deer antler tea.

I’m sitting in my office, trying to shed as many layers as possible in a professional setting because I’m dying of a heavy onset of flu, caught on my trip yesterday to London through the horribly unpredictable British weather that I rage against every day in a losing battle. When I woke up this morning and attempted a swallow against the sharp protests of my desert-like mouth, I thought about those nasty little sinus cleansing pot things, that I’ve always been horrified to try, but now, with my sinuses pressing persistently against the bone in my nose, threatening to burst through the space between my furrowed brows any moment, I think of it with only the strongest longing and neediness. If only I had one of those, I would be free of this pain! Yes, my eyes would water and my nose would sting and half of it would be swallowed accidentally, but the stream of snot and saline dripping down my face into the sink below would be divine. And now, with my fever rising and my hope diminishing, I think longingly of the deer antler tea my mother would make for me. It was nasty at best, leaving a dry, cotton feeling in my mouth, but no matter what the disease or infection, it was an absolute cure. This makes me wonder about our society; we are so impressed with things that work immediately, with short-term solutions, and ignoring the long-term needs, what will we be drinking or shooting up our nostrils when our oil runs out? Or when fresh water is all of a sudden a rare commodity? When we can’t run our cars for fear of going bankrupt, and when a walk in the park is only a distant yet fond memory? What antlers will we grind up then? What pain will be bearable to solve our problems?

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About Angela

Editor, bookbinder, and writer.

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