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Authors: Ellen Gilchrist
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drawer. My ancestors painted themselves blue and impaled each other on oak staves. I canât stand tyranny. From the world outside or the tyranny of the heart. How can I help anyone? I canât even help myself. I was GLAD HE HAD WON. GLAD NO ONE COULD TAKE HIS MOTHER FROM HIM. GLAD HE KNEW HOW TO KEEP HER.
Even as I suffered for her I was glad no man would be in the house with those little girls, not any man, not the sweetest man in the world, in this chaotic world, vale of sorrows, vale of tears.
Too Much Rain, or, The Assault of the Mold Spores
T HE SPRING Miss Crystal got her allergies was no joke. Creating jobs, Mr. Manny called it, and it did turn out to be quite an industry. By the time her nose quit running and she could talk again, there were fifteen different carpenters, four painters, two attic men, and half the teenagers in the neighborhood who knew the combinations to every door in the house. Two, two, four, two, three, is the front door combination in case there is anyone left in New Orleans who doesnât know it yet. There is nothing left in this house to steal anyway as Miss Crystal has turned out to be allergic to house dust as well as to mold spores and she is not taking any chances on any accumulating on any bric-a-brac. The allergy doctor showed Miss Crystal a blown-up photograph of a dust mite and that was the end of every book and statue and flower vase and piece of antique furniture in this house. We have gone completely modern for our interior with everything painted white and some new chairs by Mr. Mies van der Rohe who does not believe in chairs having arms on them. Also we have pulled up the carpets and put in black and white tiles that show every smudge and heel print and require a pair of floor cleaners coming in every Friday to vacuum and buff.
So much for the house. It was Miss Crystalâs body that was the real battlefield. She even insisted that I go down and be tested even though I have never been allergic to anything in my life and wasnât showing any signs. Still, she pled and pled and finally I went on down and let them test me. They put sixty holes in your back and then you wait in this freezing cold room for twenty minutes and then they come back in to see if any of the holes have started itching or turning red. Then they put sixty more on your right arm with stronger chemicals in them and if that doesnât get a reaction they put sixty on your left arm. They were just debating whether to put a fourth set on my leg when I called a halt. Only one of all the holes had turned red and it was to a plant that grows up in Minnesota where I am not planning on going anytime soon and besides, I had to lead a youth group at four and it was growing late.
Another note. There was this nurse in white giving allergy shots to little children. The whole time I was waiting to be tested I had to watch that going on. She was standing in the hall with this tray full of dirty little bottles of different sorts of things people are allergic to. Ragweed, maple pollen, cedar dust, geraniums, and so forth. Each little child would come up and stick their arm out and she would dip a needle down into two or three of the jars, never watching what she was doing, just chatting with the parents and jabbing the needle in and out of the jar necks. Then sheâd grab the childâs arm and stick the needle in. I have never seen a nurse I trusted less. I wouldnât take those shots for anything in the world from that woman and I told Miss Crystal so. If you take them, I warned, demand another nurse.
The first thing the allergy doctor tried on Miss Crystal was having her stay in the house and putting her on some nose spray and a drug called Seldane that dries you up without putting you to sleep. Iâd stick with Benadryl, I told her. You know you have strange reactions to prescription drugs. I have to take it, she replied. I have to put my faith in someone, so I have picked out Doctor
Even as I suffered for her I was glad no man would be in the house with those little girls, not any man, not the sweetest man in the world, in this chaotic world, vale of sorrows, vale of tears.
Too Much Rain, or, The Assault of the Mold Spores
T HE SPRING Miss Crystal got her allergies was no joke. Creating jobs, Mr. Manny called it, and it did turn out to be quite an industry. By the time her nose quit running and she could talk again, there were fifteen different carpenters, four painters, two attic men, and half the teenagers in the neighborhood who knew the combinations to every door in the house. Two, two, four, two, three, is the front door combination in case there is anyone left in New Orleans who doesnât know it yet. There is nothing left in this house to steal anyway as Miss Crystal has turned out to be allergic to house dust as well as to mold spores and she is not taking any chances on any accumulating on any bric-a-brac. The allergy doctor showed Miss Crystal a blown-up photograph of a dust mite and that was the end of every book and statue and flower vase and piece of antique furniture in this house. We have gone completely modern for our interior with everything painted white and some new chairs by Mr. Mies van der Rohe who does not believe in chairs having arms on them. Also we have pulled up the carpets and put in black and white tiles that show every smudge and heel print and require a pair of floor cleaners coming in every Friday to vacuum and buff.
So much for the house. It was Miss Crystalâs body that was the real battlefield. She even insisted that I go down and be tested even though I have never been allergic to anything in my life and wasnât showing any signs. Still, she pled and pled and finally I went on down and let them test me. They put sixty holes in your back and then you wait in this freezing cold room for twenty minutes and then they come back in to see if any of the holes have started itching or turning red. Then they put sixty more on your right arm with stronger chemicals in them and if that doesnât get a reaction they put sixty on your left arm. They were just debating whether to put a fourth set on my leg when I called a halt. Only one of all the holes had turned red and it was to a plant that grows up in Minnesota where I am not planning on going anytime soon and besides, I had to lead a youth group at four and it was growing late.
Another note. There was this nurse in white giving allergy shots to little children. The whole time I was waiting to be tested I had to watch that going on. She was standing in the hall with this tray full of dirty little bottles of different sorts of things people are allergic to. Ragweed, maple pollen, cedar dust, geraniums, and so forth. Each little child would come up and stick their arm out and she would dip a needle down into two or three of the jars, never watching what she was doing, just chatting with the parents and jabbing the needle in and out of the jar necks. Then sheâd grab the childâs arm and stick the needle in. I have never seen a nurse I trusted less. I wouldnât take those shots for anything in the world from that woman and I told Miss Crystal so. If you take them, I warned, demand another nurse.
The first thing the allergy doctor tried on Miss Crystal was having her stay in the house and putting her on some nose spray and a drug called Seldane that dries you up without putting you to sleep. Iâd stick with Benadryl, I told her. You know you have strange reactions to prescription drugs. I have to take it, she replied. I have to put my faith in someone, so I have picked out Doctor
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