More Morning Sneezing
In my attempt to downsize my near hoarder-like house, I have been spending time in my dust collecting basement moving, sorting, sweeping, and discarding the flotsam and jetsam that has accumulated from me, my wife Cindy, my three children in the thirty years that I’ve called this place of residence, home. Little by little things that have been worn have found a nesting place in my attic, basement, and unused bedrooms, so little by little I am bound and determined to whittle it down to size. In the future, I can see a yard sale to pass along these treasures to other collectors, to others who appreciate and need these slightly used items, and will again return them to a useful life.
Doing this chore is nothing to sneeze at and yet that is exactly what I am doing. Either I am starting my third head cold or the dust from the ages has me sneezing and my nose running. Because I don’t feel ill, and am not running a temperature, my bet is the dust.
My sneezes are loud and disruptive for those around me. Often I will stifle them. People would complain and say I was going to collapse a lung, but because I expelled the breath from my lungs, there was no air left to sneeze.
I can’t remember my grandfather Edson Beck ever sneezing. I am sure that he did, but they must not have been memorable ones. My grandfather Ray Miner softly sneezed sounding like Rass-hole. My mom, Sybil Beck sneezed with a soft Choo-Choo. Other folk who sneeze aren’t as memorable, but am thankful for the makers of soft tissue.