I miss the real smells of life. When I was a kid, I loved the wholesome smells of newly mown grass, New Jersey tomatoes bursting at the seams, and my mom or sister as they stepped out of the shower. Where have all the real smells gone?
I was raised in the fifties, before deodorant soap and heavy fragrances dominated everything from toothpaste to shampoo. I’ve always had a super sense of smell and chemical odors sent me running. I didn’t know until years later that I was chemically sensitive, and would be hounded by these smells for a lifetime.
When perfume hits my olfactory nerve, I become jumpy, hyper, distracted, stressed, and my skin starts hiving immediately. After considerable research, I learned that perfume (and "fragrance" in other products) consists of 85-95% volatile organic compounds, such as formaldehyde, benzene, xylene, and toluene.
In the fifties and sixties, perfume was something you wore on a special date, and very discretely; a little dab behind the ears that could only be detected when you were dancing cheek to cheek. Now, it’s common for some of us to wear a keg of it to work. What’s wrong with smelling like our clean selves? Many perfume wearers don’t stop to consider how uncomfortable or downright sick they can make others.
Fresh flowers picked from the garden are a fond childhood memory. We didn’t feel the need to plug toxic chemical air fresheners into the wall. Dish soap didn’t need to smell like vanilla, deodorant didn’t reek of menthol, and dirty socks---well, they smelled like dirty socks---maybe we’d sprinkle a little baking soda in our shoes to soften the punch.
The artificial scents of today are a sort of mask for the authentic smells. I’d prefer to smell a real cow paddy than artificial apricot scented fabric softener. When did we decide to allow industry to dictate how things should smell?
I don’t expect the world to become as pure and healthy as the environment I’ve had to create. But a little education would be helpful. There are some great organizations that are getting the word out about the dangers of chemically-laden products, many of which are carried in their fragrances. The Environmental Working Group has done a stand-up job of educating the public and so have smaller groups like Marin County’s Teens Turning Green. The average person looks at me cross-eyed when I bring this issue up, even though they may react physically to perfume. It's become a political issue, even a civil rights issue now that the populace seems to have lost all sense of moderation, let alone courtesy.
When I blow out my birthday candles, I’m going to wish for a little more consideration on everyone’s part. Next time you douse yourself in perfume before going to work, think of those of us who truly suffer as you pass us in the hall. And bring back the good old smells….Personally, I enjoy a whiff of someone who has worked hard in the sun all day, just for old time’s sake. Sweat is honest.
Mark of Time
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
The Magnificent Elizabeth Berg
Eleven days ago, I happened upon an interesting looking book on a cart of book donations. I have a thing for "return when done" books because three or four titles often end up on my nightstand at any given time, and I can linger among them as long as I like. "The Art of Mending," by Elizabeth Berg, seemed mildly appealing, with its cover depicting lush quilting fabrics and its no-doubt metaphorical title. Several hours later in my workday, I had almost finished this intense, profound, yet gentle story of siblings disconnected in childhood by hidden parental abuse.
I have an uncanny knack for connecting with books that teach me what I both need to learn and am ready to handle at opportune times; these books are also entertaining, in the most satisfying and profound sense. It's a Zen sort of thing....the books almost literally fall into my hands off some remainder table or are rescued from gathering dust on the bottom shelf of the Friends of the Library cart. Although there is loss and death and sadness in these novels, the protagonist is usually triumphant or wiser or enriched and gifted in some small or large way by the close. There is usually sweet connection too, born of pain and struggle. And there is grace, a strong sense of grace.
As soon as I finished "The Art of Mending," I was off to the library to see what other Berg novels I could gather. Yahoo! There are twelve in all, each with a metaphorical, memorable title such as "Durable Goods," "Until the Real Thing Comes Along," and "Never Change." I read Berg's first novel next, "Durable Goods," a painfully poignant tale of a young girl growing up on military bases with a harsh, abusive father and an older sister. Berg doesn't write as a young girl; she becomes that fourteen year old girl, emerging each day through the pain of growing up with an unapproachably hard father, a sympathetic yet preoccupied older sister, and a deceased mother with a spunky, hopeful optimism that never rings false or Polyannaish.
The next title I devoured was "Until the Real Thing Comes Along." This is a novel of impossible love, the love between a gay man and a straight woman who decide to conceive a child and play house in spite of their explicitly different sexual orientations. It's also a story of friendship, maternal longing, and at times, a bit of a farce.
Each of the Berg novels I have read so far has an underlying theme of parental abuse or neglect, sometimes in relation to the protagonist, sometimes relating to a minor character. There is also a strongly though sometimes subtly repeated theme of inner versus outer beauty, the opposing forces of chosen versus fate-driven isolation, and the difficulty of living with another person at midlife.
In "Never Change," Berg's protagonist is a mousy looking woman of fifty-one who has felt like an ugly duckling all her life. This strikes me as fascinating given the many different photos of Berg on each jacket flap; she is a radiantly, naturally beautiful woman whose black and white image stuns this viewer as Berg peers out of her two-inch frame.
Reading Elizabeth Berg has been like keeping a box of Joseph Schmidt chocolate truffles in the house. Self-control is not an option. If they're under my roof, I will read them! I thank the Universe for presenting me with a bad cold these last few days. They have been days filled with Berg characters.
And I have eight more to go!
I have an uncanny knack for connecting with books that teach me what I both need to learn and am ready to handle at opportune times; these books are also entertaining, in the most satisfying and profound sense. It's a Zen sort of thing....the books almost literally fall into my hands off some remainder table or are rescued from gathering dust on the bottom shelf of the Friends of the Library cart. Although there is loss and death and sadness in these novels, the protagonist is usually triumphant or wiser or enriched and gifted in some small or large way by the close. There is usually sweet connection too, born of pain and struggle. And there is grace, a strong sense of grace.
As soon as I finished "The Art of Mending," I was off to the library to see what other Berg novels I could gather. Yahoo! There are twelve in all, each with a metaphorical, memorable title such as "Durable Goods," "Until the Real Thing Comes Along," and "Never Change." I read Berg's first novel next, "Durable Goods," a painfully poignant tale of a young girl growing up on military bases with a harsh, abusive father and an older sister. Berg doesn't write as a young girl; she becomes that fourteen year old girl, emerging each day through the pain of growing up with an unapproachably hard father, a sympathetic yet preoccupied older sister, and a deceased mother with a spunky, hopeful optimism that never rings false or Polyannaish.
The next title I devoured was "Until the Real Thing Comes Along." This is a novel of impossible love, the love between a gay man and a straight woman who decide to conceive a child and play house in spite of their explicitly different sexual orientations. It's also a story of friendship, maternal longing, and at times, a bit of a farce.
Each of the Berg novels I have read so far has an underlying theme of parental abuse or neglect, sometimes in relation to the protagonist, sometimes relating to a minor character. There is also a strongly though sometimes subtly repeated theme of inner versus outer beauty, the opposing forces of chosen versus fate-driven isolation, and the difficulty of living with another person at midlife.
In "Never Change," Berg's protagonist is a mousy looking woman of fifty-one who has felt like an ugly duckling all her life. This strikes me as fascinating given the many different photos of Berg on each jacket flap; she is a radiantly, naturally beautiful woman whose black and white image stuns this viewer as Berg peers out of her two-inch frame.
Reading Elizabeth Berg has been like keeping a box of Joseph Schmidt chocolate truffles in the house. Self-control is not an option. If they're under my roof, I will read them! I thank the Universe for presenting me with a bad cold these last few days. They have been days filled with Berg characters.
And I have eight more to go!
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Speaking of books....
As a teacher of middle-school students, I have the pleasure of reading some great literature. When I was a reference librarian in Pacifica, way back in the early eighties, I would go to middle schools and give book talks about the new genre of "young adult" novels. In the last decade, the genre has really come into its own. There are numerous fantasy series that are well-written, original, and exciting. One of the best series I've read recently is "The Hunger Games," a trilogy by Suzanne Collins. It's a dystopian novel that kept me up many nights with its horrific, graphic, and brilliantly realized futuristic society. Panem, the future U.S. society, is composed of 13 districts (does that number ring a bell?). Had I read this at the age of fourteen, I'd have had nightmares for months. Not for the fainthearted, this series makes the reader work as hard as the characters to survive a toxic and nefarious world. But it's worth all the pain and stress...and you will meet some truly heroic young people.
Sitting on a cornflake on a (sunny) afternoon
It's January in Northern California. The sun is streaming in through the kitchen window as I sit and write. Two students have emailed me already today, needing to change their tutoring session times. Basketball games, illness, science fairs and the like insinuate themselves between the carefully scheduled hours on my ical page. Life, in all its glory, has stuck its tongue out at me, messing with the intricate planning and scheduling of my work.
It's exasperating, all these changes. Then I realize I could be sitting at a desk, watching the clock, waiting for my lunch hour or closing time. I remember that I am free!! Free to schedule my time as I wish, to take a walk, or toss in a load of laundry, or call a friend in the middle of my workday. I exhale, then, and go with the flow.
I've just finished reading "Thrive." It's a book about the "happiest" places on earth, and how people define happiness for themselves and their families. The author states that studies have proven that, as long as one has the basic needs met--food, shelter, clothing and a bit of security--having more money does not appreciably enhance one's sense of happiness. I agree with that at a gut level. I've never been a materialist. This year is LEAN. But the flip side is freedom, and flexibility, and many teachable moments.
It's exasperating, all these changes. Then I realize I could be sitting at a desk, watching the clock, waiting for my lunch hour or closing time. I remember that I am free!! Free to schedule my time as I wish, to take a walk, or toss in a load of laundry, or call a friend in the middle of my workday. I exhale, then, and go with the flow.
I've just finished reading "Thrive." It's a book about the "happiest" places on earth, and how people define happiness for themselves and their families. The author states that studies have proven that, as long as one has the basic needs met--food, shelter, clothing and a bit of security--having more money does not appreciably enhance one's sense of happiness. I agree with that at a gut level. I've never been a materialist. This year is LEAN. But the flip side is freedom, and flexibility, and many teachable moments.
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