Mack Williams column: Faith in things unseen
This title doesn’t concern what you might think.
One of the songs of Gilbert and Sullivan’s operetta, “The Mikado” starts out: “The flowers that Bloom in the Spring, tra-la, bring promise of merry sunshine.”
This also makes me think of the decals of lilies in bloom which I placed on dyed Easter Eggs as a boy, and later with my children Rachel and Jeremy when they were young. I imagine some of the current egg decoration kits dispense with cross and bunny altogether, instead, transferring such themes as “Kung Fu Panda.” (Ever noticed that “Kung Fu Panda” has that same “crazed” look in his eyes as those of the old Soviet plush bear “Misha” from the Moscow 1980 Olympic Games?)
Well, another good thing about the “cross-centered” decaled groupings of Easter lilies was that they exuded no pollen!
And speaking of Easter, I’ve often felt that its calendar determining should, in addition to “whatever full moon it is,” be calculated to avoid the estimated time when the spring pollen is supposed to “hit” that particular year.
This is purely selfish on my part, and related to my Easter singing at Church. I am delighted when my “Easter solo time” (Palm Sunday-Holy Week-Easter) falls weeks on either side of the worst of “pollen time.”
Having suffered to varying extent from life-long hay fever, I’ve always wondered whether any of my forebears (we’re talking Paleolithic) similarly suffered, and what they did for its relief.
Negatively speaking, I can imagine some “Neanderthal Williams” temporarily averting his attention from the hunt to blow his nose (on whatever it was blown then), only to have his sidetracked concentration taken advantage of by his prey, who then “turned the tables” on him (but, however, provided quick, “lasting” relief from his rhinitis suffering).
This year, friends at work talked about the “Wonder of Flonase,” so having relied on only Claritin and Mucinex for years, I thought I might give it a try.
But when reading the package’s warnings, I decided to stick to my old “standbys” (they’re cheaper anyway).
The section of those warnings which “got me,” was the part about taking special notice to discontinue using Flonase if one ever heard a “whistling” sound coming from his nose, as such would indicate nostril damage.
Not wishing to add to the number of nasal orifices provided me at birth (2), or having any desire to turn my nose into an ocarina, I left the Flonase on the shelf.
So for the past couple of days, I’ve heeded the Weather Channel’s pollen alerts and stayed indoors, like some Poe protagonist, morbidly sensitive to the outside world (but in this case, for good reason). A good bit of my time has been spent taking medicine, staying hydrated, and watching old Roger Corman movies, and as another “Roger” (Miller) once sang: “So don’t tell me I’ve nothing to do!”
I have fond recollection of Pastor Floyd W. Bost speaking of “Faith in things unseen” at Saint Paul’s Lutheran Church during my youth.
In my penchant for analogy, I have tried to tie that phrase to the “things unseen” which bring on the springtime histaminic reaction within my respiratory system. But to confess, the analogy is an imperfect one; because, unlike those of which Pastor Bost spoke, with the aid of the electron microscope these particular “unseen things” appear.