“I’ve got tears in my ears from lying on my back crying over you”, and other songs from the Deep South.

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I’ve mentioned that I may not be a good old boy. The South may not exactly be my home. In fact, at this moment I’m sitting here crying about that very thing. Tears are rolling down my face faster than I can dry them. I would say this is very not manly, but I couldn’t be heard over my consistent sneezing.

It is spring in Atlanta and the Dogwood trees are shedding pollen that covers the world in a deep layer of nastiness. The other trees in sympathy with the Dogwood, I suppose, join in this foulness with the enthusiasm of the newly converted.

There is a thick blanket of pollen that cloaks everything. My beautiful Red convertible is now a sickly yellow. You’ve seen dirty cars with “wash me” scripted in the grime? On my car that same message would look embossed. The whole world is a quarter inch deep in this foulness.

Until moving here I had never really been troubled by allergies, but now I a two year seasoned victim. I hate it.

I am not the only one dealing with this problem. Pollen attacks a huge number of people, and that’s not limited to newcomers. Natives suffer as much as anybody. Meetings at work would be fodder for Mel Brooks; in fact this may be where the idea for the campfire scene in “Blazing Saddles” geminated. At least half of the unlucky participates sitting around large conference tables, pass tissue around, and cry at each other. This is so common that no one even bothers to comment on this communal woe. This goes way beyond pathetic.

So, as others may think it is just a seasonal irritation I know that I am shedding tears in memory of, seemly pollen free, South Pasadena.

“O woe is me”. (Yet another perennial Southern Song.)