Life in Film

When I was small, growing up in North Florida, I was free. I ran and jumped and tumbled and rolled around in the grass and picked flowers without a thought about the ramifications of what I was doing. The only caution we had was about poison ivy and playing in the Spanish moss - because that's where the chigggers lived and you sure didn't want them on you. For the uninitiated, chiggers are little biting bugs that burrow under your skin and itch like crazy. But other than those two things, I never gave a thought to playing outside.

But as I got older, the more I thought about it.

Where I live, Spring is a big deal. We have a festival and a parade every year when the azaleas bloom,



the dogwoods come out,



and right after the Japanese magnolia drop their blossoms (being early bloomers and all).

The sun is starting its trek north and the days are getting longer and warmer, though there can still be a nip in the air in the early mornings.

It's the kind of weather that makes you wish to fling open the drapes, raise the windows and let the sun and the air move through your house, getting rid of the stale winter dust that built up over the last few months of running the heater.

But there's a price for such exuberance.

Especially here, in the land of pollen.

You see, EVERYTHING is covered by the stuff. You cannot move without coming into contact with it. It's on your cars, in your sidewalks, your house, your clothes, your hair, the dirt - literally everywhere.

And now that I am a "mature lady" of nearly 45, I think twice about exerting myself outdoors. I have tried various remedies for the above affliction...

With little effect.

Most mornings, I still wake up feeling like someone has come in overnight and packed my nose with dirt, in spite of the sprays. More than once the very act of blowing my nose to clear out the crap has resulted in sprays of blood.

It's a little unsettling - and makes me feel all the more nostalgic for the days when I ran through spring without a care.