Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Dandelions

Dandelions were so pretty to my five-year-old eyes. Vibrant yellow, poking persistantly from green (or brown...) grass, they never failed to perk up an otherwise plain, boring lawn. Twisting them into crowns, and smooshing them against my hands made my fingers glow yellow.

Fast-forward twenty-three years, and dandelions are no longer beautiful. They are a menace, a menace akin to meth in our neighborhoods. Perhaps not that bad. But I bet under a bridge somewhere, someone who can't afford meth is smoking dandelions.

I took my dog on a walk this evening. My cigar-smoking neighbor, who I am slighly afraid of, was out washing his car. "Evening," I said. He nodded at me. "Looks like the dandelion crop is nice and fertile this year," I said, gesturing to the neighbor on the other side of his house.

"Ugh," he grumbled. "I can't keep the damn things out of my yard!"

I smiled in commaraderie and brought the dog inside.

When did this happen? This invasion? I'm not talking about the invasion of dandelions in my yard, but rather...the invasion of adulthood into my worldview.

I went out front and spent an hour digging the dandelions from my front yard. Lest my cigar-smoking neighbor start to have it in for me.

Back in my kitchen, I drank a glass of 7up and rubbed the ache from my digging shoulder. I looked out the back slider at my yard, and noticed a few dandelions poking their heads up.

We've got to make a lot of concessions to adulthood. Conform to societal expectations. That's the way it should be; that's what keeps civility and order in the world.

If I leave a few dandelions in my backyard, just for a little color, I don't see the harm. My dog will probably eat them anyway.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Breathe, Grasshopper

I'm afraid of chemical smells. Not Weed-B-Gone or fertilizer smells or interior wall paint or Elmer’s glue-type smells, but rather industrial solvent smells.

I have an…interesting history with chemical solvent smells. There is an outside possibility that industrial chemicals caused my bone marrow failure.

Given that I had to have a bone marrow transplant in order to remain among the living, I’m a little leery of things that might cause a need for another transplant. Rational? Yeah, about as rational as people who install unsightly lightning rods to the side of their houses, attracting the lighting toward their house to save…their house.

Today, someone at work used Goop-off or some other chemical to get something off of their desk. Within five minutes, the smell permeated the entire building, the harsh chemically scent driving straight to people’s temples. Driving fear straight to my heart.

While coworkers complained of the stink and the headache, I sat at my desk, willing myself not to breathe. Understandably, this method of avoidance did not work in the long run.

I was forced to breathe the minute quantities of a commercially available cleaner. My heart raced. My palms sweated. (They always sweat, so I suppose that doesn’t prove anything). My mind fuzzed, awash in the possible harm the smell was doing to me – invading my nostrils, tearing down my esophagus, slowly killing me from my innards to my hair follicles.

A door was opened, and relief flooded into my workspace in the form of 34 degree air.

I am pleased to report that I survived. I met a fear head-on, I maintained my sanity at all times, I kept things in perspective, and I am a stronger person for it. I didn’t even put on the sweater hanging from the back of my desk chair.

I can handle anything.

(PS – I work at a computer all day. As do my coworkers. I kind of want to know what it was that got so stuck to a desk in the first place to require Goop-Off. A lunch of leftover casserole?)