physical, spiritual or emotional, depending on the nature of the transition. For this restless soul, transition is always worth the price.

Smell the newly robust grasses and sweet spring flowers…hear the birds and frogs singing as they seek their mates. Mmmmm…such sweet…aaahhhhCHOOOOO!*%^%#%@#$!!!…pleasure! This lovely day calls for some spring planting…more flowers, more pollen, more sweet, spring misery…