She'll be feverish after so much thinking

Qui bono?

2007-02-06T08:35:00.000-05:00

Texas has become the first state to enact legislation requiring girls age 12 & up be vaccinated against Human Papilloma Virus; 18 states and the District of Columbia are considering similar measures. Ostensibly at issue is the desire to protect young women from a potentially fatal disease - not HPV itself, but cervical cancers which can develop in very rare cases in women with HPV infection.

Why would a government mandate intervention in a health issue that is not one of epidemiology? To date, vaccines have only been required for deadly diseases spread by casual contact, with the aim of preventing epidemics. In the case of the HPV vaccine, government is being heavily lobbied by Merck, the pharmaceutical company that developed the only vaccine available, and which stands to profit to the tune of a billion dollars if even a few states enact the legislation on the table.

You may already have seen the infomercials aired by Merck - the black-and-white images of "real" women saying that if they knew of something that would help their sisters, mothers, daughters, they would surely tell. Well, of course - only a monster would withhold such information. The ads are long on emotion; however, short on facts. Here are a few things all women should know about HPV and cervical cancer, courtesy of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services Centers for Disease Control (emphasis mine):

All types of HPV can cause mild Pap test abnormalities which do not have serious consequences. Approximately 10 of the 30 identified genital HPV types can lead, in rare cases, to development of cervical cancer. Research has shown that for most women (90 percent), cervical HPV infection becomes undetectable within two years. Although only a small proportion of women have persistent infection, persistent infection with "high-risk" types of HPV is the main risk factor for cervical cancer.

A Pap test can detect pre-cancerous and cancerous cells on the cervix. Regular Pap testing and careful medical follow-up, with treatment if necessary, can help ensure that pre-cancerous changes in the cervix caused by HPV infection do not develop into life threatening cervical cancer. The Pap test used in U.S. cervical cancer screening programs is responsible for greatly reducing deaths from cervical cancer. For 2004, the American Cancer Society estimates that about 10,520 women will develop invasive cervical cancer and about 3,900 women will die from this disease. Most women who develop invasive cervical cancer have not had regular cervical cancer screening.

The vaccine developed by Merck addresses only 4 of the 30 types of HPV and does not address any other causes of cervical cancer - so the idea that this vaccine will do away with cervical cancer is misleading.

Who stands to benefit the most from the Merck vaccine? At what point do we as a society begin to put women's health issues ahead of corporate profit?

The series of three shots will cost each woman $360 - multiply by the approximately 80 million women of reproductive age in this country. That's a big enough chunk of change to justify a few million on TV ads! In addition to the television campaign, Merck funnels money through a political interest group called Women in Government. Neither Merck spokespersons nor Women in Government leadership will disclose exactly how much money. But it is known that Merck doubled its spending on lobbyists in Texas (to $250,000 this year) to push the vaccine bill into law there.

Call me cynical, but I don't believe the nice people at Merck are laying out all this cash to benefit me...

Merck is the manufacturer of Vioxx, the anti-inflammatory drug that was rushed to market in 1999 as a miracle treatment for arthritis. Vioxx was pulled in 2004, when it became linked with increased risk of heart attack. As of December 2006, the company faced approximately 27,000 personal injury lawsuits, and had set aside $1.6 billion to pay damages. Someone's going to foot that bill...and apparently, Merck intends that 'someone' to be every woman in this country.

I don't know - or care - what can be done about Merck's bottom line. But as for cervical cancer, the Pap test is a widely accepted, highly effective and affordable method of prevention. Women without health insurance can receive free or low-cost screening for cervical cancer (a Pap test) through programs funded by the National Breast and Cervical Cancer Early Detection program, or through Planned Parenthood.

Take care of yourself - no one else is going to!

Hope springs eternal

2007-01-22T11:01:00.000-05:00

So, I had lunch with two colleagues on Saturday, and after a very satisfying bit of catching up over soup and crusty bread, we decided to pop in to the Ulta shop across the parking lot from our restaurant.

I can't post photos of my friends without their permission, but they are both very attractive women - physically, and personality-wise. One is in her late 20s, the other in her late 30s. I, in my mid-40s, am considerably less attractive, but reasonably well-turned-out. All three of us have master's degrees, and one of my friends is a month away from defending her doctoral dissertation, so we're not exactly slouches, intellectually. I give these details to assure the reader that, between the three of us, we have quite a bit "going on". Yet, the moment we walked into Ulta, we underwent a transformation. No longer self-assured and happy with our lot in life, we became Hopeful.

By some alchemy of the fragrant atmosphere and glittering mirrors, we lost the critical faculty that allows us to discern the inflated claims of cosmetics marketers. We wanted to believe that our chemically stressed hair could be "transformed from the inside out"; that our winter-dry lips could be "plumped to a level of lusciousness most women only dream about". We soberly consulted over whether our undereye circles were sufficiently dark to justify a $95 corrective treatment.

When one friend, whose wavy, long blonde hair is her crowning glory, picked up a $200 straightening iron, it was like a dash of cold water in the face of a sleepwalker. I looked her straight in her Maybellined eyes and said, "No. Not just no, but Hell No." Then all three of us glanced sheepishly at the collection we had amassed in our shopping basket - at least $300 worth of makeup - and one by one began to put things back.

And it was hard! We had become like magpies in our acquisitiveness - each glistering tube, each tiny compact, so damn cute it almost hurt - how could we pass these up?

I ended up with a Smashbox tinted moisturizer and one pot of eyeshadow. One friend bought a couple bottles of nailpolish. The other made a bigger splash - we didn't succeed in talking her out of the straightening iron - but she vowed this was her last Ulta visit for the year.

As I dabbed on my new moisturizer this morning, I thought about my friends. I wondered whether they felt prettier today, and if it would make a difference in their relationships and interactions with others?

Tagged!

2007-01-15T10:05:00.000-05:00

This is really sad. Only three posts in six months. Apparently other people care more about me keeping this blog going than I do. Guess I need to decide whether to let it go or not...

In the meanwhile, my answers to a meme tossed at me by Trina at My Life My Words My Mind.

4 jobs I've had:
Waitress/barmaid (while in college)
Copy editor for a small town newspaper
Christian education director for an Episcopal church
Museum educator

4 movies I'd watch over and over:
If you were hoping for sophisticated choices, I'm sorry to disappoint...
Monty Python and the Holy Grail
Get Shorty
Love Actually
and the seasonally obligatory Miracle on 34th Street

4 places I've lived, apart from where I live now:
Guess I don't get around much, as I only have three -
Akron, Ohio, "Rubber (as in "tires", so get your mind out of the gutter) Capital of the World" and birthplace of Alcoholics Anonymous. I grew up within walking distance of the Goodyear blimp airdock.
Greensburg, Pennsylvania It's completely unremarkable, go ahead, see for yourself.
Athens, Ohio (home of Ohio University, "Harvard on the Hocking")

4 TV shows I love:
Mystery on PBS - consistently excellent series, no matter what detective is featured.
Scrubs - for its combination of hilarious dialogue and genuine human dilemma.
The Antiques Roadshow - I love watching the people when they are told the value of their stuff.
South Park. What can I say?

4 places I've been on holiday:
Nags Head, North Carolina (about a dozen times) - surfable waves, fishing, hangliding from the highest sand dunes in North America, seafood to die for, lighthouses...
Albuquerque/Santa Fe, New Mexico - high desert landscape, skiing, petroglyphs, Native American, Mexican and early Spanish art...
Montreal, Quebec, Canada - click on the link to see live photos of this beautiful city
Lake Erie islands - vineyards, bike trails, maritime history, and geode caves you can stand up in.

4 websites I visit daily:
eBay -yep, I'm addicted to the world's largest flea market.
MakeUp Alley - don't buy beauty products without checking out the product reviews.
The New York Times - all the news that fit to . . . click.
Weather Underground

4 favorite foods:
Chocolate, in all its marvelous incarnations
Oyster fritters
Fresh tomato sandwiches (whole wheat toast, tomato slices, homemade mayonnaise, salt and pepper)
Potatoes, for their versatility

4 places I'd rather be right now:
Here is good, but I also want to be in
(A) Boston to help my daughter with wedding preparations, and
(B) Paris for that long-dreamed-of trip I've been promising myself that will now be postponed a bit due to (A).

4 books I enjoy re-reading:
Matthew Fox's Original Blessing
The Bible (these days, I am enjoying Eugene Peterson's paraphrase version, The Message)
anything by Thich Nhat Hanh
anything by Jane Austen

4 CDs that never leave my rotation:
Honestly, I change 'em up so often, I can't answer this question.

4 people I'm tagging:
J, of Slap Of The Day
Annie of Blogdorf Goodman
Mireille of C'est Chic
and hoping to lure my friend Neela, of Life In Paris, out of retirement!

A few of my favorite things

2006-12-30T06:46:00.000-05:00

My poor abandoned blog is being resurrected at the invitation of one of my favorite bloggers, Annie. She put no constraints on what could be included on the list, so, here goes...

My biggest beauty obsession has always been fragrance. And for me, fragrance-wise, 2006 has been a year of return to vintage scents. Hardly any new scents have made it onto my dressing table. In fact, I have found myself remarkably uninterested in even trying new launches, as the ones I have tried have been smell-alikes, reminding me vaguely of each other or seeming like 'versions of' prior successes. I'm beginning to think the proverb is true - there's nothing new under the sun. But, oh, the delights of vintage!

In 2006, I discovered - or rediscovered - these favorites:

Caron Acaciosa - Born in 1929 of Ernest Daltroff's genius, Acasiosa is a weird, wonderful floral that combines sultry jasmine with honey and pineapple. I'm not kidding - somehow, way back in the '20s, Daltroff managed the most realistic honey and pineapple that even modern perfumers, with all their headspace technology, have not been able to approximate. (Perhaps Serge Lutens should send spies to pilfer the formula from the Caron vaults, because his recent attempts at honey have had more the odor of day-old peed pants.) Acaciosa is available from the fabled urns at Caron boutiques (photo from Caron's website).

Dior Dioressence - The current incarnation of Dioressence has been one of my go-to scents since I discovered it a couple of years ago, thanks to friends on MakeUp Alley. Luca Turin, in his 1994 Perfume Guide, stated that the version now available has been trimmed of all the rich complexity that once merited the label "barbaric", leaving behind a merely interesting contrast between fruity and animalic notes. In my ignorance, I thought it enough. But this year, I was privileged to try the vintage parfum. {sigh} Did I say "privileged"? I think I meant "desolated" - why must the best scents be taken from us? I have acquired a small bottle of vintage eau de toilette, to which I turn for comfort whenever the thought of life's fleeting beauty threatens to overwhelm.

Balmain Jolie Madame - Another bold beauty whose current version has changed significantly from former glories, but is still well worth wearing. I own both the vintage parfum and the more recent eau de toilette, and they are exquisite layered together. The vintage scent plays up the greater contrast between animalic and herbal notes, but the modern version features a really beautiful iris heart.

Habanita de Molinard - Dusky beauty whose bottle is the perfect expression of the juice. Described by one reviewer as "evil baby powder", which I find really amusing since it's actually very much a comfort scent for me. Read into that what you will. The concreta, a natural wax-based formula invented by Molinard in 1925, is the perfect medium for applying the scent at bedtime.

Okay, one 2006 release has made it into my Top 5:

Patou Sira des Indes - Another weirdly fruity floral to neatly bracket the leathers and spices of my other favorites. Sira des Indes is very much in the same vein as Caron Acaciosa - from the indolic jasmine to the sweet heart of fruits, only here it is banana rather than pineapple. Anyone who has seen me rant (on MakeUp Alley) about the predominance of insipid fruity florals - the BBW-ization of the fragrance scene - might be shaking her head at this selection. But neither Sira nor Acaciosa are edible fruits - they are strictly for adornment. Indeed, there is an almost waxy quality to both of these scents that save them from being gourmand, at least to my nose. I really can't explain or justify my liking for them, beyond saying that both are exquisite examples of what an imaginative perfumer can do - nature, improved.

In addition to my top 5 fragrances of the year, I offer for your consideration:

Favorite men's scent:
YSL M7 - Launched in 2002, so I'm late to the party, but this is one of my favorite men's scents ever. According to Basenotes.com, the notes are bergamot, mandarin, rosemary, vetiver, agarwood, amber, musk and mandrake root. I don't know what exactly mandrake root is supposed to smell like, but I find no similarity between this scent and Annick Goutal's Mandragore...so maybe it's a fantasy interpretation. Agarwood predominates, to my nose - the drydown of M7 smells just like some Japanese agarwood incense I have. Smooshy-squooshy good on my dear hubby, and I've been known to sneak a dab myself.

Favorite shampoo:
Brocato Splassh - A sulfate-free shampoo that is soooo kind to my color-treated hair, and it has a luscious cherry-almond scent. Available at Ulta at quite a decent price if you're smart and get the BOGO quarts.

Favorite mascara:
Bourjois Talons Aiguilles - I neglected to review this, having gotten really lazy with my blog right about the time of the great Mascara Madness, back in the Spring. But this "lengthening and curving" mascara in a dark, bronzey-brown has become my daily number.

Favorite nail polish:
OPI Rockette Red - I don't polish my fingernails, but nothing makes me feel prettier than a nice pedicure. OPI released the Rockettes collection for the holidays. Rockette Red is the perfect neutral red without a trace of shimmer. Goes on like the paint job on my dad's 1973 Dodge Charger. Fast.

Favorite reading matieral:
The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals - Author Michael Pollan examines what he calls "our national eating disorder," taking into consideration the ethical, spiritual, health and environmental issues that stem from our ability - and willingness - to eat almost anything nature produces. He follows the food chain behind industrial, "organic", and small-farm/sustainable markets, and questions assumptions about our food choices. This book should be required reading for everyone who eats.

For more favorite lists, please visit...

Afrobella
All About the Pretty
Aromascope
Beauty Addict
Beauty Blogging Junkie
Beauty By Nadine
Beautiful Makeup Search
Beauty Hatchery
Beauty Jones
Blogdorf Goodman
Bois de Jasmin
BonBons in the Bath
Brain Trapped in Girl's Body
Capitol Hill Barbie
C'est Chic
Coquette
Crazy Jay Blue
eBeauty Daily
Girl's Handbook
HauteMommaStuff
Koneko's Mostly Beauty Diary
Legerdenez
Makeup Bag
Monkeyposh
My Muse
No one knows why the wolf laughs
Now Smell This
Perfume Smellin' Things
Peppermint Patty's Perfume Posse
Platinum Blond Life
Product Girl
Scentzilla!
Slap of the Day
The Customer Is Always Right
The Daily Obsession
The Great She Elephant
The Life of a Ladybug
The Non-Blonde
Urbane Girl
Victoria's Own

The Difference Between Men and Women

2006-11-15T01:14:00.000-05:00

This has been floating around the internet for who knows how long. I received it in e-mail and laughed so hard, I just have to share. A kind reader has informed me that this is from Dave Barry's Complete Guide to Guys. Figures - I love Dave Barry!

Let's say a guy named Roger is attracted to a woman named Elaine. He asks her out to a movie; she accepts; they have a pretty good time. A few nights later he asks her out to dinner, and again they enjoy themselves. They continue to see each other regularly, and after a while neither one of them is seeing anyone else.

And then, one evening when they're driving home, a thought occurs to Elaine, and without really thinking, she says it aloud: "Do you realize that, as of tonight, we've been seeing each other for exactly six months?"

There is silence in the car. To Elaine, it seems like a very loud silence. She thinks to herself: Geez, I wonder if it bothers him that I said that. Maybe he's been feeling confined by our relationship; maybe he thinks I'm trying to push him into some kind of obligation that he doesn't want, or isn't sure of.

Roger is thinking: Six months.

Elaine is thinking: But, hey, I'm not so sure I want this kind of relationship, either. Sometimes I wish I had a little more space, so I'd have time to think about whether I really want us to keep going the way we are, moving steadily toward...I mean, where are we going? Are we just going
to keep seeing each other at this level of intimacy?

Roger is thinking...so that means it was...let's see...February when we started going out, which means...lemme check the odometer...Whoa! I am overdue for an oil change here.

Elaine is thinking: He's upset. I can see it on his face. Maybe I'm reading this completely wrong. Maybe he wants more from our relationship, more intimacy, more commitment; maybe he has sensed - even before I sensed it - that I was feeling some reservations. Yes, I bet that's it. That's why he's so reluctant to say anything about his own feelings. He's afraid of being rejected.

Roger is thinking: And I'm gonna have them look at the transmission again. I don't care what those morons say, it's still not shifting right. And they better not try to blame it on the cold weather this time. What cold weather? It's 87 degrees out, and this thing is shifting like a freakin' garbage truck, and I paid those incompetent thieving cretin b@st@rds six hundred dollars.

Elaine is thinking: He's angry. And I don't blame him. I'd be angry, too. God, I feel so guilty putting him through this, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm just not sure.

Roger is thinking: They'll probably say it's only a 90-day warranty, the scumballs.

Elaine is thinking: Maybe I'm just too idealistic, waiting for a knight to come riding up on his white horse, when I'm sitting right next to a perfectly good person, a person I enjoy being with, a person I truly do care about, a person who seems to truly care about me. A person who is in pain because of my self-centered, schoolgirl romantic fantasy.

Roger is thinking: Warranty? They want a warranty? I'll give them a "__*#$%!*__" warranty. I'll take their warranty and stick it right up their...

"Roger" Elaine says aloud.

"What?" says Roger, startled.

"Please don't torture yourself like this," she says, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. "Maybe I should never have...Oh God, I feel so..." (She breaks down, sobbing.)

"What?" says Roger.

"I'm such a fool," Elaine sobs. "I mean, I know there's no knight. I really know that. It's silly. There's no knight, and there's no horse."

"There's no horse?" says Roger.

"You think I'm a fool, don't you?" Elaine says.

"No!" says Roger, glad to finally know the correct answer.

"It's just that...It's that I...I need some time," Elaine says.

(There is a 15-second pause while Roger, thinking as fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe response. Finally he comes up with one that he thinks might work.)

"Yes," he says.

(Elaine, deeply moved, touches his hand.)

"Oh Roger, do you really feel that way?" she says.

"What way?" says Roger.

"That way about time," says Elaine.

"Oh," says Roger. "Yes."

(Elaine turns to face him and gazes deeply into his eyes, causing him to become very nervous about what she might say next, especially if it involves a horse. At last she speaks.)

"Thank you, Roger," she says.

"Thank you," says Roger.

Then he takes her home, and she lays on her bed, a conflicted, tortured soul, and weeps until dawn, whereas when Roger gets back to his place, he opens a bag of Doritos, turns on the TV and immediately becomes deeply involved in a rerun of a tennis match between two Czechoslovaks he never heard of. A tiny voice in the far recesses of his mind tells him that something major was going on back there in the car, but he is pretty sure there is no way he would ever understand what, and so he figures it's better if he doesn't think about it.

The next day Elaine will call her closest friend, or perhaps two of them, and they will talk about this situation for six straight hours. In painstaking detail, they will analyze everything she said and everything he said, going over it time and time again, exploring every word, expression and gesture for nuances of meaning, considering every possible ramification. They will continue to discuss this subject, off and on, for weeks, maybe months, never reaching any definite conclusions, but never getting bored with it, either.

Meanwhile, Roger, while playing racquetball one day with a mutual friend of his and Elaine's, will pause just before serving, frown, and say: "Norm, did Elaine ever own a horse?"

Awkward moment

2006-07-28T06:25:00.000-05:00

I waited for the elevator.

*Ding*

The door slid open, and as it did, I overheard this comment:

"I had no idea it would kill him."

Stepped into the elevator as the two women, one wearing a nurse's uniform, glanced at each other and fell silent.

They got off at the next floor without saying another word, so I could not know which of them had spoken.

A death in the opposite house...

2006-06-14T23:11:00.000-05:00

There's been a death in the opposite house
As lately as to-day.
I know it by the numb look
Such houses have alway.

The neighbors rustle in and out,
The doctor drives away.
A window opens like a pod,
Abrupt, mechanically;

Somebody flings a mattress out--
The children hurry by;
They wonder if It died on that--
I used to when a boy.

The minister goes stiffly in
As if the house were his,
And he owned all the mourners now,
And little boys besides;

And then the milliner, and the man
Of the appalling trade,
To take the measure of the house.
There'll be that dark parade

Of tassels and of coaches soon;
It's easy as a sign--
The intuition of the news
In just a country town.

-- Emily Dickinson

My next-door neighbor's recent sudden death was not an occasion for mattress-flinging. No communicable disease to worry about - no, a smoking, drinking, somewhat overweight man of 51 years, he was overcome by the obvious. When I came home from work to see an ambulance and fire truck in front of the house, I was afraid there had been an accident. Then they stayed way too long - 15 minutes at least - and when they finally wheeled Don out on a stretcher and had to stop halfway down the driveway to pound his chest some more, I knew it was bad news.

It looked like plenty of people rustled in and out the day before the funeral. We had to go out of town and so missed any sign of tassels and coaches, but we returned five days later to find that Don's sons had pulled a protective cover over his prized vintage Lincoln Continental, the restoration of which had been his chief hobby. The pall over that vehicle seems to extend over the whole house, and there hasn't been any coming or going since we got home.

As my husband and I began to make love last night, I caught a glimpse of the neighboring house through our bedroom window and thought of the new widow. I quickly looked away, as if to avoid a different kind of contagion.

Mascara #2...

2006-05-10T08:20:00.000-05:00

My most recent mascara purchase was at Ulta, the cosmetics superstore. Ulta entered the market here only a few months ago, and I've tried a few of their store-brand cosmetics, hoping they would be on a par with Sephora. Eh. Let me tell you about the mascara...

Ulta Maximum Volume Soft Curl Mascara is pretty unremarkable. It is dirt cheap, so I don't know that I have any basis for complaint. But still. It's got a standard-shape brush with fairly stiff bristles - not a lot of give. The stiff bristles should assist in the curling technique, but it doesn't work particularly well, and here's why: The mascara formula itself is dry, dry, dry! It's not fluid enough to coat the lashes and make them bendable. I almost returned it to the store, thinking I'd gotten an old tube, but I talked to a friend who's tried it and she had the same experience. So unless we both got bad tubes, this is just a really dry formula. Upon application, it makes my lashes look and feel rather scrubby - yes, they are thicker, but in a kind of "gunked up" way. The surface is not smooth. I find I need to apply a couple of coats to get any added length (not something I normally do - I'm a one-coat-n-go gal) , and then it's hard to drag the brush back through my lashes because of the texture of the first coat.

UMVSCM comes in jet black, soft black and black/brown. I purchased black/brown and it is definitely more on the brown side. I prefer a brownish black, rather than a blackish brown. The price is probably the best feature of this mascara - $7 regular retail price, but often available at 50% off. Nevertheless, I will not be buying again.

Product rating: 5

Mascara #1...

2006-05-09T06:08:00.000-05:00

As I pointed out in my previous post, one of the major differences between mascaras is the type of brush. Of the mascaras I have loved, most have had a fairly full, plushy brush - but it has to be soft. My lashes are quite long (brushing my glasses lenses when I wear them), but they have no natural curl whatsoever - just like my hair. I look for mascara to plump them up, make them look fuller, and also to give them that little bit of curl that makes eyes look wide-open. One of the best for that little lift is Prescriptives False Eyelashes.

False Eyelashes has about the plushiest brush I've tried - it is very full and soft. The mascara itself is a medium consistency - not too thick, not too watery - very creamy and it goes on smooooth. One drawback to the plush brush: it is difficult to apply to lower lashes without leaving smudge tracks. False Eyelashes comes in only two colors: Plush Brown, which is a very dark, mink brown, and Plush Black, a deep, soft black. It is not glossy color, but more like velvet. Oddly named, this mascara makes my lashes look very natural - perhaps because of the non-gloss finish and the fact that it never, ever clumps or spikes.

One distinct advantage of False Eyelashes is the generously-sized wand, which has a gel insert (like a Dr. Rx grip pen), allowing the user to get a really good grip. If you've ever dropped your mascara wand onto a fresh white shirt, as I have (klutz!), you'll appreciate the sure-grip feature! Retails for $19.

Overall product rating: 8.5
Packaging: 10

Mascara Madness

2006-05-06T23:53:00.000-05:00

The awesome Annie, of Blogdorf Goodman, has challenged a few friends to post reviews of the mascaras we've used, and also to branch out this month and try new ones. (And thank you Katie for the great logo!) I don't know how many reviews I'll end up writing, but I'm always on the lookout for the perfect mascara. I'm a makeup minimalist - most days, it's just translucent powder, mascara, and some sort of lippie. If I had to lose two of those items, mascara is the one I'd keep - can't go without it!

Before I write any actual reviews, I'd like to start with a little history, a few observations about mascara in general. First, I have to say that, from brand to brand, high-end or low, mascara seems to differ in quality the least of any cosmetic, in my opinion. This is why I seldom think it worth it to spend mucho dinero on it. There are as many really good, cheap mascaras out there as there are expensive ones, if you consider the formula and brush only, and not fancy packaging. This uniformity is both a blessing and a curse: Blessing, because I know I can get a more-than-decent mascara for very little money; curse, because I've come to believe that, no matter how much I'm willing to spend on mascara, there are certain shortcomings I have to put up with. But hope springs eternal - thus the purpose of this May Mascara Madness!

Second, it seems to me that mascaras have changed the least over time than any other beauty product. The first mascara I ever used, 30 years ago, was Maybelline Great Lash. This is the one in the iconic pink and green tube - it has been an industry leader ever since its launch in 1971, and the formula remains unchanged. Maybelline touts it as "America's #1 best-selling cosmetic product," reporting that a tube sells every 1.9 seconds. They claim their original mascara formula was a concoction of petroleum jelly and coaldust, created by a chemist in 1913 to help his sister wow her reluctant beau. Apparently it worked, as the sister & beau were married in 1914! While we can now safely assume there's no coaldust in our mascara, petrolatum still features high on the ingredient list in many brands. (By the way, the first mascaras were only available in cake form - the user had to wet a small brush, swirl it over the cake, and apply to the lashes. The first "wand" mascara was launched by Helena Rubinstein in 1957.) In 1996, Maybelline was acquired by cosmetics giant L'Oreal, leading to presumably even less diversity in the mascara formulae on the market.

For the most part, modern mascara formulae are very similar. Despite the advertising hype, there are no miracle ingredients that make one brand stand out from another. All contain water, waxes (to thicken lashes), film-forming ingredients (to make the product cling to the lashes), colorants, and preservatives. Some mascaras also contain fibers - usually nylon or rayon - that are supposed to bind to the lashes to lengthen them. These fibers can be problematic for contact lens wearers. The biggest difference between mascara formulae is regular vs. waterproof. Although some brands tout special formulae to curl, lengthen, thicken, define, volumize, etc., these effects are primarily achieved through the use of different types of brushes/combs. The success of Max Factor's recent release, Lash Perfection, for example, is entirely based on the innovative soft brush.

Okay, enough history. I will try to get to some reviews tomorrow. In the meantime, please browse the following blogs for more Mascara Madness!

http://www.beautifulmakeupsearch.com/blog2/
http://beautyaddict.blogspot.com/
http://blend10.blogspot.com/
http://thedailyobsession.wordpress.com/
http://beautydiary.blogspot.com/
http://www.ladybuglife.blogspot.com/
http://monkeyposh.blogspot.com/
http://thenonblonde.blogspot.com/
http://scentzilla.com/
http://victoriasown.blogspot.com/

"...these thy holy gifts, which we now offer unto thee..."

2006-05-01T07:31:00.000-05:00

I recently received an e-mail offer from Jackson & Perkins of an "exclusive opportunity" to own a Pope John Paul II commemorative rose:

"This radiant white tribute to a beloved world figure grows in the private Vatican gardens. Now you can enjoy its perfectly formed hybrid tea flowers and citrus fragrance in your own garden, along with a numbered edition Commemorative package. The collection includes a Pope John Paul II bareroot rose and solid, cast aluminum marker to place alongside the planted rose in your garden. You'll also receive an embossed keepsake portfolio, which holds a signed and numbered certificate of authenticity, a full-color photograph of the rose and one of the late Pontiff’s homilies."

It is advertised as a "Rose for a Cause" because a portion of the profits will be donated to benefit the poor in sub-Saharan Africa ("one of the late Pontiff's closest concerns").

Cost of the complete limited-edition package? 150 smackeroos. Portion of net to be donated? 10 percent.

Now, J&P sell the same bareroot rose - minus all the Pope-crap - for $25. I would love to see the final balance sheet for this trumped-up charitable opportunity. The Vatican have given the go-ahead to the project - I wonder what their cut will be?

WW(JPII)D?

Couldn't help myself...

2006-04-05T17:11:00.000-05:00

Tagged

2006-03-13T22:12:00.000-05:00

Having abandoned my poor blog for more than a month, I've been tagged by Bela (Slap of the Day) to list five weird or peculiar things about myself. Now, I tend to think I'm boringly normal and sane...but feedback from my family and friends seems to indicate otherwise. So, here goes:

1. I often read the end of a novel first. I've read a lot of books. And I'm a fairly critical reader. So if, in the first few chapters, a novel begins to pall - if the characters have not gained my sympathy, if there are numerous historical inaccuracies, if the writing style aggravates me - I will skip ahead and read the end, to see whether the author will manage to pull out of the nose-dive. If so, I can return to where I left off, secure in the knowledge that I won't feel I've wasted my time when I get to the end. If the end is unsatisfying, I just quit right there. Next!

2. When I'm bored, I like to look at things out of alternate eyes. Say I'm in a waiting room. The magazines are old and/or unappealing, I've forgotten my current book (or have already read the end, see above). I will close first one, then the other, changing the view and perspective. This is especially effective with doorways and other vertical apertures. It works best when there are no people to observe - otherwise, they may think you're getting fresh with them.

3. I can't stand to sleep with my feet tucked in. The end of the bedclothes must be left loose, untucked from the mattress, or I just go nuts. I dislike socks, too, and never wear them unless it's really freezing outside. Sometimes, at night, my feet get so hot that I have to go down to the kitchen and stand on the cold tile floor to cool them off. I recently found out that my dad does this, too, so maybe it's genetic. Congenital Hot Feet.

4. In the nearly 24 years I've been married, I have had seven "wedding rings". A few years into my marriage, I developed an allergy to nickel, and apparently there is enough nickel in 14K gold to cause some people problems. That was why I switched the first time. After that, there seemed to be no point in keeping to only one ring when it wasn't the original, so when I get tired of one - or find a ring I like better - I switch. My dear husband fortunately understands that I am faithful to him, not to a piece of jewelry. He bought four of the seven for me as gifts; the other three were to suit my own fancy, including the one I wear right now - a natural emerald in an 18kt gold bezel, atop a wide silver band. I find I can wear platinum and silver with no problem (just in case anyone out there wants to contribute to my peculiarity!).

5. My eyes are such a weird blue-green color, I'm often accused of wearing colored contacts. I don't.

Okay, enough about me. I'd love to hear some really weird stuff about:

K... (Seldom Nice Nowadays)
N... (Life In Paris) and
T...(Brain Trapped in Girl's Body)

Remembrance

2006-01-31T09:07:00.000-05:00

Annie Vergounis, c. 1939

Today was my grandmother's birthday. She would have been 84. Named 'Athena' by her Greek immigrant parents, she was known to everyone else as "Annie".

Annie was a curious mix of Old World superstition and New World optimism. The youngest of four children, and the third girl, she was given no particular status in her family. Her parents came to this country for its vast opportunities, but they remained forever suspicious of its technology and critical of its values. When Annie, who excelled at athletics, joined her high school girls' basketball team, she had to lie and sneak out to attend practice, because her parents disapproved of girls playing sports, and especially of the "revealing" uniforms (this was 1938 - I'll leave it to your imagination how revealing they were!). When a letter came home from the principal congratulating Annie on making the All-Star team, her parents were outraged. They didn't read English, but assumed that any official communication from school must be about a discipline problem. She was soundly beaten and kept in her room. When she finally made them understand that she was being honored, they relented and allowed her to play in the game. Her father attended (her mother still refused to condone anything so improper); when he saw the other parents cheering for their girls, finally, he understood and bragged about Annie. But he never mentioned it to her afterward.

Three sisters: Helen, Mary and Annie, mid-1940s

Annie came of age as World War II began. She married young to escape an oppressive household (and probably to please her parents), and almost immediately had a child (my mother). Her husband turned out to be unreliable, however, and sometimes abusive, so she soon divorced him. A single mother, she went to work for Republic Steel in Canton, Ohio, as a crane operator. Once again, by embracing social change, she disappointed her parents. Why couldn't she be like her oldest sister, Mary, they asked? Mary had accomplished that most-desired goal: she had Married Well, a wealthy man who happened to be much older. But Annie was bright and capable, good at her job, and was the last of the women to be let go when the men returned after the war to reclaim "their" jobs.

Before she left the steel factory, she met John Kosmides, a dapper veteran who managed to charm her once-burned heart. He was five years younger, and it took some time and his considerable persuasive skill to gain her trust, but they married in 1947.

With John Kosmides, c. 1947

The Greeks have a great sense of tragedy, and Annie had a wide fatalistic streak. She wished for happiness, yet felt sure that it wouldn't last, and had a strong sense that the gods were always on the lookout to punish hubris. Her rich sister Mary died young, of multiple sclerosis. Her only brother, John, the family favorite, was born with an enlarged heart and died in his 20s. Helen was unhappy in her marriage and ended up raising four children alone. Annie and John were married 23 years when he dropped dead of a massive heart attack at the age of 44. She never did come to feel grateful for the 23 years, and that they at least had the chance to raise their children and see them established. She never moved past the keen sense of abandonment, and she never slept in their bed again. Oh, she went back to work - had to, to pay off the new mortgage they had just acquired six months before he died. And she mowed her lawn and continued to be active in her church, and took up tennis in her late 50s so she could play with us kids when we were in high school. But something was broken, irreparably. She would stay in that house and sleep on the couch for the next 32 years.

In 1974, Annie's father, who had undiagnosed Alzheimer's dementia, left his house to walk to the corner market and disappeared. He was never seen again. His skull was recovered several years later in the wild area of a local park; cause of death unclear. We speculated that he had gotten confused and attempted to return to the neighborhood where he had lived decades earlier. He may have died of exposure, or it may have been a homicide. The four years of uncertainty between his disappearance and the discovery of his remains drove his wife over the edge of reason, and of course it was Annie and her sister Helen who had to cope. Perhaps she should be forgiven for her fatalism. Annie herself eventually developed Alzheimer's disease. In 2002 we convinced her (coerced her) to move out of her home and into an assisted living facility. She hated it at first, but as her dementia progressed, she felt safe there.

So many of these events, the things I think of when I think about my grandmother's life, are just what life sends to each of us. Tolstoy wrote, "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." Does that mean the details of unhappiness are really important? In my two years of weekly visits with Annie before she died, she certainly focused on them. Perhaps she was depressed - maybe she always had been. Perhaps her soul was doing its karmic work. Perhaps she had simply learned too well the early lessons that the universe is a fearful place and the gods not to be trusted.

As difficult as she was to be with sometimes, I miss her.

Dumbfounded

2006-01-16T07:13:00.000-05:00

I've been learning Spanish with a set of Pimsleur audio CDs - great for building quick vocabulary and honing a decent accent, but I felt keenly the lack of written material. How am I supposed to remember the relationships of words, if I can't see the spelling? So I recently bought a simple grammar text and it's been a world of help. The most amazing thing I've discovered? ¡Inverted punctuation! ¿Why don't we have this in English?

¿See, didn’t you find it easier to figure out what’s going on when you had a signal at the beginning that this was going to be a question?

Mere days after this happy discovery, serendipitously I came across a poem celebrating it (¡after a fashion!)...

Appeal to the Grammarians

We, the naturally hopeful,
Need a simple sign
For the myriad ways we’re capsized.
We who love precise language
Need a finer way to convey
Disappointment and perplexity.
For speechlessness and all its inflections,
For up-ended expectations,
For every time we’re ambushed
By trivial or stupefying irony,
For pure incredulity, we need
The inverted exclamation point.
For the dropped smile, the limp handshake,
For whoever has just unwrapped a dumb gift
Or taken the first sip of a flat beer,
Or felt love or pond ice
Give way underfoot, we deserve it.
We need it for the air pocket, the scratch shot,
The child whose ball doesn’t bounce back,
The flat tire at journey’s outset,
The odyssey that ends up in Weehawken.
But mainly because I need it – here and now
As I sit outside the Caffè Reggio
Staring at my espresso and cannoli
After this middle-aged couple
Came strolling by and he suddenly
Veered and sneezed all over my table
And she said to him, “See, that’s why
I don’t like to eat outside.”

by Paul Violi, originally published in Green Mountains Review

The Year in Fragrance (& other good stuff)

2005-12-30T06:38:00.001-05:00

Having accepted a challenge to name my top ten favorite discoveries of 2005, I first thought, "Piece of cake." I'm constantly trying new stuff, thanks to friends (accomplices?) at MakeUp Alley. But it's proved more difficult than I imagined...how many of these impetuous loves will prove to be of ever-after quality? Only time will tell. Along those lines, I've learned that re-discovering classic and vintage scents can be just as exciting as sampling new releases. Anyway, here they are for now, my favorites of the year:

Serge Lutens Fumerie Turque - This, I'm positive, is one for the ages, so I'm listing it first. Among the veritable pageant of Lutens creations that cross my dressing table, Fumerie Turque stands head and shoulders above the rest. Released in 2003, this unbelievably smooth, subtle blend of tobacco, rose attar, honey, dates, beeswax and woodsmoke seduced me at first whiff. Through the kindness of friends, I've acquired samples and decants; a full bottle will be my first purchase when I make it to Paris.

Hermes Eau des Merveilles - "Water of Wonders" - what an apt name, and the spangled bottle proclaims the sparkling juice! Launched in France in 2004, Merveilles finally made its way to the US this year. Long rumored to have one of the last remaining supplies of natural ambergris in the world, Hermes certainly put it to good use in this scent. Allied with bitter orange, ambergris lends a salty-fresh feel. I am reminded of meandering along the seashore, picking up bits of driftwood and shell, while the white foam blows against my bare legs, depositing its glinting burden of salt and silica. And yet, excellent beach scent though it is, Merveilles is grounded in oak-y wood notes, so it's cozy enough for cold weather. I am dying to try the recently released Parfum des Merveilles.

Comme des Garcons White - How this slipped under my radar, I'll never know. I was vaguely aware of its existence (launched in 1997!), and I guess I can attribute my lack of curiosity to the line's poor staying power - on my skin, anyway. Swapped for un-sniffed, I expected it would be just as soon swapped away again. Wrong. There is something quite compelling about this scent - completely unsweet, unfloral, by contrast it reveals deep femininity. I have yet to find a satisfactory list of notes - "lily of the valley, vanilla and amber"? - "cedarwood, may rose, LOTV and pomegranate"? I suppose LOTV must be in there, but it's not obvious. No one lists spices - cinnamon, cardamom? - but that's what I smell the most in White. A mystery I will enjoy exploring more fully!

(detail, Mary Magdalene,
from Madonna of the Rosary,
Lorenzo Lotto, 1539)

Bellodgia - An oldie but goodie I rediscovered in 2005. N., (Life in Paris blog), a dear friend and purveyor of many fine lemmings, sent me a surprise package with extrait samples from the Caron boutique. While Tabac Blond and Narcisse Noir certainly caught my attention, it was Bellodgia (1927) that won my heart. Creamy, dense carnation over Ernest Daltroff's distinctive oakmoss base - a scent for Mary Magdalene, both introverted and sensual.

i Profumi di Firenze Mirra - Another splendid gift from afar...I initially raved about Mirra parfum in my 'Scents of Summer' list of favs (August), and it's still in my top ten of the year.

Chanel Allure - Also on the 'Scents of Summer' list. Can't believe this one escaped me for a decade. I only tried the EDT when it was first released in 1996...and it was *so* not me! This year I discovered the parfum...and, as those who've read the adventures of Princess Swapsalot will recall, the EDP. A perfect blend of rose de mai, vetiver and vanilla. Got a hankering for the body cream next...mmmm!

Takashimaya "T" - A sample from another lemming-monger, Annieytown (Blogdorf Goodman), this is the truest, best tea scent I've smelled. Somewhere between the lovely weirdness of L'Artisan Tea for Two and the demureness of Bvlgari Eau Parfumée Au Thé Vert. Crisp, lemony, smoky, calming. At the top of my "Pursue in 2006" list.

And how about some non-scent items?

Christian Dior DiorSnow x2 - I've tried the Whitening Lotion (toner) and Pure UV base, which is suitable as a moisturizer in summer. While not usually big on the ridiculous, pseudo-scientific claims of high-end skincare lines, I'm buying this one. My skin is clearer, more radiant, less ruddy, and just all-around well-behaved. Available at pretty good discount from various e-tailers. Worth the $$$.

Prada Shielding Lip Balm - When I first received one in a swap, I ranted about the stupid 'monodose' packaging - how wasteful! There's no denying, however, that this is one wonderful product. It moisturizes, plumps and subtly tints lips - comes in 6 your-lips-but-better shades (I prefer #6, a soft light red). Recently available at TJMaxx (you're too late, I've bought up all the #6's), I'm informed that Prada will be releasing the same forumlation in different (hopefully bigger) packaging. The monodose concept is supposed to keep the product from being contaminated, but it's really a misnomer - I get at least 10 uses from one of the teensy 1.5 ml tubes. And since you squeeze it out onto your finger, rather than apply directly to lips, there's not so much contamination anyway. Let's hope they don't mess around with the formula while they're repackaging.

Lush Olive Branch shower gel - My first introduction to Lush products, in a gift set from my daughter. Not high-lathering, but extremely comforting and moisturizing, and the scent is divinely earthy. I like how there's a 'packed on' date and an expiration date, and the human touch of a little photo-print of the person who blended your bottle. I look forward to trying more from this line.

Wishing everyone a beautiful, scent-filled, healthy and prosperous New Year!

Want more fabulous Best of 2005 lists? Visit my friends at...

An Alabaster Brow

Beauty Addict

Blogdorf Goodman

Bois de Jasmin

Brain Trapped in Girl's Body

c'est chic

Crazy Jay Blue

The Great She Elephant

Hrmph

Koneko's *Mostly* Beauty Diary

Legerdenez

Make a Mental Note

Monkey Posh

Mother Hen's Place

my life my words my mind

no one knows why the wolf laughs

Now Smell This

ï¿½Ombligo!

Peppermint Patty

Perfume-Smellin' Things

Scentzilla!

She'll be feverish after so much thinking

Slap of the Day

Victoria's Own

Forgive and forget?

2005-12-04T17:09:00.000-05:00

There are 83 registered convicted sex offenders living within a 5-mile radius of my house. Their crimes range from aggravated sexual battery, to rape, to indecent liberties with a child.

I know this because a group called Family Watchdog have made it their mission to establish an easily accessed database of these individuals in towns all over the United States.

I'm not sure how I feel about this. At least Family Watchdog is a free service; there are others that charge a fee for access, turning a profit from this miserable trade.

My kids are grown now, but learning that there are 5 registered sex offenders living within 1/4 mile of the elementary school they walked to each day causes a moment's disquiet, to say the least. Had I known this when they were still in school, would I have done anything differently? Cautioned them? And, how specific would I have been? Shown them the photos of these individuals, so they'd know who to look out for?

The dilemma of just where to draw the line - between protecting children and scaring the be-jeezus out of them - is one every parent must face. Do our children deserve to be terrorized in the name of protection?

And then there is also the question of the right to privacy of people who have served their sentence for the crime for which they were convicted. Do they deserve to have their names, addresses and photos published on the web so that their shame can be held against them forever?

I'm aware that there is a very high rate of re-offense in sex-related crimes - especially those perpetrated against children. But somehow, this website just turns my stomach.

I welcome comments/views/insights on this issue. I just don't know. . . .

Abominable Turkey

2005-11-12T23:16:00.000-05:00

I wish I could offer lovely sights like my friend N (Life in Paris blog). Alas, I have to go with what's available in this neck of the woods:

Yes, he's eight feet of pulsating poultry. You may commence disgusted clucking noises.

What do you need?

2005-11-01T06:49:00.000-05:00

Snagged from MyLifeMyWordsMyMind, here's a nifty little game: Google search your first name with the word "needs" - "so-and-so needs" - and post the top 10 answers. Here are mine -

1) "Debra needs your support to continue unique research into EB and cancer."

2) "Debra needs to change her SQL server's compatibility level to 70."

3) "Debra needs volunteers to do some research/information gathering."

4) "Debra needs to solve the math problems correctly."

5) "Debra needs to develop a schedule of when will work with each DAM on the CP list."

6) "Debra needs some space."

7) "Debra needs your financial support in order to run an effective campaign."

8) "Debra needs to calculate the student budget for the fiscal year end."

9) "Debra needs to curtail her outside activities and give land use responsibilities to someone else."

10) "Debra needs a major break."

Like magic! - isn't it amazing how a "random" search reveals some deep issues in my life? How did the Internet divine my deep needs for support, for organization, for getting my financial ducks in a row? And most welcome of all - #6 and #10! Why, it even knows that I'm math-challenged.

Perhaps this works on the same principle as "Ask the audience" on that game show, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? No matter how dull and lacking in insight individuals may be, the collective thought power of a large enough group nearly always produces the right answer. In that spirit, here's what the universe (or at least, the part of it connected to the Internet) feels George Bush needs:

1) "George Bush needs to stop talking, admit the mistakes of his all around failed administration, pull our troops out of occupied New Orleans and Iraq..."

2) "George Bush needs a more intimate relationship with the truth."

3) "George Bush needs our love."

4) "George Bush needs a potty break."

5) "George Bush needs to step aside."

6) "George Bush needs to return the skull of Pancho Villa to its proper resting place."

7) "George Bush needs the Gay Dollar..."

8) "George Bush needs to forego the sanitized pap he is being fed and talk to us from his heart."

9) "George Bush needs to answer questions about his own tax increase."

10) "Geogre Bush needs to open his eyes to the fact that thousands of Iraqis have died for no reason because of HIM."

All Saints

2005-10-28T20:36:00.000-05:00

BREATHS

Listen more often to things than to beings,
Listen more often to things than to beings -
Tis the ancestors' breath when the fire's voice is heard,
Tis the ancestors' breath in the voice of the waters.

Those who have died have never, never left -
The dead are not under the earth!
They are in the rustling trees,
They are in the groaning woods,
They are in the crying grass,
They are in the moaning rocks -
The dead are not under the earth.

So, listen more often to things than to beings,
Listen more often to things than to beings -
Tis the ancestors' breath when the fire's voice is heard,
Tis the ancestors' breath in the voice of the waters.

Those who have died have never, never left -
The dead have a pact with the living:
They are in the woman's breast,
They are in the wailing child,
They are with us in the home,
They are with us in this crowd -
The dead have a pact with the living.

Adapted from poem by Birago Diop
Set to music by Ysaye m. Barnwell

At left is a prosphora, a wooden seal used to mark altar bread in a Greek Orthodox church. In the early days of Christianity, the word prosphora (offering) was used to designate the food offered by the community to be shared - after the best portion was set aside for the Eucharist, the remainder would be used for the agape (love-feast) after the liturgy. In modern times, the remaining bread is distributed to the koinonia, the people in communion, to take a bit of blessing to their homes. A seal like this one is the only thing I have that belonged to my great-grandmother, Georgia Vergounis, a faithful, founding member of the church in the Ohio town to which she immigrated around 1915. It's so fitting, that this is what was left to me - all my memories of her revolve around her cooking, her warmth, her feeding people.

My grandmother, her daughter, told me of her other gifts - how people would come to the house in the middle of the night, seeking charms for healing, laying on of hands, quite outside the circle of orthodoxy, let alone "modern" America. How such things had to be done in secret - women's work, like birthing and attending the dying - only spoken of with hushed voices.

I can hear the whispers still. . .

Inseeing

2005-10-18T07:01:00.000-05:00

"I love inseeing. Can you imagine with me how glorious it is to insee, for example, a dog as one passes by. To insee (I don't mean inspect, which is only a kind of human gymnastic, by means of which one immediately comes out again on the other side of the dog, regarding it merely, so to speak, as a window upon the humanity lying behind it, not that) -- but to let oneself precisely into the dog, the place in it where God, as it were, would have sat down for a moment when the dog was finished, in order to watch it under the influence of its first embarrassments and inspirations and to know that it was good that nothing was lacking, that it could not have been better made. . . . Laugh though you may, dear confidant, if I am to tell you where my all-greatest feeling, my world-feeling, my earthly bliss was to be found, I must confess to you: it was to be found time and again, here and there, in such timeless moments of this divine inseeing." --Rainer Maria Rilke

Yesterday I walked through early fall woods for two hours with my two greyhounds as companions, a favorite activity I haven't been making time for lately. Silly me, because I probably received as much re-creation from that two hours as I might have from a day at a spa. There is something inherently calming and sustaining about being with my dogs, and especially seeing the world through their eyes.

Nearly every early culture acknowledges a goddess with a dog as her companion - and very often, the dog is portrayed as a "threshold" animal, one who guides souls to the next world. If I still my own ego and become attentive to what they have to tell me, I often do find guidance. And being in the woods with them, in a place where a Civil War battle occurred, was quite instructive. The older dog, Connor, was seeing something - something I only sensed, after a few minutes' stillness, by the prickling of the hairs on the back of my neck.

I am taking on as a spiritual practice Rilke's idea of "inseeing" - much more challenging with my fellow humans than it is with my sweet doggies. But, I suspect, it may be the only way to experience the divine here on earth.

Photo above is of a watercolor I purchased from Ron Krajewski. I didn't commission it, but could well have, as it is the spit and image of my dog, Connor.

Tag, I'm It!

2005-10-14T18:40:00.000-05:00

Thanks to my warm & wonderful friend Neela (Life in Paris blog), I am revisiting my poor blog. While I made no conscious decision to abandon it, life just seems to have gotten in the way lately and I have not been able to focus on writing anything. So today, here are 20 random things about me...

1. I know the first AND second verses of just about every Christmas carol of note - and the third, fourth, fifth, etc., to many.

2. My Myers-Briggs type is INFP - Introverted Intuitive Feeling Perceiver. According to Isabel Briggs Myers, introverted feelers "have a wealth of warmth and enthusiasm, but they may not show it until they know someone well. They wear their warm side inside, like a fur-lined coat."

3. I stopped eating meat about 3 years ago because I don't wish to participate in the inhumane American agri-business. I do eat seafood sometimes.

4. I learned to read using ITA, the Initial Teaching Alphabet, a phonemic alphabet that uses 44 sound-symbols to represent all the sounds of spoken English.

5. I learned to drive in my dad's 1973 candy-apple red Dodge Charger. And yep - 'bitchin' is the word.

6. I can whistle Mozart's Eine Kleine Nachtmusik pitch-perfect.

7. I like my job so much, I sometimes feel guilty. Rarely, if ever, do I think, "Oh, I *have to* go to work today."

8. I read Gone with the Wind 13 times the summer I turned 13.

9. I am the current guardian of my great-grandmother's secret recipe for kourambethes (Greek butter cookies), which I have vowed to reveal to no one except my own daughter.

10. I read tarot for fun & insight.

11. I write poetry, but don't let anyone else read it.

12. I'm afraid of heights, but about six years ago, I jumped 30 feet from the top of a huge boulder into a deep pool where we had stopped to take a break while whitewater rafting. I only did it so my kids wouldn't think me a coward. I was terrified the entire time.

13. I can't stand "collectibles" of any kind - figurines, commemorative plates, thimbles, what-have-you. The only things I collect are things I can use, like baskets, scarves, books and perfume.

14. I hate to fly.

15. I've been married for half of my life.

16. I bowled the best game of my life - 186 - when I was 8 months pregnant.

17. I have been known to use the word "boughten" - as in, boughten chicken, the kind you get from a take-out place.

18. I can make a fire with flint, steel & tinder.

19. I've had both of my 'big toes' crushed in freak accidents - one involving a dropped stand-mixer - I told myself, "Better my toe than the expensive ceramic kitchen tile" - the other in a bizarre kid's-birthday-at-a-bowling-alley caper, in which a 12-pound ball mysteriously dislodged itself from a rack and, succumbing to gravity, impacted my poor toe. Both methods are quite painful, and I don't recommend them.

20. The single most useful course I took in high school was Typing I. Who knew, back in 1978, that the advent of personal computers would make 10-finger typing such a valuable life skill?

Well, this has been pretty random. Interesting, though, and more difficult than I thought it would be. I'd like to continue the game, but all my friends with blogs have already been tagged. So, if you'd like to be next, just post in the comments :>)

Dying of the light

2005-09-22T05:20:00.000-05:00

You shall ask
What good are dead leaves
And I will tell you
They nourish the sore earth.
You shall ask
What reason is there for winter
And I will tell you
To bring about new leaves.
You shall ask
Why are the leaves green
And I will tell you
Because they are rich with life.
You shall ask
Why must summer end
And I will tell you
So that the leaves can die.

from Many Winters by Nancy Wood,
Bantam Doubleday Dell Books for Young Readers

photo of Autumn Leaves by John Millais,
1855-56, oil on canvas, Manchester City Art Galleries

The Smirking Chimp

2005-09-19T09:25:00.000-05:00

Well, I've held off as long as I could. As I watched the agony of Hurricane Katrina and its aftermath, I kept telling myself, "Be fair, only hindsight is 20-20, there's only so much anyone could have done..." I've lamented the incredible arrogance of maintaining that an 18-foot concrete wall can hold back the active delta of one of the world's largest rivers. I've shed tears for the poor people and animals who had no choice but to stay, and I've fumed at the inept emergency planning that failed to rescue them. Today, it's time to take a different tack.

Satire.

I offer, for your delectation, Rich Procter on our Commander-in-Chief (from www.smirkingchimp.com):

Rich Procter: 'I save the taxpayers 50 million dollars!'
I'm sure you saw the Associated Press headline: "Bush to Oversee Probe Into What Went Wrong." Yes, that's right, President Bush is going to spend millions (I'm guessing 50) to investigate himself. I'm sure he'll appoint a Special Non-Partisan Presidential Commission made up of Grover Norquist, Bo Derek, Rush Limbaugh, Ted Nugent, Pat Robertson, and any available NASCAR driver. They'll rubber stamp whatever public relations hairball Karl Rove coughs up.

I hereby volunteer to save you, Joe and Jane Taxpayer, all 50 million dollars. What follows is:

President Bush's Exhaustive White House Investigation Into The Apparent Misunderestimation of Hurricane Katrina:

1) President Bush is Utterly, Completely, Absolutely, Uniquely and Perfectly Without Blame of Any Sort.

The Commission has surmised that sometime -- might have been Sunday or Monday, no one can be sure - the President's regular retinue of incredibly competent, highly dependable assistants were replaced by a nefarious bunch of traitorous (probably Democratic) "look-alikes" just like in that Harrison Ford movie a few years ago...what was it....oh yeah, "Air Force One." That's it. Anyway, these evil-doers - and that's what they are, make no mistake about it - decided to destroy the love the American people have for this chosen-by-Jesus-himself President, and discredit him. They kept information about the hurricane from the President. They kept him away from television and radio. They allowed him to live in a fool's paradise, mugging in photo ops with John McCain and strumming a guitar while people died.

When Mr. Bush finally became aware of this horrible crisis a scant four days later, he killed these evildoers with his bare hands, used his native wit and guile to find out where his real assistants had been secreted, and assumed command, directing the relief effort with Steely-Eyed Rocket Man mastery . Unfortunately, at this point, the Liberal Media (Conspiracy) had already become a soul-killing juggernaut designed to crush this avatar of American goodness, justice and mercy. We - all good Americans -- can only apologize to our blameless Chief Executive, and beg his for forgiveness.

Recommendation - President Bush should award himself the Presidential Medal of Freedom, With Special Oak Leaf Cluster.

2) White House Completely Blameless for Deaths of Hurricane "Victims", Which Was Actually A Plot By Foreign Terrorists

The Commission notes that every single so-called "death" (10,000, and counting) from this so-called "catastrophe" has served to embarrass our beloved Chief Executive at a time when this country is at War with Global Terror. While we could find no actual hard evidence of a coordinated conspiracy between the Democratic Party and al-Qaeda to get these folks to drown themselves to discredit the President and demoralize the citizenry, their "deaths" certainly achieved this nefarious goal. Our conclusion is that al-qaeda Chieftain Saddam Hussein, in conjunction with Ted Kennedy and Nancy Pelosi, directed this mass suicide drowning.

Recommendation - Stay the course in Iraq. We're winning. Freedom is on the march. And put Democrats in prison before they do any more damage.

3) Contrary To Reports By Craven Lackeys of the Liberal Media, "Victims" Were Treated Like Royalty

The Commission was shocked to discover that, almost from the first moment of peril, thousands of "victims" were taken to the jewel of the Crescent City, the Louisiana Superdome. It's a well-known fact that sports fan pay upwards of $500 a ticket to see sporting events at this luxurious venue, and yet these so-called "victims" were admitted free of charge, and apparently given complete run of the place! And yet they have complained endlessly because "free" food and water were not provided. We find this ingratitude shocking and appalling.

Recommendation - Next time, charge normal ticket prices to get into the SuperDome, to keep out this belligerent riff-raff.

4) Whatever Blame Exists Be Heaped On FEMA Head Michael Brown

The Commission has come to the reluctant conclusion that Michael Brown is an unqualified flunky, a dolt, an incompetent dunderhead, and an incompetent nincompoop who obviously forged his resume to get the job as head of FEMA.

Recommendation - Presidential Medal of Freedom, and subsequent Ambassadorship to New Zealand.

5) An Effective Plan to Prevent This From Happening Again

The Commission has reached unanimous consensus on the following conclusions:

a) The "Hurricane" came directly from the Gulf of Mexico. b) Mexico is complicit in breaching America's borders, sending a FLOOD (!) of immigrants to destabilize our fragile Democracy. c) The CIA has produced hard, convincing, speculative evidence that proves conclusively that Mexican President Vicente Fox has acquired, and is using Weather-Altering Super Weapons (WASW) on the United States.

Recommendation - President Bush has absolutely no other choice than to order the preemptive liberation of Mexico by American Boy and Girl Scouts, with the top priority being to secure the oil fields so that these revenues can be held for the gentle, unsophisticated little brown people of that country until such time as they can spend them wisely.

END OF REPORT

Perspective

2005-09-11T12:09:00.000-05:00

One of my family members in Ohio forwarded these photos of unbelievably realistic murals that transform public buildings. The art of Eric Grohe is becoming quite popular in the Rust Belt, as the grim urban landscape continues to decay. This man is a genius...but i'll let his vision speak for itself...

Before:

In progress:

After:

Before:

After:

Grohe's art recalls the architecture of earlier times. It used to be that all public buildings were built on a larger-than-life scale - think Grand Central Station, or even small town banks and libraries. Columns, arches and grand pediments celebrated the importance of institutions, while marble, granite and other rich materials made tangible our common-wealth. Sometime in the mid-20th Century, our public architecture started changing. "Institutional" became a synonym for unimaginative and utilitarian. Along about the same time, we began to realize that we were being systematically lied to by our elected leaders, and public servants were found to be plundering public coffers. This leaves me with a which-came-first kind of question: Did our "disillusionment" happen because we ceased to elevate our public institutions, or did public institutions fall in our esteem because we finally saw the truth behind the facade?

Is it worth trying to reinvest our public spaces with some of their former grandeur, a la Grohe? Or will we just be fooling ourselves?

Legalities

2005-09-04T07:24:00.000-05:00

Chief Justice of the Supreme Court William H. Rehnquist died last night at the age of 80. President Bush expressed his sorrow at our nation's loss, but really i imagine he must be rubbing his hands in glee - he now gets to fill 2 seats on the nation's highest court nearly simultaneously.

This turn of events may have as great an impact on the American landscape as the scars left by Hurricane Katrina. As we watch our federal government fail to address the deep needs of the poorest in storm-ravaged country, as we await the appointment of new justices, i have to wonder: Where are we going, as a people? What has happened to our mission? In fear and trembling, i offer a prayer (written by Marian Wright Edelman, founder of the Children's Defense Fund):

O God, forgive our rich nation where small babies die of cold quite legally.

O God, forgive our rich nation where small children suffer from hunger quite legally.

O God, forgive our rich nation where toddlers and school children die from guns sold quite legally.

O God, forgive our rich nation that lets children be the poorest group of citizens quite legally.

O God, forgive our rich nation that lets the rich continue to get more at the expense of the poor quite legally.

O God, forgive our rich nation which thinks security rests in missiles rather than in mothers, and in bombs rather than in babies.

O God, forgive our rich nation for not giving You sufficient thanks by giving to others their daily bread.

O God, help us never to confuse what is quite legal with what is just and right in Your sight.

Leave-taking

2005-08-27T21:47:00.000-05:00

People rarely leave us all at once - most leave-taking is a slow process, like tanning a hide, during which we become innured to the pain. When my grandmother died last year of Alzheimer's at the age of 82, i was aware that really we had begun to lose her five years previously. There were the almost imperceptible changes of habit and personality that went unremarked for a long while, only noticeable as a pattern, really, in retrospect. There was a shrinking process as she began to inhabit less and less of her own home - foregoing her bedroom upstairs to sleep on the sofa in the living room; eating at the kitchen counter instead of the dining room. Eventually there was the awful day we had to convince her that she could live there no longer - after she had burned food one too many times, after we discovered the spoiled milk in the refrigerator and the confusion over medication. We probably should have intervened sooner, but like lovers sad to see the morning come, we were reluctant to part with our image of the woman we loved and admired.

That move from the house where she had lived for 35 years, the house she had worked so hard to pay for when my grandfather died only six months after they signed the mortgage papers - her leaving that house was like a death. The shrinking process continued as, with only a few of her prized possessions, she moved into an "assisted living" facility, into a 12' x 15' room with attached handicap bathroom. She hated it at first, but became acclimated to her new surroundings and actually took comfort in the narrowness of her orbit - as her dementia progressed, she became more and more fearful of new places, new experiences.

Then there came the day that she fell and broke her hip; after two weeks in hospital, this necessitated a move to a skilled-care facility where she would receive physical therapy. There, she had to share a room - shrinking, shrinking - and all she had of her own were some clothes and a few pictures for her bedside table. She was never able to leave that facility; she gave up on therapy, refused to eat, and died 10 weeks after the broken hip. As we settled her "estate," my mother and i remarked how sadly simple it was because of each bit of paring down along the way.

i'm coming to understand this leave-taking is something each of us must do almost constantly by the time we reach mid-life. Perhaps that's really what the famous mid-life crisis is all about - we occupy our youth with getting and spending, climbing to the top of the hill, only to see that the downhill slope on the other side is littered with things that slip away. And not just things - people, too, begin to slip away at an alarming rate once we reach our 40s and 50s. How can we ever be ready?

At the end of my street is a tidal marsh; i love to watch how the scene changes as the waters rise and fall, and it's particularly interesting at the changing of the tide. i always feel sorry for the tiny crabs and fish, though - spun one way and another as the currents change direction. Perhaps at mid-life we are like those little creatures, still buoyed forward by the surge of our strength and productivity, but being sucked back as well and forced to let go. Our clinging - to youth, to perfect vision, to stamina - only makes the leave-taking awkward, painful - and, okay, sometimes ridiculously humorous!

This week, my daughter, who has taken a job in another state right out of college, informed me that she could safely be taken off our insurance - she now has her car registered and insured in her new state of residence. This was welcome news, as she'd been dragging her feet about it for two months. However, when i called to let our insurance agent know, she asked, "So, she's no longer in your household at all?" *Gasp* Must she put it like that? Of course i want Rachel to be independent, to fully realize her potential - but i felt at that moment as if she'd been ripped from my arms! Stupid, since she's been taking her leave for years, really. When did it begin? When she went away to college? No, that's not right. That first day we took her to college, as she stood on the sidewalk in front of her dorm, waving good-bye, i had an instant flashback to the first day of kindergarten. i realized that the leave-taking had begun even then...i just hadn't known.

Memoriam

2005-08-22T18:06:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow, tens of thousands of pilgrims from around the world will stream to Burgundy, France, for the funeral of Roger Schutz. Don’t know the name? “Brother Roger” founded the Taizé community in Burgundy in 1940 as a place for Christians of all denominations to be reconciled and as a focus for a ministry of peacemaking and service that eventually spanned the globe. One week ago, Brother Roger, age 90, was stabbed to death by a deranged woman during the regular evening prayer service.

I was horrified to learn of his murder – as all must have been who heard the news, for this was a good man, one who had given his entire adult life in service to God and his fellow human beings. At the outbreak of World War II, he could have remained safely in Switzerland where he was born – he was after all a sickly young man who had barely survived tuberculosis. But Roger, then 25, felt a calling to go to his mother’s country to minister to refugees. This he did for two years, with the help of his sister Genevieve, before they were warned by villagers that the Nazis had found them out and they themselves had to flee. Brother Roger returned in 1944, bringing more monks with him, and the brothers established Taizé as a community where simplicity and charity would be lived daily as a proclamation of the Gospel. Following the war, Taizé became a favorite pilgrimage destination for the world’s young people. They seemed drawn there in large part because of the music – Roger was convinced that shared music had the power to unite people from many walks of life, and the community developed a canon of simple chant, sung in many languages, designed to be accessible to all.

It was through the music that I first learned of Taizé and Brother Roger. My church is one of thousands worldwide that offer “Taizé services” of music and simple prayer in an intimate setting. Whereas all the trappings and peculiarities of denomination tend to divide and make us more aware of our differences, Taizé services unite: there are no barriers of prayer books, hymnals, traditions solidified like stained glass. Many who have felt wounded by the Church have found healing through Taizé.

Brother Roger's murderer is assumed to be insane. How else could anyone think that the world would be a better place without his influence? How could they, we ask? Earlier today, a friendly blogger posted her complaint about people who wantonly and randomly destroy property, seemingly for its own sake. What's the difference? Perhaps the same destructive force lies in each of us, to greater or lesser degree. Brother Roger had an answer, an antidote for violence - the daily practice of peace. The day after his death, one of the eldest brothers left at the community offered this commentary:

In the face of violence, we can respond only by peace. Brother Roger never stopped insisting on this. Peace requires a commitment of our whole being, inwardly and outwardly. It demands our whole person. So this evening, let us communicate peace to one another, and do everything we can so that each person stays in hope.

Each of us, in our own place, must do this work. There is no way to peace; peace IS the way.

And you give yourself away...

2005-08-19T09:46:00.000-05:00

A sweet friend recently sent me a book, The Essence of Style by Joan DeJean, which details the rise of the fashion industry. The author, a French professor who specializes in the life and times of Louis XIV, asserts that the Sun King was almost solely responsible for originating concepts like elegance, style, marketing and brand recognition. He went about establishing France as the center of fashion and the luxury-goods trade by personal example, and he was effective because he made himself, his royal person, available to the public in an unprecedented way. It was Louis XIV who invited courtiers to his morning bathing and dressing routine - la toilette - turning a hitherto private ritual into an opportunity for voyeurism.

As the most powerful figure in society, Louis' personal tastes were of course influential; watching him bathe, perfume, powder, press and primp was the 17th century version of an infomercial. Of course his choices would be imitated by all who desired to align themselves with him, whether to seek favor or to influence others in turn. Louis made sure to promote only French goods, featuring domestic products throughout the decor of Versailles as well as on his personal dressing table. His was no dilettante interest in personal adornment; he aimed to secure France's position in the world economy, and he did so shrewdly and ably using the tools at his disposal.

Which brings me to a more modern context. i frequent a message board whose members are interested in fragrance; discussion there most often revolves around new releases, and lately i've noticed how many of those are "celebrity" releases. Why would anyone think that rappers, pop singers, actresses and athletes know a thing about fragrance? Ah, but they don't have to - their attractiveness, their image, is enough to make people, unsatisfied with their mundane lives, shell out for some vicarious glamour.

What is sad about this phenomenon is who we are choosing to emulate these days. Would an Eau de Albert Schweitzer sell as much as "Boston Rob" Mariano's Foreman? Jane Goodall Curious sounds more appealing to me than anything Britney Spears might interested in. We give celebrities their power; are they worthy? Cultural anthropologist Rene Girard calls this phenomenon mimetic desire - he posits that we don't even know what we want until we see what others have. Louis XIV understood this process intuitively and used it well in the service of strengthening his country's economy. To what end is it being played out today? The more we are exposed to marketing, the more we make comparisons, leading to almost constant dissatisfaction. Are we even aware of how we are being manipulated?

How do we learn to want what we have?
How much of ourselves do we regain in the process?

Scents of Summer

2005-08-17T06:15:00.000-05:00

Several of my favorite bloggers have chosen today to feature lists of their top 10 favorite scents for summer. Since my entire impetus for attempting a blog in the first place came from these women i met on a fragrance message board, it only seems appropriate to post mine, too.

Here goes, in no particular order -

Serge Lutens Santal Blanc - an amazing blend of fruits, spices and resins, with quite a bit of orris in the middle to keep it dry. Santal Blanc has that almost pickle-y quality you get from sticking your nose into a very old sandalwood box in a dusty antique shop. Extremely long-lasting, yet quiet enough on the skin to avoid being overwhelming in the heat.

Hermes Hiris - Unique among fragrances I've experienced in that it is light and fresh without watery or ozonic notes. It embodies the noble iris in all its glory - rhizome, sap and flower. One of my favorite florals, as lovely at the buttery-soft drydown as at the airy, heady topnotes.

Chanel Gardenia - with apologies to J.T. White...

If thou of fortune be bereft
And in thy store there be but left
Two loaves - sell one, and with the dole
Buy Gardenia to feed thy soul!

Annick Goutal Eau d'Hadrien - the perfect summer blend of crisp lemon and cool cypress - completely unsweet, refreshing. Unflustered, intellectual, ironic.

Salvatore Ferragamo Parfum Subtil - a recent discovery, one i've fallen in love with just this summer. Remember White House ice cream? Cherries in vanilla cream, all on a clean musk base. This is a very wearable scent - impossible to over-apply, subtle as the name says, but still long-lasting.

J & E Atkinsons i Coloniali Javanese Cananga - Very "out of Africa", a perfume for adventuresses. Atkinsons weave a romantic fantasy of recovering long-lost formulae for their i Coloniali line - this scent would be quite believable on Isaak Dinesen. Cananga odorata is the Latin name of ylang-ylang, the flower of flowers. Here its heady, tropical note is poised upon a light woody base - the fragrance seems to take flight off your skin. Not terribly long-lasting, but worth reapplying.

i Profumi di Firenze Mirra - Technically i don't suppose this should be considered a summer scent - but i confess to sneaking tiny dabs, especially at bedtime, when i am longing for cold weather. The richest, softest myrrh - as if you've taken those dark golden nuggets of incense resin, powdered them up and dusted on your skin with a silken brush. No hint of bitterness - and no sillage to speak of, as the scent simply melts into skin. This is an intensely personal, introspective fragrance - others will find you attractive, not for your scent, but for the serenity that flows out around you. (It's probably not fair to include this scent, as i believe it is available only at the perfumery in Florence. i received a jolly little bottle from a dear friend - who knows how i'll ever replace it!)

Donna Karan Black Cashmere - Counterintuitive though it may seem, spicy scents can be quite cooling. Black pepper and nutmeg blend with sandalwood and a hint of non-foody vanilla to create a zen-like aura of calm.Joy de Jean Patou - There's a fine line between love and sex and death and birth. Between exuberance and excess. Joy parfum blurs the line. Natural jasmine at this concentration does not smell of airy white blossoms; it is a beautiful stench. Indole, one of the main scent components of jasmine essential oil, is also promininent in coal tar and fecal matter. In defiance of our culture of sanitizers and deodorants, Joy revels in the heated, flushed, throbbing fecundity of nature - the profligacy of an entire glowing summer, distilled into a darkly flickering bottle.

Chanel Allure - i'm late to the party on this one...tried Allure when it first came out and was underwhelmed. But this summer i was lucky enough to acquire a coffret of Chanel parfums, Allure among them, and in the parfum version it is divine! A perfect blend of vetiver and vanilla, not too dry and not too sweet. Well-behaved enough for the office, yet sensual, too. Bergamot in the top notes is the perfume version of Sun-In. i can't tell yet if this will be an ever-after favorite, but i'm loving it this summer.

For more summer fragrance top-10 lists, check out
http://alabasterbrow.blogsome.com, Blogdorf Goodman, Bois de Jasmin, Brain Trapped in Girl's Body, C'est Chic, Koneko's *Mostly* Beauty Diary, Life in Paris, Make a Mental Note, Now Smell This, Ombligo!, Seldom Nice Nowadays, Self-Styled Siren, and This Bananafish Smells Like Leaves.

Tarot of Prague

2005-08-12T08:22:00.000-05:00

i recently acquired a new tarot deck - the Tarot of Prague, a modern deck created by Karen Mahoney and Alex Ukolov, who run baba studio in Prague. The card images are photographic collages of the city's artwork - painting, sculpture, mural, mosaic and architecture - spanning seven centuries. It is the most visually stunning deck i've worked with in the 10 years or so i've been reading tarot. Each picture appears lit from within. There's an element of fantasy, but because the figures and backgrounds are actual photographs, it is so obviously grounded in reality, too - making the images seem not so much fantastical as archetypal.

For those who want to know more about tarot in general, and to view hundreds of decks, visit this excellent, informative website.

Personally, i do not use tarot for divination. Rather, i see it as a meditation tool, a means of focusing attention. Each morning, i draw a card for the day - trying to be open to whatever insight it may offer. Because the tarot is very much about archetypes and psycho-spiritual development, there is always something! Today i drew the Queen of Cups (pictured at left - sorry for the blurry photo!). She is the embodiment of sense and sensibility - the balance between intellect and emotion. She feels her own emotions and allows others to feel theirs; she is skilled at intuitive understanding and deepening interpersonal relationships. Traditionally, when one does a larger spread - a tarot reading - the seeker chooses a card to represent him- or herself - usually one of the court cards. i identify strongly with the Queen of Cups and always choose her to represent me. So having her show up as the card of the day is both reassuring and challenging. i'm facing some difficult situations at work right now, revolving around two of my co-workers leaving. There is so much potential for hard feelings and abandonment issues, particularly as, in a small office, any change in personnel means more work - even temporarily - for those who stay. i seem to be the one lately that everyone wants to talk to about the situation. This card is reminding me that i need to pay attention to my own feelings and how they might affect others - and pay attention to how others' feelings are affecting me. Each one of us truly has the capacity to offer blessing or curse to each other; i want my actions and interactions to be helpful - part of the solution, not part of the problem.

Superstition

2005-08-07T21:03:00.000-05:00

i think i inherited a certain amount of superstition from my maternal grandmother and great-grandmother which no amount of education, scientific theory, or logic has been able to completely dispel. My Greek GM and GGM knew all about charms of protection and taught me how to spit on people to ward off the evil eye. My GGM was a spiritual healer who brought relief to many who sought her magic and insights. But i've always told myself i knew better than that. However, scratch the surface a little, and you find how quickly i revert.

My dear husband recently bought a kayak and has been taking daily trips out onto the river near our house. Since he's not an experienced kayaker - nor terribly fit or athletic at this point in his sedentary life - i've been a little apprehensive. i admit that part of my apprehension is irrationally based on a sad memory - when i was 17, a neighbor of mine, a healthy, 35-year-old man, drowned while on a fishing trip. He had been fly fishing, apparently slipped, and his hip-waders filled up with water. He was unable to stand up and save himself, though the water was little more than chest deep. So even though my DH is not exactly going out in the open ocean, it still worries me. Beyond saying, "Please be careful" each time he goes out, i've tried to quell my fears - they are *my* problem, after all, and he deserves to enjoy his new hobby. Today, though, i flipped.

It all started this morning - we went to church as usual, and my DH was drafted to replace one of the lay readers who was ill. The appointed reading was from Jonah, the lovely little teaching story in which a reluctant prophet is cast into deep waters and swallowed up by a big fish. i was sitting there listening, and these words struck home:

"The water about me rose to my neck,
for the deep was closing over me;
seaweed twined about my head
at the roots of the mountains;
I was sinking into a world
whose bars would hold me fast for ever."

Aack! This was my exact fear, so clearly stated - and read in his own voice! i tried to shake off the feeling of dread, but i had butterflies in my stomach all afternoon as i waited to see whether he would take the kayak out.

Of course he did. Two hours went by. i distracted myself with cooking, reading the newspaper, playing with the dogs. The phone rang - caller-ID showed it was his cell phone number. i picked up, but no answer on the other end - just that ghostly "empty space" sound of an open line. i returned the call, got his voice mail. Left a message - "Call me back right away, please, let me know you're okay." When there was no call in the next 10 minutes...okay, i already admitted - i flipped. Jonah's lament running through my head, i grabbed the car keys, told my son i would be right back, and roared down the street toward the boat dock. Made it as far as the corner, where i met DH returning home with the wet kayak on top of his car.

It's not my fault, was it, this temporary insanity? i was set up - conditioned almost from birth to expect the worst, because life is fragile and the universe a dangerous place. He had tried to call to let me know he was safely back on dry land, but cellular reception is dodgy down by the river and the signal was dropped. i'm proud to say i did not cry, rage, or in any other visible way betray my madness. But here, i figure it's safe to confess. Someone spit on me, quick!

An Uncushioned Life

2005-07-28T00:54:00.000-05:00

i have a lot of things. If anyone asked me, i would say i am not a particularly "material" person; but the fact remains, things abound. It was in the midst of a recent decluttering effort that i came across a little gem of a book which i'd read a few years ago - The Clothes They Stood Up In, by Alan Bennett. i can't remember how i came by it; i only know it's been lurking in the terrifyingly tippy tower of books beside my bed. Not much bigger than my palm, it tends to unbalance the stack. i sat on the floor and opened it about in the middle and began to read, to remind myself what i had liked about this book that made me keep it. Here's what i read:

[First, a synopsis - Mr. & Mrs. Ransome are a middle-class couple who return to their home from the opera one evening, to find they have been robbed of every possession - everything but the clothes they stood up in. Over the next few days, they each come to terms with this event in different ways. ]

"Mrs. Ransome, too, could see the cheerful side of things, but then she always did. When they had got married they had kitted themselves out with all the necessities of a well-run household; they had a dinner service, a tea service plus table linen to match; they had dessert dishes and trifle glasses and cake stands galore. There were mats for the dressing table, coasters for the coffee table, runners for the dining table; guest towels with matching flannels for the basin, lavatory mats with matching ones for the bath. They had cake slices and fish slices and other slices besides, delicate trowels in silver and bone the precise function of which Mrs. Ransome had never been able to fathom. Above all there was a massive many-tiered canteen of cutlery, stocked with sufficient knives, forks and spoons for a dinner party of twelve. Mr. and Mrs. Ransome did not have dinner parties. They seldom used the guest towels because they never had guests. They had transported this paraphernalia with them across thirty-two years of marriage to no purpose at all that Mrs. Ransome could see, and now at a stroke they were rid of the lot. Without quite knowing why, and while she was washing up their two cups in the sink, Mrs. Ransome suddenly burst out singing.

...Mrs. Ransome had begun to see that to be so abruptly parted from all her worldly goods might bring with it benefits she would have hesitated to call spiritual but which might, more briskly, be put under the heading of 'improving the character.' To have the carpet almost literally pulled from under her should, she felt, induce salutary thoughts about the way she had lived her life. War would once have rescued her, of course, some turn of events that gave her no choice, and while what had happened was a catatstrophe on that scale she knew it was up to her to make of it what she could. She would go to museums, she thought, art galleries, learn about the history of London; there were classes in all sorts nowadays -- classes that she could perfectly well have attended before they were deprived of everything they had in the world, except that it was everything they had in the world, she felt, that had been holding her back. Now she could start. So, plumped down on the beanbag on the bare boards of her sometime lounge, Mrs. Ransome found that she was not unhappy, telling herself that this was more real and that (though one needed to be comfortable) an uncushioned life was the way they ought to live."

Hmmm...Mrs. Ransome had it easy, didn't she? The dread of choice was taken from her; she only had to choose how to respond to the loss of her things. How much more difficult to discern, sitting on my bedroom floor among the dustbunnies creeping from under the bed, whether to keep a book like this - so worthy! - or to truly espouse its teaching and get rid of it!

A Vague Sense of Certainty

2005-07-20T06:13:00.000-05:00

There's entirely too much information coming my way. Instead of reading one newspaper - actual "news" printed on actual "paper" - i now peruse three or four online, and am bombarded with links to additional articles my friends feel i must read. i have access to 3,754 critics' opinions of the latest movie releases. i can check the price and availability of any product for sale anywhere in the world. But somehow - and i don't mean to sound ungrateful - somehow, none of this information has led to greater sense of satisfaction with life.

Here's a prime example: A few years ago, my local library converted its card catalog to a computer database. There are now little computer stations all over the library where i can look up any book in publication. Of course, since ours is quite a minor branch library, only a very small percentage of those books is actually housed in the building. Others are available by transfer from other branches within the system; still others on special loan from university libraries in the area. All this is quite wonderful. When i look up a book i'd like to borrow - say, the latest Falco mystery by Lindsey Davis - the record indicates, among other things, how many copies are available within the system and within my own branch, the number of times each copy has been checked out, and the current availability of each copy. However, it often happens that when i meander down the aisle to retrieve the book, it is not to be found in its appointed place. Now, in the old days (notice i stop short of saying "good old days"), i would simply have assumed that the book had been checked out, and would either try again later or put in a reserve request. But the computer just told me that one copy is available in my library! So where is it? Instead of resigning myself to waiting until it was returned by whatever lucky reader got to it first, i am left to battle a rising sense of outrage at either A) the inaccuracy of the system, or B) the incompetence of the employee who must have shelved it improperly, or C) the inconsideration of the slob who took it to read within the library and then left it laying on a table somewhere, unaccounted for.

In this case, what i do know can hurt me.

Same goes for all the other information streaming toward me at the speed of cable modem. Sure, i can check out the symptoms of any disease by visiting WebMD - but i also get daily e-mails from well-meaning people, warning me of the latest horrible consequences of my antiperspirant choice, my diet, and the fact that i actually choose to inhale the pollution in my local airspace. So the vehicle i'm thinking of buying is available in Nebraska for $5000 less; that information only contributes to my sense that the cost of living is unreasonably high where i live.

One of my mother's little etiquette lessons that has stuck with me involved whether or not you should tell a friend that she has a run in her stocking. Mom always said, if you're somewhere where she can do something about it, then by all means, tell her. But if you're out in public with no remedy available, why burden her with knowledge that will only cause her discomfort?

2005-07-19T07:06:00.000-05:00

uneasy lies the head that wears the crown!

Dawn Redwood

2005-07-18T08:29:00.000-05:00

This weekend, we bought a potted dawn redwood sapling for planting in the backyard. Until 1941, when a specimen was discovered in China, this ancient tree was believed to be extinct. Like the gingko, it appears to have remained unchanged over 100 million years (the name refers to the notion that this tree, Latin name Metasequoia, has been around since the dawn of time); present-day needles and cones appear identical to those found in the fossil record. Now one of these time-travelers will grace our own habitat.

What is the mysterious connection humans have with trees? From earliest times, people gathered in sacred groves; trees were both home to, and focus of, our worship. Grand specimens were believed to be the actual habitation of gods and goddesses. Wands made from particular trees were tools of magic. In Celtic languages, the alphabet was taken from the initials of tree-names.

Trees make the wilderness hospitable, providing shade and shelter; they also supply wilderness to our tame neighborhoods, giving respiration and inspiration. Trees can undo the damage we are inflicting on the environment, both short-term and long-term. A couple of days ago, while driving in heavy traffic, i noted the outside temperature reading was 99 degrees; five minutes later, on a tree-lined street, the temp registered 88!

Planting a tree is an act of hope as well as stewardship. American Indians think of trees as our elders - easily outliving even the longest human lifespan. In many cultures, planting a tree is a fine way to commemorate birth or death.

And yet..."tree-hugger" has become an epithet to indicate over-concern for our planet - as if such a thing were possible. Those who speak with such disdain for our Mother Earth - when was the last time they walked under night skies unpolluted by horizon lights? Or enjoyed the buoyancy of salt water undisturbed by jet-ski wake? i invite everyone who reads this to go outside - today, right now if possible - and lay your hand on the bark of a tall tree. Close your eyes and listen, open yourself up to the life running beneath your palm. There's something there you need to know - what is the message for you?

Aging, Joy, Water, Children, Love and Illness

2005-07-15T22:03:00.000-05:00

A sestina by Dr. Alan Feldman, Professor of English and 2005 Distinguished Faculty Member of Framingham State College, read by the author at the 2005 commencement exercises...

I've told them it's a good form for obsessives. Love
for example may preoccupy you, like a long illness
or a splinter you can't extract, or a joy
so huge it's like standing next to a blimp. They are children
in this art, circling the big square seminar table. I'm aging,
wearing out my seat. In recent years, they've been flying through
here as fast as water.

Oh, sometimes, if the shade is up, I see a sky as blue as water
over their heads, while their heads are bowed in writing. I love
the quiet then in the room. I can almost hear them aging --
something they like, still, since to them it's growth, not an illness.
As i get older, they look like adults recently fashioned from
the children
in some fifth grade class, their child-faces sheer joy

as they assume their beauty and distinction. Well, i know for them
there isn't much joy
in school, they'd all rather be in or on the water
with iPods, towels, surfboards, digging in the sand like children
though I'm sure if I asked them they'd say they love
the course. After they're absent they even show me little notes for
non-serious illnesses
like mono and strep, nothing like the grave things they'll get when
they're really aging.

So it's fun for me because as I'm aging
they keep appearing here like bubbles out of a spring. Earth's joy
in its own improvisation. More kids! More kids! For better or ill.
None any more necessary or unnecessary than the rest of us. Made
from water
and a few cents worth of minerals, and full of love
for the sweet forms of each other, something that leads to
the begetting of new children

though not just yet! No, here their heads are bent like children
taking a spelling test, their hair hanging down like curtains so you
can't guess their ages,
their book satchels, soda cans, candy bar wrappers, the sprawl
of Xeroxed papers i love
to hand out (so I can know I'm giving them something -- oh joy! --
even if it's only paper). Yes they could be underwater
they're concentrating as silently as though the illness

of distractibility has been cured for everyone forever, that illness
that drowns out all but the obvious meaning of words. Well,
children
aren't fooled by the obvious. They know the words are waiting
like water
to be played with. If I look up now I can see the sky is aging
into the color of the blue snow. But the windows are wide open. And
they seem to enjoy
writing while wearing their bright coats, not bothered by cold,
safely in love

with the winter that won't mean (for them) illness or aging
but amazing changes as the ice melts to water, and their thoughts
turn into waves of joy
as they turn away from being children, and find their own
new words to tell us how angry are, how much they love.

The Cool Aunt

2005-07-14T23:18:00.000-05:00

My 13-year-old niece is visiting for a couple of weeks. Just as my own young-adult children have become depressingly patronizing, here i have the chance to be seen as 'cool'. Luckily, i have some guidance in this area - the excellent example of my own Aunt A., who married my mom's younger brother when i was 13. She, the motorcycle-riding, rock-concert-going, pot-smoking rebel, was such a contrast to my other aunt, my dad's wallpaper-hanging, vegetable-gardening, Hummel-collecting older sister. Everyone should have a Cool Aunt; here's why:

First off, the Cool Aunt sees you as a grown-up long before your parents are ready to admit any such thing. She understands why you need Calvin Klein, not JCPenney, jeans. She says "cuss words" in your presence without apology. She gifts you with Tabu perfume, which your mother says is "completely inappropriate," thereby sealing your lifelong loyalty to the scent. The Cool Aunt teaches you to roll your long hair up on empty orange-juice cans, then brush it out super-smooth. She lets you borrow her nailpolish - and she has every shade BUT pale pink. She slips out of family gatherings to smoke a cigarette on the back porch, and with one raised eyebrow, enjoins you t0 secrecy when you discover her there. She doesn't stop talking about heated political issues, like abortion, just as you enter a room.

Yes, i've got a dazzling role model...but i'm very aware that i'm an awful lot like my older, responsible aunt (not the Hummels - had to draw the line somewhere!). My Cool Aunt was 19 to my 13...but i'm 44 now. And i'm proud of the stability of my life - i'm less exciting, perhaps, but more dependable. And yet...is it too late - am i asking too much - can i still be cool?

Message in a Bottle, II

2005-07-12T08:11:00.000-05:00

It works both ways. Yesterday, my aunt gifted me with my grandmother's Bible. My grandmother passed away last November at age 96. The Bible is inscribed to her from her father, probably at her Confirmation, so that would have been around 1921. (He signed it "From her Father, Mr. A Schneider" - as if she wouldn't know!) Aunt Janet said that Grandma had observed to her that i was the only one of her grandchildren, including Janet's own four, who practiced any kind of a spiritual life.

i don't mean to sound self-righteous - it's just that, her words and that gift felt like a laying on of hands. In her lifetime, Grandma was a huge influence on me - i wonder if she knew how much?

2005-07-12T08:08:00.000-05:00

Grandma H with my kids on her front porch, 1998

Message in a Bottle

2005-07-09T03:14:00.000-05:00

A transatlantic phone call recently brought rushing back to me all the childish pleasure of those sealed-note experiments. N. is a charming woman i "met" on a message board 2 years ago; many e-mails and several delightful packages later, she asked for my phone number, and at 8 a.m. my time, 2 p.m. hers, i was rewarded with the sound of her voice all the way from Paris. We talked for an hour about our lives - and i suppose this connection is what i secretly yearn for, otherwise why bother to post random thoughts on a message board?

Experiments have shown that infants who fail to receive empathic responses to their early communication attempts stop attempting to communicate and fail to thrive. i wonder how many new blogs will just shrivel up and die from lack of response?

Rationale

2005-07-06T22:09:00.000-05:00

Here the Red Queen began again. "Can you answer useful questions?" she said. "How is bread made?"

"I know that!" Alice cried eagerly. "You take some flour -- "

"Where do you pick the flower?" the White Queen asked. "In a garden, or in the hedges?"

"Well, it isn't picked at all," Alice explained: "it's ground -- "

"How many acres of ground?" said the White Queen. "You mustn't leave out so many things."

"Fan her head!" the Red Queen anxiously interrupted. "She'll be feverish after so much thinking."

So they set to work and fanned her with bunches of leaves, till she had to beg them to leave off, it blew her hair about so.