Cocoon

All of my life I've had healing powers, so much so that my mom (who likes to play skeptic) was forced to tell me so directly to my face. It's a huge "win" for me, but a severe loss in her magically passive-aggressive "Wonderland of Rightness", with rules according to "Dr. Diane". She pretty much had to, because I've nursed her through such severe injuries, breaks, falls, and surgeries, that there were times when, even in her delusion fantasies, she didn't think she'd make it back, going so far as to say to me a few times "I'd be dead without you". Fear not, New Yorkers; she'd lapse right back into snarky self-righteousness, right after I picked her up off the floor. Again. 

In this century, we have companies with paid personnel who exist to help old ladies from their apartment floors and cloudy senses of reality, with such great hits from my mom like: "I was very athletic when I was young. You don't know!" Really? What did you do? "I walked bridges! I used to walk all the time." Yeah, I know. It's called "New York", not "Oz", and you were sixteen years old at the time, which means you should be able to walk a few miles, and you did it one time exactly. What else?

"No, no, no. I used to ski. I'm an excellent skier!" When? Once, on your honeymoon in the Poconos, so you could make fun of Dad comin' from broke-ass Bed Stuy because you knew he wouldn't be able to do a rich white man sport the very first time he put on downhill skis. Or, was it the time you tripped playing tennis and broke your back, which we nursed you back from? "OK. Let's change the subject. You're getting on my nerves." That's what I thought. Win all over it.

It's right up there with her superior sense of martial arts skills above me and my very-belted bro, because years ago I introduced her to Tai Chi while I was taking classes. I showed her a video I had on hand, and then I either gave it to her or bought her one of her own for Christmas, but, basically, my deal. She went home, found a "Bubbies-only" Tai Chi class in Westchester that's sit-down in a chair, then bragged to everyone for years about how "good" she was. "See? Look at me punch. Look, Marie! I'm really good at it! My teacher said so." Good at simulating punching...yeah, I know you like to hit.

Anyway, back to reality. Everyone in my family who's had direct contact with me gets healed. My cousin Susan beat Stage 4 lymphatic cancer, and she was the only one in her control group to do so. She chain-smoked cigarettes the whole time, too, much to my dad's embarrassment when he picked her up after her doses of chemo curbside, as a small bald child with a headscarf was wheeled into the facility. Wave "hi!" to them! She also beat the secondary cancers afterward, knowing the aggressive treatment she had was the cause. 

Of course, it isn't magic. She had the right attitude, and she did everything her doctors told her to do (rare for her personality type), plus she was motivated to heal for her son, who would be orphaned if she died. Then, my dad had cancer. He beat it, too. Ditto with my mom and her sisters. Of course, they all used traditional Western medicine, as well as some homeopathic kinds, too.

It's become such an open thing with me that I don't even really try to stop people from making the connection any more, mystical guru powers aside. I made friends with an odd but friendly Korean lady who was taking martial arts at the same dojo. She really sucked at it, but she wanted to make herself feel better from both physical and mental symptoms, so she continued with it, despite an utter lack of focus, continuity, muscle mass, and talent. After she figured out that a few cheap kickboxing classes do not cure you from being a lonely orphan in a new country or painful sciatica, she decided to add into her already ridiculously over-packed life Acupuncture classes, at a professional school in Manhattan.

Over brunch one morning, she played with light conversational sparring techniques that are much more effective in Asia than New York City, where we knew all the flava's here, honey. By now, she knew I was some "big-time" Art Director in publishing, which meant her prior career as a commercial print-making designer for a Chinatown textile firm that fronted her the money to relocate here meant squat to me, though I was delighted to learn that she was artistic at one time. She then worked in massage (got that down, too) and her new studies at the traditional school of medicine that's part voodoo folklore mixed with some basic common sense.

After she cleaned her plate way faster than me, a sophisticated salad of greens perfectly dressed for summer, remarking on the deliciousness of the food in every restaurant I took her to during our brief friendship, she said to me that I should seriously consider becoming an herbalist at her school for Asian folk and their wanna-be's. After a few more outings with her, when I casually body-surfed expertly in an ocean she was afraid of and then schooled her in my 'hood, I noticed that she gradually distanced herself from me, in that way that I've come to know as the typically passive-aggressive Asian lady brush-off. 

I could see that she didn't have much to come back with, and I didn't have the heart to tell her that my mom was one of the first female botanists at the Bronx Botanical Gardens, or that the devoted people of my faith have made real discoveries in medicine that are now worldwide cures, from the traditional abbey herbal gardens that span thousands of years. She wasn't listening to me, anyway.


Yes, my Asian peoples of the world: it's time to get over your "foreigner" fears. School is now in session! Please to enjoy the following links:
http://www.scienceinschool.org/2013/issue27/monastic
http://legacy.fordham.edu/halsall/medny/herbgdn1.html
http://bit.ly/1KpoTz4

Health News: Under Your Arm

I've known for years about the link between breast cancer and commerical anti-perspirants/deodorants, my introduction to it via the then-fringe "granola"  world, coming at me during art school, when I willingly elected to live in a house with some touchy-feely vegetarian types, who remain my friends to this day. Back then there were no harder core levels like the vegan, the gluten-free allergist, or the macrobiotic, because just being a vegetarian was weird enough, though my housemates did introduce me to levels like the "lacto ovo" vegetarians and "pescatarian"; those who eat dairy items, like eggs and cheese, and those who also integrate some fish into their diets. I grew accustomed to eating a lot of pasta with vegetable tomato sauce, brightened with hot sauce and Muenster cheese, to make up for the lack of animal protein in my diet. It didn't work for me, because I'm genetically an omnivore, but I learned some very useful items during my time with the Peta-supporting vegetarian crowd, namely that most of our cosmetics and toiletries are made with really unhealthy shit. I had no idea that toothpaste had sugar in it, until my friend told me companies added it so kids would get hooked on the taste to use more product, which is the exact opposite of a dentist's advice about avoiding sugary foods that promote tooth decay. Oh, the irony. My sensitive friend also left out the latest Peta pamphlet she picked up from the local hippie food store with a dramatic picture of the poor rabbit who developed pink eye while forced to submit to eye makeup testing; the only granola grocery store in Providence, RI at the time, with sparsely stocked shelves holding expensively priced items aimed at that "Trustarfarian" near you (a rich kid who wears really expensive hemp clothes, like the shit Gwenyth Paltrow posts on her Goop blog). Yeah, that type of rich kid: really annoying, but kinda right. Anywho, their focus also extended to cosmetic items. 
 

Irritated...by baking soda!

There was Dr. Bonner's soap in the bathroom, printed with his folksy End of the World scenarios about our collective scary future, which was used for hair, skin, and tub cleaning, along with the Moosewood cookbook in our vegetarian kitchen, all rigorously correct items for any self-respecting do-gooder going to a college so expensive, that the few middle-class kids I knew in my classes had parents who took out a second mortgage to gamble on their RISD kids future successes. Yeah, like that kind of pressure. So I went with it, and folded it into my current lexicon. Years later, at a recording studio in Denver, I worked with a guy who lost his Mom suddenly, with no real answers about her death at the time our employment histories overlapped, except for one finding from the doctor who performed the autopsy: an overdose to her system from Mercury poisoning. I never forgot his story, nor the fact that he completely refrained from any kind of under the arm treatment, except for the occasional use of those salt crystals you find in the hardest core hippy store. I can't go with that crystal thing, (it's just so friggin' hippy crazy), but I do supplement my health care routine with under arm baking soda, so effective at controlling bacteria, that there is no under arm funk AT ALL, but the stringent salt does cause a red, itchy reaction with me. So, it's back to expensive organic lavender roll-on, which I can't really afford, but I try to look at it this way: how can I afford not to? It'll last a lot longer than the cheap $.99 stuff now marked down for quick sale (thanks to those pesky ingredient baddies we know about), but you take a gamble on your future health and the risks involved by ignoring your doctor's sage advice. Huh...death, or food stamps? For now, I know what my choice is, but I really hate being in this position. Take it on as an issue, folks, before you really have no choice. à bientôt!

http://www.mamavation.com/2014/06/armpit-cleanse-reduce-breast-cancer-risk.html

Toothpaste, and Other Acts of Kindness

Simply organic, with no bullshit added.

When the last of my so-called "natural", big, name-brand toothpaste ran out, I went back to the shelves of the truly hardcore section of my local grocery store, the ones holding actual organic products, for a replacement. You see, that "Uncle Tom" of a brand has Sodium lauryl sulfate in it (http://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2010/07/13/sodium-lauryl-sulfate.aspx), along with a host of other chemical baddies, which directly conflicts with its supposedly wholesome brand. Huh. A company that lies to the consumer? No. Can't be!

Well, the actual healthy brands are priced so far out of reach of the average consumer (in the $8-10 range, a complete joke for working families struggling to make ends meet), that I knew I had to find a better solution. Like any good herbalist, I trusted my instincts to guide me in the right direction. And there it was online; the solution presented itself to me under me deft fingertips: a recipe for making my own toothpaste at home, and here it is: http://www.crunchybetty.com/homemade-toothpaste-want-to-ditch-the-fluoride?printthis=1&printsect=1.

I had some mint leaves that were turning quickly, so I cut some up and put it in the first batch that I made. Unfortunately, without a bunch of preservatives, real food spoils quickly. Yuck! The next batch was truer to the recipe: coconut oil, baking soda, peppermint oil, and some organic Stevia to take the edge off of the extreme saltiness that comes with baking soda. At first my gums tingled a bit and then ached lightly (not in a bad way, more like the itch that comes with a small cut healing), but, you know what? When I brush my teeth now, I see no blood in the sink, and I brush a couple of times in a row with my homemade toothpaste to get that clean feeling I like.

I was told years ago that I had the early onset of periodontal disease by a dentist, and that I needed really expensive planing (a intense type of cleaning, done in sectors, over a couple of visits) of my teeth to remove plaque, for which there is no cure, according to the slick, hip, Brooklyn dentist I saw. Truth be told, I have always seen blood in the sink from my gums when I brush my teeth, even as a small child. Some dentist or other always told me just to continue brushing my gums, and that they would "toughen up" over time. But, it never happened. Until now.

You're welcome.

p.s.- I took the remaining mint leaves and some of the organic peppermint oil to the bath with me this morning, and I feel quite moisturized. Expensive spa treatments, indeed.

At Home: Eucalyptus

Sprigs of eucalyptus in the shower.

I'd pinned something onto a Pinterest board months ago, in anticipation of actually using the tip some time in the future, unlike your average Martha Stewart-like devotee who has no intention of working with her hands. No offense ladies, but I'm no voyeur who fantasizes about other people's wealth and leisurely pursuits. I ain't got time for that. Unlike those of that ilk (again, no offense), I actually started making stuff before I was completely aware of it, like so many of us early humans. Unlike the rest of the herd, I splintered off into that specialized camp who actually succeeds in creating regularly, to such an extent that I knew better than to ignore it. I decided to make it my life's work.

To be honest, I have nothing against dreaming housewives. I spend a lot of time at home, and I've always enjoyed my own company and making spaces feel livable and healthy and good, like many, many women have before me. Even as I knew my life would be fuller than most, I cherish the time I have for hobbies, especially those devoted to hearth and home. So when I pin something onto a bulletin board, either of the cork kind or the newfangled  digital version, I really mean it, just like everything else I do.

It's that kind of authenticity that people have come to rely on me for, and I cherish that, too. I respect myself, and my audience. Years ago, my doctor (a very intelligent woman, and here's the full disclosure: all of my health care workers are women. I mean, like, every single one. Another feminine bias of mine;) advised me about the benefits of eucalyptus oil in a humidifier or steaming bath to naturally unclog congestion, just like those oily, thick, petroleum jellies of yore, except this is good for you AND it works.

With that in mind, I took another leap, and I promised myself that the next time I soaked in a hot bath, I'd get some actual branches of it to hang around the shower head, letting nature do the rest. What's great about this new bathing system (in addition to cleaning my sinuses without drugs), is re-using some of the dried leaves in a steamer pot that I have on the radiator. More natural health benefits: the steamer filled with water humidifies my environment, and gives off that beneficial eucalyptus steam. I get some branches of it from the local florist that they have leftover from the week's other arrangements. Thank you, Schweizer Florist!

When I come home hours later, the good, clean smell of it still lingers in the air. That's a tip on the house from me to you, which is way cheaper than a bunch of OTC pills and a doctor's visit. Take care out there, and remember, winter's almost over.

http://www.pinterest.com/mariedoucette/homedecor/