"Short Takes" #2

"Getting Rid of the Gun" by Joyce Thompson

This story explores the relationship between a mother and daughter, from the point of view of the daughter. Her father recently passed away, and as they are going through his belongings, they find a gun that he told his wife he'd gotten rid of. The daughter becomes aware of relational complications her mother and father may have had, and ultimately, she is shown a different side of her mother.

I recommend checking this one out because it touches on parental relationships, which we often assume we know all about. It made me really think about how much I understand about my parent's relationship.

This week I also read:
"Ritual Meals" by Valerie Miner

Both stories happen to be focused on parent-child relationships/secrets. Interesting stuff!

"Without" + "Smell"

When I arrived at the section of Ackerman's book called "Anosmia," I really didn't know what I was going to be reading about. I'd never heard of the word before, so I dove right in. When I came up for air, my outlook on smell and taste was altered forever. That sounds a little dramatic, I know, but it really affected my outlook on life.

Taste is such a huge part of my life. I love food of all kinds, and to imagine living without the sense of taste is really impossible for me. The closest I've come to losing my sense of taste was actually this morning when I scalded my tongue and lip on hot lemon water. Uh, yeah, "ouch" doesn't even begin to describe that. My tongue felt numb after I spewed the hot liquid into the sink, and all day I've had trouble tasting my food.

The section about anosmia really opened my nostrils eyes to the fact that you can't have taste without smell. And if her book has taught me one other thing, it's that smell is pretty essential to my well-being and existence (ahem, mating pheromones  anyone?). The woman explaining her loss of smell wrote that, for example, if her house was burning down while she slept, she simply wouldn't know since she couldn't smell the smoke. She also wrote about dashing to restaurants when her taste and smell would randomly reappear--only to vanish again as they pulled into the parking lot.

The section made me reflect on experiences I've had with food and smell that would have never happened without those two senses, and it genuinely made me sad. We joke about not having a sixth sense... but some people don't even have all five. I know that the next time I eat my favorite meal (Pad Thai) or sniff my favorite scent (Miss Dior Chérie), I'm going to count my blessings, since I have all five senses. Maybe you should too.



I don't think I'll ever be an Ackerman in my writing. I can't compete with her moth-breathing, cow vagina-feeling self (if you haven't read the book, just don't question this...). To be honest, I'm not even going to try with that one.

My Johnson Baby

Things are about to get sappier than a maple tree. Cheesier than Wisconsin. Okay, I’ll stop. I apologize. That was cornier than an Orville Redenbacher bag. UGH. Sorry.

My Johnson Baby

You know how some people just don’t get along with their siblings? Yeah, that’s not like me at all. My brother, Adam, is now sixteen years old, but he has been the most important thing in my life since his creation (the mechanics of which I like to ignore). It’s cliché, but I would give up my life for him. He truly means the world to me.

When Adam was just a baby, I would help my mom give him baths. After each bath, she would smell the top of his head. She always said how much she loved the smell of his Johnson’s baby shampoo. Naturally, I would follow suit and smell Adam’s bald little head, too. I remember bending over him as he would lay on the bed, careful not to touch the soft spot on the top of his skull, and breathe in the slightly sweet, powdery scent. As Adam got older, his baldness turned into tufts of brunette hair, and still, I would race to him after every bath to take in the familiar, light fragrance. Now, Adam washes his hair with Axe shampoo. It’s that high school age, when Axe is considered gold. I’ve never been a fan of Axe because it’s slightly musky, woodland smell is slightly overpowering. But each time I visit home and Adam takes a shower, I still smell his hair. He's taller than be by almost an entire head. Instead of my bending over him, he bends down to me. But I don’t smell Adam’s Axe; he’s my Johnson baby.





I've never been very good at defining a person's "scent," but I went ahead with it best as I could. I'm certainly no professional nose, but I can try.

"Short Takes" #1

"Winter Wheat" by Anne McDuffie

The premise of this essay was actually very touching. I felt a deep sadness at the end, although I’m not sure that was the intention. I wanted the Grandfather’s tall tales to be true, just so he could live the life he apparently dreamed, but I knew that wasn’t the case.

In terms of senses, I didn’t get much other than sight from this author. In this case, one sense was enough. The focus was not so much on what she was feeling but rather how her family reacted to her grandfather and the impact he made on her life.



This week I also read:
"Signs and Wonders" by Rebecca McLanahan

Apparently I have a thing for authors whose last names include "Mc" at the beginning. My Irish heritage showing through? I don't know.

A most unromantic scent

After reading the first section of "A Natural History of the Senses," I realized I do not hold the words to describe smells, just as the author contends. Although it was very difficult for me to write this because I kept relating scent to other adjectives. 

"A most unromantic scent"

Mornings are romantic. The body wakes; all senses come alive. Sunlight peeks through slats in the blinds, casting golden streaks across the wall. Birds sing outside the window, greeting the day with a tune unique to your ears. Your fingers grasp the sheets pulled close to your neck, not wanting to enter the realm of reality just yet. You turn over to face the man in bed next to you, and he blinks open drowsy eyes, the corners of his mouth slowly turn up. After a whispered morning greeting, he leans over and kisses you, and you smell… morning breath. The air of romance quickly dissipates, pushed away by the singular stench of morning breath, which does not effect all of the human population, but, lucky for you, it does the man who seemed so perfect only minutes before. You quickly hold your breath and smile awkwardly as you pull away from his embrace, trying to act as though he doesn’t need to down a gallon of Listerine. Not wanting to embarrass him, hold your tongue. 

What about rancid morning breath, in relation to the thousands of other scents our nostrils inhale each day, makes it more taboo to talk about? We plainly say when other things smell less than pleasurable, so why can’t we just say, “Hey baby, your breath stinks. Brush your damn teeth, and then I’ll be in the mood.” It’s more personal than most other scents we emit, I guess, being that it comes from our mouths, which we use to communicate with everyone around us. Our mouths are made public, through conversation or kissing. Is morning breath any worse than daytime bad breath? I think so. Mornings are romantic; morning breath is not.  

I hope that no one was offended by that (as I understand you really have no control over what your breath smells like in the morning). I wonder if Thoreau had bad breath? I imagine he did, since dental care was less than stellar in his day. In that case, maybe I don't want to be Thoreau. I think I can overlook that point, though... or at least I can try.

About a spider resting upon a wall

Michel de Montaigne, to say the least, was not my cup of tea. However, I enjoyed the exposure to sixteenth century writing and the challenge presented to me. Emulating his work, I knew would be difficult for me because it is so vastly different from the way I write. A few things I noticed about Montaigne's work include:

• Use of ostentatious language, to a great extent
• Long, in-depth sentences (which I am not sure can actually be called sentences anymore–merely separate clauses strung together by semi-colons)
• Quotes inserted into his writing as neatly as if he had coined the phrases himself

The following short essay is my attempt at emulating Montaigne.

"About a spider resting upon a wall"

When we meet a spider resting upon a wall, in a house that we call our own, not belonging to the spider that has taken the space as its dwelling, instinct acts over reason; why has a minuscule arachnid taken rest where it should not? In a fit of fury we crush the spider; our blood pressure rises as we crumble the paper enclosing the corpse, and perhaps we throw the paper in with other waste. But is the spider, for we treat it as such, truly worthless? For a moment we may reflect on what we have taken from the world, the more vicious of humans simply evading such thoughts because idyllic creatures should not be bothered with such minor losses; the spider, who may not have known the error in his intrusion, did not hurt; but the threat imposed by its unwelcome existence, outweighs the mosquito it once at for our skins' sakes, for we took no time to understand the spider before making our final judgment.

We must consider the quick nature to dismiss a person based on a moment of unintentional blunder, as mistakes are often the beginning of ends; too often we are biased to faults over triumphs, for the lapses in our actions more often than not create the ultimate self; and more often than not we are presented with false facts about others that bring us to such conclusions:

“If you judge, investigate.”—Seneca

            For without investigation, we cannot comprehend.


You don't have to tell me twice that I'm no Montaigne. In fact, I know that already... but I can try. And in the meantime, I'll continue to write on as myself.