Tiny Stories, Tiny Tales

Like many people, I’m pretty aware that weird things get put into deodorants nowadays and since I don’t relish the thought of getting breast cancer- or any kind for that matter due to a deodorant, I switched over to deodorants that mask odor but don’t stop the sweat. These failed absolutely and completely. I became a stinky person who regularly washed a few times a day under her arms. Washing three times per day (or more) made the skin on my underarms dry out and become itchy. I felt like a bit of a monkey at times, scratching at my armpits. It just wasn’t cool.

Until…I finally pulled myself together and ordered the goods. And this is what I made

The recipe is all angry chicken’s doing. How people figure these things out on their own, beats me but I’m so in love with her recipe. Is that possible? Of course! I’m on day two after lots of exercise and still not a stink anywhere. Not one trace. And the ingredients are loveable to the body. It makes me happy and it just might make you too. It’s so simple and completely gratifying to make and use. And pretty inexpensive! It takes only a tiny bit to make 4 oz. and I’m figuring this 4 oz. will last a good while.

On a bookish note, there’s a new illustrated cover of “Wrinkle in Time” out. Here it is…it’s just so pretty, I had to share.

Isn’t it lovely? Even better in person, of course. The illustrator, Taeeun Yoo, has an etsy shop too.

So that’s a few things I’m loving right now. What’s making you happy this spring?

Comments (3):

  1. Cindi, Mom, Me

    May 4, 2009 at 8:27 pm

    This is really cool. I’ll have to check it out.

  2. mollie

    May 13, 2009 at 9:02 pm

    Hey, Angry Chicken did an update on her use of the deodorant today. She’s still loving it. Oooh, and thanks for showing off the lovely cover of that book…if only I liked A Wrinkle in Time I would get it. (We listened to it on a trip once and I thought I would go out of my mind! I’m just not one for fantasy type things)

  3. Catherine

    May 20, 2009 at 3:10 pm

    Cindi: Tell me if you make it! or I could always make some for you, if you wanted to try it.
    Mollie: Sorry it took me so long to approve of your comment. I thought I Had but apparently I have to approve of comments in two separate ways to make it appear…how bureaucratic of this thing…anyway, I’ve never been able to listen to a book and like it. I get way too bored. and “wrinkle in time” is a quirky bird of a book …and it’s quirk fits in well with reading on a stormy night! I find myself always starting it on a stormy night…

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Out for a Walk with the Wind and Water

I love being alone in the park along the river. As soon as I step out of my car, I tell that I’m alone by the unusual silence stretching out in all directions. It’s a special sort of hush because instead of human voices dominating the space, it’s the gentle call of birds, animals, wind, and water that fill the air. These are much more gentle and quiet for they represent a continuation of a certain life on this planet, a life much older than humans.

I glow inwardly as I walk the park alone and for the first time in days, I smile to myself. Some Buddha statues wear slight smiles, the internal smile to the eternal world and as the memory of the statues comes back to me, the pleasure of connection causes me to relax even more.

When alone outdoors, I can relate to myself most fully and watch and listen with more mindfulness. I hear the birds first—the chickadees scolding one another and sounding like sweet, soft toy horns and then the cardinals, chirruping and checking up on one another. The sparrows hop and cheep in barren branches, never to be overlooked and always numerous.

Then comes the sound of water, lapping along the riverbank, rolling itself under the bridge.

The wind follows, shifting a blanket of leaves across my path and swaying tree branches overhead. The evergreens branches issue a soft shirrrrr-ing sound as the wind passes through. They retain a green elegance while everything else is brown, stripped down bare.

After I have heard the squirrels cracking walnuts and rustling through the dried weeds, and after I have seen the wind ruffling the river’s top, then finally, I can hear myself. That sound is very low and deep and it takes me a little while to hear it, after the delight of hearing everything else. But it is there and it inevitably opens up what I need to know that day whether it be comfort, direction, an answer, a question, or all of it. It has taken my whole life to hear myself and I have paid a great price for it but I would do it again in a heartbeat. For when a woman has herself, the nightmares slip away back into the inky, black darkness and living life is hers.

And so the wind moves through the evergreens, it plays along the water, and dives between the feathers of the birds. It touches my face and we walk together, two entities atop this impossible blue planet.

Ouroboros in the Park

Japanese anemone flowers open blush pink petals in the park.  Their tall, delicate stems hold up the tender flowers, and in the centers glow tiny pistil-laden suns. Furry carpenter bees buzz in a frenzy, adoring the tiny suns. Like all true worshipers, they circle round and round the yellow centers, smearing themselves in joy and pollen.

I also circle a center, but the object of my adoration is the park itself. As the path guides me around and around, my body, full of the usual tensions and distresses, takes the cue, finds the beat and the measure and walks to it.

The English Romantic Poets of the early 19th century were great walkers and believed that walking was essential to writing to poetry. With the body busy, the mind can walk freely, investing in its visions and tunneling down into what were previously subterranean thoughts.

This small park is my open field, my verdure, my ramble through hill and dale. My feet move on, sometimes slowing to a near pause, other times hurrying, suddenly propelled by a new and vivid notion.

About the fifth time around, a sort of mesmerism occurs and I fall under the trance of the day. The circle becomes a mantra uttered by my feet—knees, hips, shoulders, and arms follow along and we head down the path. I must walk, I must keep walking, I must continue to walk and the resolution becomes a reassurance as a cool breeze fills my lungs; I am alive and refreshed.

I pass under the oaks and dodge their falling acorns. Sometimes I entertain the notion that squirrels are hurling them, but when I catch sight of their small triangular faces they look as startled as me. It is the oaks themselves that are throwing the acorns down. I momentarily consider bringing an umbrella, opening it when I walk under the oaks, but this an old consideration that I’ve been contemplating for years of autumns and I’ve never acted on it. Instead, I dodge and the squirrels stare hard.

Finally I have to go but the revolutions and bees in the park stay with me even after I leave, continuing  with their wheeling. They pass through the days and nights, rapturous and serene, monotonous some days and a miracle on others, and on most days both. They exist in the circle that is sometimes opened, sometimes closed. Within the circle, everything changes and nothing changes each time we pass through.

 

Kazuaki Tanahashi, Miracle at Each Moment