I looked at a kid today. There were two candidates; the first one was wanging a plastic light saber around in a thrift store, not watching what was happening and completely unconcerned with body space of other shoppers. ROWRRR ROWRRR ERRRROWWW! Wap. Bam. Bash.
The mother walked as if she were a grand parade about seven feet ahead, and seemed to be as out to lunch as a BLT without tomatoes. Now, in my head, my first grade teachering gave several solutions to the oncoming tornado of plastic, which was beating on racks of clothes, metal shelving, and buggies that were in the way. None that could be implemented. There was not one word from a parent, yet several yelps from other adults; I took off towards another department,
I had to, I had to go in an opposite direction so as not to burst my teacher aorta; it runs up the side of the head and throbs at miscreant hobgoblinery. Many, many adults have one under other designations, such as the You Did What artery, the Have You Lost Your Mind vagus branch, and the What On Earth Were You Thinking cerebrospinal canal reflex which creates superpowers in vision, hearing, and levitation as you can lift a kid up and suspend them midair with your brain voltage. You've been there.
This child kept up the joy he felt, the ferocity of dunning his imaginary enemies until Mom Herself got hit. Woof. Electrochemistry erupted into a solid, then liquid, then gaseous state of matter as the grand regalia came to a halt, and the immense box store shook with a What Are You Doing Have You Lost Your Mind double header. With swears I hadn't heard before, but apparently the kid had. He wasn't too upset, and truthfully, neither was Mom because she tossed the toy into the cart instead of javelining the ceiling. The child let out a half-hearted wail, but then began hopping around the cart for if he couldn't swing the sword around, he would dance on behalf of its glory. The parade regrouped and sallied forth like a Buick covered in tissue paper flowers.
The next stop was grocery shopping, which needed attention the past two weeks; it went smoothly to the end in the frozen food section which is sort of encased in the middle of the aisle. I just finished finagling with the sliding window and gripped the handlebar of the cart, ready to roll, but who is this? Coming towards me at a fair clip was a child who made a game of sliding along the freezer window while carrying a half gallon of milk. Maybe six, seven years old, just my type, a first grader. I didn't wish to hit her with my cart, and waited to see what direction Miss Fairydust would tinkle off to; however, she wanted my direction, not slowing until she caught my eye. She paused, expecting me to move out of her way.
It's not a glare or frown, it is a calm, expressionless look which indicates that you put children between two pieces of bread with ketchup and eat them, and is this one volunteering? This is not a stare of indignation or harrumphinity, but a cool, transmitting-information-through-eye-contact exchange. You are actually happy that here is a new food source, and your spaceship is hovering just above the cloud cover, complete with a gingerbread oven. She was all ready to continue hoppity-skippity, expecting me to react to her cuteness and make way for the Year of the Child, but no. I have been done with cute for years.
We exchanged a fair bit of silent knowledge about what was happening, she got orientated, and an awareness clicked in her eyes like a signal from NASA had warned her that the aliens were not piecake friendly, and did not put up with Fairy Princess nonsense. They were not here to give her a golden flag. Good to know that she will not be eaten if she just goes along her way. She did, she walked around the cart while watching me, and continued her slide down the aisle, supported by the freezer case in which I opined to myself that it would store a lot of children for later. I thought, my god, what did I just do? I LOOKED AT A CHILD that wasn't mine, that I had no responsibility for, who wasn't hurting anything except expecting me to get out of the way of her tippy-toeing.
But really, every year with the new crop of students, I get a few who are indulged by parents until they can't figure things out for themselves. I still have parents who do their kid's homework, allow them to interrupt conversation, or give them things they don't need. These particular images almost guarantee that the child will become an entitled teenager, and then guess what kind of adult? Not one looking for ways to help the community, lemme tell ya. In spite of wondering if I did the right thing, I hope that the little girl maybe learned a bit of give and take. She certainly figured things out. I have a few at school who would have climbed into the cart and asked for ice cream.
Look, there are invisible rules that everyone could learn to follow, and it all goes to the main theme of being kind, loving your neighbor, treating people as you would like to be. A bit of debate happened earlier, when a colleague mentioned that she separates her kids into boy and girl lines when traveling in the school halls. A comment was made that whoa, what do you think you are doing, that's odd, please stop separating by gender. Well guess what, so do I with my kids.
At six years old, the boys like to hit the girls, often in the butt; they push and shove to get ahead. They want girlfriends, the girls want boyfriends, they have kissed each other, gossiped about who did what with who, and well, general yuck. It is easier and more relaxed with some separation. They aren't separated in the classroom, so there is appropriate interaction; but they desperately want to be grown up and so imitate what they see. Teaching them to be kind and to respect each other's differences whether boy/girl, short/tall, or brown/sort of brown is critical to them becoming successful adults. I guess I'm okay with standing my ground when faced with a six year old child who thinks that I am in her way rather than the opposite. Besides, I hadn't paid for the ketchup yet.
It was a clear, cold day for errands, and most were accomplished. Crows were calling this morning while foraging, Lulu is shedding her immense undercoat, and tulips were for sale at the grocery. We have gained about an hour of light since the winter solstice, and for heaven's sake, Easter candy is on the store shelves. But now it is dark, groceries are put away, Kai is on my lap, and the day is winding down. Covers are calling, one of the wool blankets has been chewed by Snowbelle and needs repair, which can be done with a felting needle and roving. It's a pink blanket, and the repairs will be made in varied colors for effect; just think, little six year old girl, would you like to learn how? Grow. Read. Try. Err. Try again. It's fun, and opens the world.
Each of you has a talent, a hobby, a wish in your heart that casts itself over the waters which ripple in recognition. The earth knows you, the oceans call, the points of light in the night sky shine down as you contemplate and dream. You are part of it. Sleep, my searching friend.
Sunday, February 17, 2019
Sunday, February 10, 2019
Smellicious
Bit of a touchy subject, but if it allows me to extoll the benefits of pine tar soap, so be it; no sensibilities will be offended. Maybe a little banged up.
In this country, keeping your aroma invisible is a national pastime and thank goodness for that. My son has traveled here and there, and has reported back that some areas of the globe are at the other end of the spectrum. The other end, over the cliff, and out back of the shed. Face it, folks; we're mammals, and if you can point in the direction of another mammal that smells pleasant naturally, you are most likely looking at a healthy cat.
Dogs smell doggy, apes smell ape-y, and if you've ever smelled a live chicken, we aren't talking about Colonel Sanders's recipe. The thing is, there are many species that have protective, odorous emissions, from birds such as hoopoes, to insects, to the homegrown skunk, and these aromas are usually connected with body fluid that comes from near the part which is almost always located at the back end of business. There are birds who will projectile vomit to frighten off predators, and beetles who have separate compartments for the chemicals hydroquinone and hydrogen peroxide. When alarmed, the insect sprays both fluids at the same time; they combine and react, causing the new solution to reach almost 100 degrees Celsius. Science, this bug has a doctorate in.
My millipedes, currently in hibernation, leave a small, malodorous puddle of dilute cyanide if I pick them up; it doesn't seem to bother me, and I do wash up before sandwiches, but enough of it could kill a small mouse. I've read that lemurs get drunk on it.
But, ah! Humans! We are a singular species who create odors from almost every part of us; on top of that, we are covered in microorganisms who digest these volatile confits, and produce smells of their own. A skunk produces less on it's skin than we do, and lord have mercy if you are a human teenager going through a time of life when one is abounding with an extra dose of bacteria. Here is a short list of excretions: water, proteins, amino acids, urea, ammonia, lactic acids and salts, which means sweat, urine, breath, saliva, breast milk, skin oils, and sexual secretions all contain scent-communicating chemical compounds. Now, so do other animals, but humans have more scent glands than almost any other mammal in their skin. Therefore, greater the potential to produce.
Here is not so wonderful news; there is an old people smell. It's not offensive, but it scientifically exists, just as baby, teenage, young adult, and middle age do. You want amusement, type "old people smell" in the search bar, and stand back; there are causes both natural and dietetic, and the serious truth that if you are old, you have old things and these items smell after 30-40 years of existence and so you carry that with you, and smell like the couch that either a number of pets have sat on over the years, or candy-sticky, pizza-faced youngsters. Or you, on a sweaty summer day. Or again, you, relegated to the couch in pajamas slathered in Vick's. It's a good argument for new furniture. And anti-smell pills.
I have taken chlorophyll for years, and notice when I don't. Recently, a purchase of pine tar soap was slapped into an order so I would make the free shipping mark, it was the cheapest item to add. When it arrived, the smell reminded me of a fresh asphalt parking lot, and woof, why do people use this?
But I tried it out, and within a day, I remained fresh and approachable till the next ablution; within a week, most of my stubborn athlete's foot has disappeared; and best of all, no further is the fragrance of yesterday's chili dogs apparent after a long day.
Also, celery helps your smell from the inside outwards, persimmon soap neutralizes a chemical produced by aging skin, and as your older pituitary gland is not firing out as many signals to do so, remember to drink water like it's your job.
Now tell me, and you are lucky if this was; after a bath and clean jammies, Mom would make the bed with you in it once the bottom sheet was on. We didn't use top sheets in our house, so the wool blankets were parachuted right on top, covered by a cotton comforter just out of the dryer. Were the sheets and pillowcases hung out on a wash line in the sun? Glory. It was like having a nest in bed smelling like outdoors, like Mother Nature came inside for a visit. Like things were okay. Like that "if I should die before I wake" part didn't mean a sweet child like you even if you did cut your own hair earlier that day, because the smell of everything said comfort and safety.
Good night, good night, this chill day ends overcast and darkening a bit early with the cloud cover; time for soup, the cats' dinner, and a few chores before sleep. The first week of February has ended, with hopes looking toward spring; dreams of housecleaning and sweeping out corners have begun. Floral displays of potted tulips and daffodils whisper come hither messages to the winter-weary traveler, and starting seeds indoors for gardens is beginning. Sleep then, hibernation lasts a few more weeks of wind and cold; the new moon rises in direct east, and travels to west until the first quarter.
I think of the ones outside; the birds wait for the new buds as much as you or I, the trees ache for sun and sap rising. Sleep well, tuck under. Let go, I will watch over for you.
In this country, keeping your aroma invisible is a national pastime and thank goodness for that. My son has traveled here and there, and has reported back that some areas of the globe are at the other end of the spectrum. The other end, over the cliff, and out back of the shed. Face it, folks; we're mammals, and if you can point in the direction of another mammal that smells pleasant naturally, you are most likely looking at a healthy cat.
Dogs smell doggy, apes smell ape-y, and if you've ever smelled a live chicken, we aren't talking about Colonel Sanders's recipe. The thing is, there are many species that have protective, odorous emissions, from birds such as hoopoes, to insects, to the homegrown skunk, and these aromas are usually connected with body fluid that comes from near the part which is almost always located at the back end of business. There are birds who will projectile vomit to frighten off predators, and beetles who have separate compartments for the chemicals hydroquinone and hydrogen peroxide. When alarmed, the insect sprays both fluids at the same time; they combine and react, causing the new solution to reach almost 100 degrees Celsius. Science, this bug has a doctorate in.
My millipedes, currently in hibernation, leave a small, malodorous puddle of dilute cyanide if I pick them up; it doesn't seem to bother me, and I do wash up before sandwiches, but enough of it could kill a small mouse. I've read that lemurs get drunk on it.
But, ah! Humans! We are a singular species who create odors from almost every part of us; on top of that, we are covered in microorganisms who digest these volatile confits, and produce smells of their own. A skunk produces less on it's skin than we do, and lord have mercy if you are a human teenager going through a time of life when one is abounding with an extra dose of bacteria. Here is a short list of excretions: water, proteins, amino acids, urea, ammonia, lactic acids and salts, which means sweat, urine, breath, saliva, breast milk, skin oils, and sexual secretions all contain scent-communicating chemical compounds. Now, so do other animals, but humans have more scent glands than almost any other mammal in their skin. Therefore, greater the potential to produce.
Here is not so wonderful news; there is an old people smell. It's not offensive, but it scientifically exists, just as baby, teenage, young adult, and middle age do. You want amusement, type "old people smell" in the search bar, and stand back; there are causes both natural and dietetic, and the serious truth that if you are old, you have old things and these items smell after 30-40 years of existence and so you carry that with you, and smell like the couch that either a number of pets have sat on over the years, or candy-sticky, pizza-faced youngsters. Or you, on a sweaty summer day. Or again, you, relegated to the couch in pajamas slathered in Vick's. It's a good argument for new furniture. And anti-smell pills.
I have taken chlorophyll for years, and notice when I don't. Recently, a purchase of pine tar soap was slapped into an order so I would make the free shipping mark, it was the cheapest item to add. When it arrived, the smell reminded me of a fresh asphalt parking lot, and woof, why do people use this?
But I tried it out, and within a day, I remained fresh and approachable till the next ablution; within a week, most of my stubborn athlete's foot has disappeared; and best of all, no further is the fragrance of yesterday's chili dogs apparent after a long day.
Also, celery helps your smell from the inside outwards, persimmon soap neutralizes a chemical produced by aging skin, and as your older pituitary gland is not firing out as many signals to do so, remember to drink water like it's your job.
Now tell me, and you are lucky if this was; after a bath and clean jammies, Mom would make the bed with you in it once the bottom sheet was on. We didn't use top sheets in our house, so the wool blankets were parachuted right on top, covered by a cotton comforter just out of the dryer. Were the sheets and pillowcases hung out on a wash line in the sun? Glory. It was like having a nest in bed smelling like outdoors, like Mother Nature came inside for a visit. Like things were okay. Like that "if I should die before I wake" part didn't mean a sweet child like you even if you did cut your own hair earlier that day, because the smell of everything said comfort and safety.
Good night, good night, this chill day ends overcast and darkening a bit early with the cloud cover; time for soup, the cats' dinner, and a few chores before sleep. The first week of February has ended, with hopes looking toward spring; dreams of housecleaning and sweeping out corners have begun. Floral displays of potted tulips and daffodils whisper come hither messages to the winter-weary traveler, and starting seeds indoors for gardens is beginning. Sleep then, hibernation lasts a few more weeks of wind and cold; the new moon rises in direct east, and travels to west until the first quarter.
I think of the ones outside; the birds wait for the new buds as much as you or I, the trees ache for sun and sap rising. Sleep well, tuck under. Let go, I will watch over for you.
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