The poison oak/ivy post elicited much Sympathy and Empathy (thank you by the way, it makes my Suffering just a teensy bit Brave and Noble and therefore a teensy bit easier to bear), including the following from my Dad:
I can only imagine the agony of poison ivy on one's face, for crying out loud, and to get it from the smoke, well, that is somehow even worse. The good news is, I might never have heard that story from my Dad's childhood had I not myself been stricken, and I therefore deem the hideous experience wholly worthwhile.
"Your bout with poison ivy reminds me of my young farm days in Arkansas. I had several bouts including one that I got on my face -- because some brush we burned had poison ivy and the SMOKE got me!"
I can only imagine the agony of poison ivy on one's face, for crying out loud, and to get it from the smoke, well, that is somehow even worse. The good news is, I might never have heard that story from my Dad's childhood had I not myself been stricken, and I therefore deem the hideous experience wholly worthwhile.
