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Embrace The Middle

Michael 8 Comments
Are things becoming less restrictive where you are? There are not yet here but I have read there is some movement toward more recognizable routines we had been used to in some locales. Now that would be some movement toward something approaching what we used to think of as normal for some activities in some areas. Not the whole world is back to what we want it do tomorrow.
 
When things do lososen up, I don’t know that I’ll be thinking that’s the right choice or not. Here’s what I believe and I believe I’ll say it. Or write it. I believe we are approaching a whole different “normal” that’s going to be the norm for yet some more time and that new normal isn’t quite what most of us remember as the old normal at all. Whether we want it or not, whether we accept it or not, or whether we get used to it or not, it’s going to happen, and it’s going to happen slowly. And people are going to just beat the crap out of that “Love your neighbor” thing we had going.
 
We aren’t going turn a switch and all the stores and restaurants and schools and churches will open, sports arena will be standing room only and theaters will have the hottest ticket in town, air travel will return with too tight seating and cruise ships will be packed to the deck rails, and spas and salons will be cutting hair, painting nails, and massaging under worked and over appreciated muscles overnight. 
 
When it starts it is going to be a slow start, an adventure of misstarts, missteps, and probably a retreat or two. It will be gradual and will take more patience than it takes now when we are waiting. And here’s the thing – write this down – we don’t wait well, and it will be worse when we get just a taste of life without waiting.
 
Humans aren’t designed to go slow. Patience is such a virtue because because nobody has it! We want to go. We are okay staying still. But getting from stop to full speed is not man’s strong point. We aren’t good in the middle.
 
Think of all the middles out there and then honestly think is that where you want to be. The middle seat. Middle management. Middle age. Middle of nowhere!
 
It’s coming. It’s going be bad. Almost everybody is going to say it’s too soon to reopen the world or we’ve been closed off for too long. Nobody is going to say well at least there is a little more I can do today and I’m thankful for that. 
 
When the transition begins be thankful for the little changes, know they are the first steps to bigger changes, remember you didn’t get to where you are today overnight, and embrace the middle. 
 
ROCKANDHARD-PLACE
 
 
 

What’s in a (Nick)Name

Michael 1 Comment
As we move deeper and deeper into our isolation it’s becoming harder and harder to find an article, post, blog, podcast, phone call (!) that doesn’t reference COVID-19. But I think I’ve finally found something I can write about where the virus isn’t right up there in the first paragraph. Ooops.
 
Anyway… how about death? Actually death notices – you know, obits, necrologies, life tributes, obituaries. I’ve noticed something about them, oh yes I have indeed. And not just that there are getting to be a lot of them out there nor that I haven’t shown up in one yet. I’m seeing that a lot of people don’t seem to know their own name. I’m guessing here.
 
Just recently there have been a lot of obituaries in the paper for people with multiple names. I don’t mean the deceased married woman who is listed with both her married and maiden names. I mean people with 2, sometimes 3 given names. I saw one just this morning (real name changed to protect his guardian angel from being teased by the other guardian angels): Joseph “JB” “Joey,” “Scooter” Brown. Ummmm. Really? Are there people reading the obituaries coming across Joey’s name and aren’t sure if they only saw Joseph listed that they could not be sure if that was the same Joey who was their friend? And those who didn’t know him as anything but Scooter, what are the chances they even know Scooter Who?
 
I saw a lot of them over the past few days, and some pretty colorful monikers too. Stucky, Gar Gar, Dickie Lou, Butch, Baby, Babe, Mac (whose last name did not start Mc or Mac), Birdie, and Stitch to name several more than a few.
 
I remember the gang my father hung out with. Nobody had a real name. Actually they all did but they didn’t Anglicize their names so they used nicknames to make calling them easier. Among them were Bunny, Ninny, Patsy, Mare, Jojo, and Tuner. These were all guys by the way. But the obituary didn’t read John “Bunny” Doe. It was just John Doe and everybody knew that was Bunny. No, multiple choice names weren’t necessary and they still got good send offs. Mostly because everybody knew everybody then and the crowd at the funeral home was already spilling out to the parking lot before the obituary was even published. I can’t imagine the funeral director would even put an order through for Ninny to be printed on the prayer cards. Some of the other names might even make a prayer card spontaneously combust! 
 
I can’t imagine my obituary reading anything but the name I have on my driver’s license. And I’m not so sure about this trend of putting pictures in obituaries either. You look at some of them, “John Doe, 93, died in his sleep after a long, long, long illness,” and there’s a picture of some young guy in full hiking regalia climbing out of a canoe. If it gets to where they insist on a picture then I guess if they’re going to use my driver’s license name they might as well use that picture too. And I already have the plaque for the drawer preordered and that has the name from the check I sent them to pay for the engraving. Just fill in the end date. 
 
Hmm, you know, I wonder what’s on Scooter’s headstone.
 
 
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Farm to Fable

Michael 3 Comments
Now things have gone too far! Oh, hi. Sorry. I seem to have started in the middle. Let me back up.
 
As I approach the Doddering Years I have three joys. A good long chat with a dear friend, Sunday dinner – cooking and eating – with my daughter, and a few hours spent each week fondling ripe produce. (Fondling ripe other stuff is pretty much now confined to unconscious sleep time activities and with much thanks to dreams that forever live in the pre-doddering years.) [Sigh] Now where was I? Right, doddering.
 
Phones calls, text messages, emails, and a video now and then contribute to maintaining contact with those not with you during this time of not allowing those to not be not with you. I don’t know what others think but I find the art of phone calling rebounding. For a while text messages and direct contact through the various social platforms seemed to have phone calls going the way of pay phones. I believe the desire to hear another voice is driving an increase in calling minutes. Regardless of how much we’ve retreated into a world of contact by social medium, social media isn’t all that social. But the tone of a familiar voice, the lilt of emotions not requiring emoticon augmentation, or the thoughtful pause of reflection contribute to the experience of communication that go so much beyond “on my way, there in 10.” Even isolated I continue to experience the joy of a good long chat with a dear friend.
 
For some time now every Sunday my daughter packed up her dog and his toys, occasionally added an onion or select chicken parts to her parcels, and made her way to me for a day of cooking, eating, and reporting of the previous week’s activities and upcoming week’s plan. Although we have both been careful with our contact with everyone just about to the point that there is almost no contact with anyone, we have suspended these food fests for the duration or until whenever we say “oh enough of this already!” But still she brings me groceries every 2 weeks and we still cook a big meal each Sunday in our own kitchens and share our results electronically. It’s not perfect but it works for us and keeps some version of Sunday dinner in the joy category.
 
Our Sunday cooking extravaganza always left me with enough meals and meal compontents that I could spend a good part of the following week just reheating. Several days each week though I still had to construct a full dinner on my own. These days were always such fun. I would rarely wake and say today “I want [insert specific food here]” but would often wake and say “I wonder what looks good at the store today” and then plan a trip to the market to critically examine meats, sniff fish, and squeeze produce. I am very fortunate that I have a small Italian market within walking distance of my kitchen (and uphill only in one direction!) where you are encouraged to use up to four senses before adding a purchase to your basket. (You could sometimes use the fifth after asking.) (Yes, you do know which one I mean!) In the absence of the little market, and it is now absent since the owner decided he would be happier staying alive than staying open, the nearest supermarket has an excellent produce section, a well stocked and maintained fish counter, and a butcher ready to butcher on request. One way or another I had sufficient opportunity to find something that looked good with which to build dinner.
 
But now I’m stuck at home and the only tomatoes I get to choose from are those my daughter had the pleasure of putting under her thumb – so to speak. No sniffing the blossom end of a cantaloupe, or peeking between the leaves of an artichoke. No examining the fat marbled through a New York strip or glistening in a filet of salmon. No losing oneself in the intoxicating aroma of cheeses and sausages ready to be sliced or portioned to my specifications. [Sigh] [Again] 
 
Bad as that is, its going to get worse, even as it appears it may be getting better. Last week the pronouncement came down from on high. No farmers’ markets this year. Farm markets to be sure. You can still go to them, but no weekly gathering of all the local farms at a convenient park or parking lot with their most recent hauls of fruits and vegetables, their just baked breads and pastries, their hand cut cuts of beef and pork, their eggs and chickens, or even their kitsch and tchotchkes. [Big sigh]
 
No, even if I get the chance to go out and shop on my own this summer it won’t be the same. The joys of fondling fresh fennel fronds straight from the farm are just not to be. [Sigh] [Still] But al least I can still dream.
 
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Calling All Comments

Michael Leave a comment
 
I swear I’m being singled out for some punishment for an infraction I am unaware of. Either that or I (more likely) have done something to my WordPress account without realizing it. You probably wouldn’t have noticed because I’m not a terribly often commentor although when I do I tend to be a verbose commentor, but now I’ve become a non-commentor. Actually I was made a non-commentor but I don’t know who did the making although something tells me it could have been me.
 
I think this might have started around Christmas. I commented on somebody’s post and I would typically get some reaction but I didn’t. I’m sure I didn’t think much about that because it was the holidays and everybody’s life gets a little busier then. It was probably a couple weeks after that I did again and again I didn’t and then I thought “hmmm.” Then yet again and again not and then for sure I thought “well isn’t that the darnedest thing.” 
 
So I explored and discovered the comment I thought with which I commented wasn’t there. And it wasn’t here either. I reentered it carefully making certain to not inadvertently use any forbidden language, the hit the proper keys, then hit the proper keys properly, and then again. . . not there.
 
I was recieving comments. I could respond to comments I received. But I couldn’t and as of yesterday still can’t leave comments. I can live with that as long as you can but it is curious.
 
Now this all has more than just something to do with my inability to express my sentiments over your writing within the WordPress World. (Of course it does.) I was thinking how nice it would be if 99% of the people who comment to news articles in the various interwebs would also have their comments disappear into the miasma. 
 
QuillYou know I prefer printed newspapers over their electronic counterparts but many printed papers aren’t printing either because of limited advertising revenue or limited staffing during the pandemic or just because they don’t want to any more. The thing with the old fashioned printed papers, if you wanted to expand or expound, to clarify or question, or to take umbrage or offense with an article or editorial (back when they were different), you had to pull out the pen and paper or typewriter (Google it) or the word processor and printer, formulate your thoughts, convert your thoughts to writing, consider what you wrote, decide it was worth the price of postage, then put it in an envelope and mail it. Thus a letter to the editor. Typically a well thought, well worded, intelligent letter to the editor.
 
Today, any idiot with a phone, and today every idiot has a phone, can spout out whatever drivel it feels like spouting and “comment” on articles long before it starts thinking. Then some other jackass starts commenting on the comments and then were off to the races. It used to be a source of amusement reading the churlish ramblings of people who clearly failed blocks in kindergarten and hadn’t progressed much since, trying to make what I’m sure they feel are intelligent arguments. Or at least arguments. Today it’s just mean name calling and demonstrations of hatred. 
 
I wish news outlets would do away with the comment option but then some new idiot would say that’s infringing on the freedom of speech. So I am exercising my freedom to not listen and I’m not reading them. I’ve found as a result that I’m happier, my stomach doesn’t get so easily upset, my gums aren’t bleeding, and I swear my hair is coming back. 
 
And to keep things fair, I won’t be writing any comments myself. At least I won’t to any papers using WordPress for their distribution.
 
 
 
 
 

Hello, ‘stat You?

Michael 2 Comments
A dear friend of mine is in a speech contest. The winner would have been eligible to go to Paris for an international competition. Instead she is competing for the chance to speak in front of her computer and whomever joins the Zoom audience.
 
Let me digress here for a moment. How many people heard of Zoom four months ago? Okay, thanks. Just making sure.
 
As I was working with her, listening to thoughts turn into ideas turn into words turn into new thoughts I started thinking about how much of our communication isn’t just words. A good book notwithstanding, words alone have never been an effective means of communication. If they were, Scott Fahlman* would only be known for his work on early artificial intelligence. Communicating includes tone, movement, gestures, and pace to get the point across. I grew up thinking it was my heritage that made me gesture so much but when I got to high school I realized many non-Italains did the same. And it isn’t only the speaker who uses non-verbal skills. I find as a listener I use my eyes often as much as my ears to grasp the message.
 
We live in a time where we can use those non-words to communicate even when we aren’t in the same lecture hall. Facetime, Skype, Duo, and other communications apps moved video calls from the comic books to our living rooms. Zoom, Chime, GoToMeeting and conferencing software took the calls to virtual boardrooms. One hundred years ago during a different quarantine period you would have been lucky to have had a phone. That was only if you lived in the third of the country serviced by the telephone company and you had $3 a month to spend on it (about $40 equalivalent today). Otherwise you were left to pen and paper or very loud yelling to communicate with anybody outside your home. 
 
Next week I have a doctor’s appointment. I won’t be going anywhere beyond my dining room to keep that appointment. I figure that to be where I’ll set up for the video appointment using the hospital’s electronic chart’s telemedicine function. With the proper sensors it will even record my blood pressure, pulse, and respiration rate. I’ll have to weigh myself though and tomorrow I will go in person to the lab. Those results then will be automatically loaded to the charting software. It’s as close to hands-free medicine as you can get so far.
 
TelDoc
I’m okay with some of this. Personally I like a doctor to thump my chest and peer down throat. Hands-on. But in a pinch, this will do. However, I hope all this remote stuff doesn’t take hold too strongly and we can get back to those in person appointments. 
 
And speeches,  live speeches. Let’s not forget about them. (I was hoping for an invitation to Paris too!)
 
—–
* Scott Falhman is credited with originating the smiley and frowning emoticons in 1982 at Carnegie Mellon University to distinguish serious posts from jokes.
 
 

Undressed for Success

Michael Leave a comment
Over the last few days I’ve been scrolling through various social media platforms because, well, because I’ve always had that kind of time, and I’m picking up on a disconcerting trend. Clothing options are getting scary.
 
I know you’ve seen the posts, “Its 9am. Time to change from my night PJs to my day PJs!” or similar and probably from people who used to be the closest things to fashions plates outside of Project Runway. Now they’re all giving new meaning to “not being a slave to fashion” and in serious jeopardy of being busted by the fashion police. 
 
Work fashions have always been a little out of the average dresser’s realm of understanding. How dressy is dressy? How casual is casual? What can and can’t I get away with? are more likely the questions rather than, oh let’s say, Are my seams straight?   
 
I’ve always worked in health care, almost always in some healthcare facility – hospital, rehab center, nursing home. Over forty years I’ve seen it all. When I started, nurses still wore whites. Not white. Whites. Some even with caps. All with their pins. Scrubs were worn in the OR and never over outside those automatic doors without an accompanying white coat. Down in the pharmacy where I was the uniform of the day for males was shirt and tie, the ladies had blouses and skirts or slacks with short white consultation jackets for staff pharmacists and long white lab coats for supervisors and department heads. Except for those working the IV rooms. There it was either lab coats over scrubs or gowns over street clothes. There was similar garb in the other ancillary departments, x-ray, respiratory, and the various therapies. Non-clinicians like admissions and administration wore suits. Period.
 
That was the routine six days a week. Friday was different. Ah, you are thinking, Casual Friday. Nope. Not then. Work was no place to be casual. Fridays were dress up days. Everybody came in if not dressed to the nines, to the 7-1/2s at least. As soon as the figurative whistle blew, administration, staff, and support proceeded en masse to the nearest adult watering hole. 
 
Somewhere along the way Dressup Friday yielded to Casual Friday but Saturday through Thursday work fashion remained as it was. I’m not sure when that happened. I don’t recall being part of the movement so I think it must have shifted during my years in the service when the army rather than the calendar dictated our dress. But I don’t think it was very much before I returned to civilian life and its itinerant dress because people were not yet debating how casual casual could get. At the time khaki pretty much defined casual. Men shed their ties and may have just opened a collar or taken an extra step to a structured “sport shirt.” Women adopted khaki lower halves either as skirts or slacks and typically pulled a sweater over an open blouse and called that casual. It would be years before anybody even considered denim acceptable and then it was only black, never blue. 
 
Somehow from that we made it to daytime versus night pajamas. Considering in today’s hospital world everybody including the guy patrolling the parking garage is in scrubs and scrubs are just a hop, skip, and tied waistband from pajamas, it was only a matter of time until people started showing up at work looking like Captain Kirk on the bridge of the Enterprise. Only now the screen in front of the helmsman and navigator displays not a possible incursion of the Neutral Zone but instead the morning Zoom meeting.
 
Live long and prosper! Casually.
 
FashionPolice 
 
 
 

Where to Bub?

Michael 7 Comments
An increasingly common topic on social media is the first place people will go once people can go someplace. Considering how much food is talked about it is not surprising that the answer often is a restaurant. I don’t think that will be the first non-essential place I want to go after weeks/months/eons.
 
I have nothing against restaurants. Some of my favorite places are restaurants. Diners specifically. With an occasional dive here and there. And not to infringe on a certain food show, one drive-in. I love a good sandwich and a better breakfast. A good sandwich breakfast is heaven on a plate. Or in a wrapper. Yes, a restaurant is a solid suggestion but just not for me.
 
Other non-essential places that get mentioned are casinos. Again a good suggestion, certainly high on the non-essential list, but not on mine. There are two casinos within an hour drive, one complete with a horse track, and another three casinos just a bit farther. I’ve been to 4 of the 5 and truth be told I have enjoyed the live races on many Saturday afternoons, but I’ve gone years between visits before, I can live with years between visits again.
 
Various stores that don’t have food get mentioned quite a bit. Furniture stores, flower shops, car dealers, and flooring specialists (perhaps somebody whose remodel had been interrupted?) have all been mentioned as places to high tail it to when released. You know I love a good dollar store and there’s an Italian market right around the corner where I would stop at at least once a week and will again when it re-opens but shopping isn’t what I’m putting at the top of the list of things to do that I can’t do now when I can do them again.
 
Sports are on a lot of people’s minds. Not spectating but playing. There are a lot of golfers, bowlers, even archers holed up and just dying to flex their muscles in some area bigger than the average living room. Likewise are gymnasiums and swimming pools high on some people’s lists. I didn’t realize just how energetic and athletic the average American is. But then, I’m not sure the average American realizes that either. I’m not. 
 
For some the first stop after being set free will be a theater, moviehouse, or concert hall. It would be nice to see a movie on a screen bigger than one that fits in my apartment but I’m not sure the first place I want to be is in a small, closed room. Speaking of small enclosures I’ll also pass on joining those whose first venture is “anywhere far from here.” Wherever that here might be, far away from it probably means travel on a plane, train, bus, or [shudder] boat. Eventually … but not top of the list for me.
 
wheredowegoOne place I haven’t seen anybody write as a candidate for the first place to go when going to places will be all the rage again is church. Church, synagogue,  temple, mosque, Stonehenge. Any site of worship. You would think anyone still alive after weeks/months/eons trapped with family, very very close friends, or ourselves and emerging still alive we would want to thank the Almighty. To be honest, as much as I would love to say I’ll be on a beeline for church as soon as the all clear is sounded, I didn’t think of that as the first place I’d go either. Maybe we aren’t as evolved as we think we are.
 
So where will I be heading when the heading can be any heading I choose? I think for as much as the conversation is starting to take root I haven’t been thinking of it. I suppose anywhere I can be closer than 6 feet away from anybody will do for me.
 
And where will you go? 
 
 
 

A Special Easter Story. Corona-style

Michael 2 Comments
Spring time is synonymous with rebirth. Odd that the two big religious spring holidays, Easter and Passover, have so much death associated with them. As I’ve noted before, I mention these because these I know. I’m sure many of the other 4300 and some religions of the world may also ruminate on death during spring’s promise of new life.
 
Christian’s know before we can rejoice in Easter’s glory of Jesus Christ’s resurrection He must die. Today, Holy Thursday, would be the last day He sits, eats, and enjoys the company of friends. Depending on the gospel, the meal Jesus would eat would be the first day of or the day before Passover in that year, which commemorates God passing over over those who marked their lintels with the blood of the sacrificed lamb so they would be spared the killing of the first borns of Egypt.
 
So much death going on while trees are blooming and flowers are starting to open to the increasingly warming sun. But if not for the despair how would we make joy?
 
We are going through our own versions of events that made Easter and Passover the redemptive celebrations they are. And we may be doing a fairly poor job of it. Not even considering the (hopefully) extreme approaches of those who routinely add comments to the end of online news articles placing blame on anybody they dislike or disagree with, the (hopefully) typical approach of self-isolation is with, at best, reluctance. We all look for a reason to go out, a new definition of essential, or any opportunity to “exercise.”
 
The Christian belief of the events of today include Jesus washing of the feet of the disciples. Often lost in the other preparations for Easter, secular and religious, the story of the washing of the feet is one of the  most important lessons of the Bible. It is not only a symbol of humility and service but of love, the unconditional love that is expected of us. “Love one another as I have loved you.” Certainly without a thought of reward but also without complaining or devolving into a litany of “why me’s.
 
Never in our lifetimes has society as a whole been as preoccupied with the day it will be all over so we can truly celebrate. Would we not appreciate the celebration even more by truly denying ourselves of worldly pleasures now? We could not find better examples than those in our faiths, whatever you call yourself or whomever you follow, and deny yourself so you can love each other now and trust that there will be a later when when you celebrate with affirmation that as you have loved, you are loved.
 
Before we can celebrate the joy we must recognize the death. Before we can celebrate freedom we must experience denial. Before we can think about what it will be like when this is all over we must accept that it isn’t just yet. But it will be. This is our great sacrifice that will lead to our great relief. And it is a great opportunity to love your neighbor. No exceptions. 
 
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Still Singing

Michael 2 Comments
A, B, C, D, E, F, G…
 
Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday to me, …
 
Karma, karma, karma chameleon…
 
If I were a rich man, 
Daidle deedle daidle
Daidle daidle deedle daidle dumb.
All day long I’d biddy-biddy-bum,

If I were a wealthy man.

Are you still singing while you wash your hands? Are you still washing your hands? It’s a valid question. Mankind in general is not known for neither patience nor perseverance and washing your hands for a full 20 seconds every time you go to the sink takes both in quantities not many of us have. And it’s only been a few weeks. You should get used to it.  Even in the absence of a pandemic you should get used to it but I’m thinking we are probably in for a longer ride than just a few weeks. Or even months.
..
Do you realize this isn’t the first pandemic to hit the world in the first quarter of a century? Let’s review:
  • 20th century, 1918-1920, Spanish Flu, 50 million dead
  • 19th century, 1817-1824, Cholera, 25 million dead
  • 18th century,  1710, Smallpox, 8 million dead
  • 17th century, 1603-1685. Plague, 3 million dead
  • 16th century, 1520, Smallpox, 56 million dead
  • 15th century (Quiet, but there weren’t that many people left.)
  • 14th century, Plague, 1330 – 1353, 200 million dead!

Okay, so I cheated on the 14th century but I bet the Black Death as it is so famously known had its actual beginnings before 1325. You don’t just wipe out 60% of the population without a running start. And there were others...

Except for the two smallpox outbreaks do you notice something. None look like they were over in just a few weeks. You can tell by the way they stretch over years. One over an almost entire century. I don’t know how much a factor it will be in minimizing our duration, but sticking to those 20 second handwashings along with the social distancing and otherwise minimizing contact will be a positive factor. I’m just not sure if we can call it a possible factor. Like I said, patience and perseverance aren’t our strong suits.
..
Look at the most recent respiratory pandemics, all post 1950 so they are all within some of our lifetimes and all within the ages of mass communication, modern medicine, and soap. The Asian Flu pandemic of 1957-1958 killed 1.1 million people worldwide. The Hong Kong Flu of 1968-1970 was responsible for 1 million deaths. The Swine Flu pandemic hit from 2009-2010 and killed approximately 250,000 people. (As of April 7 COVID-19 deaths worldwide total about 75,000. COVID-19 was first reported in December 2019, noted a worldwide public health emergency by the World Health Organization on 30 January 2020 and then declared a pandemic on 11 March.) All of these stretched over at least 2 years. Viruses are sneaky little devils and they hide out well.
..
I would like to say at least the death totals are going down but the latest numbers have COVID-19 responsible for a third of the number of deaths of the Swine Flu in less than 4 months.
..
Next week I’ll post another more lighthearted take on something happening around me but for now, let’s get back to singing those songs, staying in, and, particularly now when every worldwide religion is celebrating some holiday, praying if you got them.
..
Alright, altogether now:
Wash, wash, wash your hands.
Scrub them in the stream
Vigorously, vigorously, vigorously, vigorously.
Ain’t life just a dream?
(Repeat)
..
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Cleaning Up

Michael 2 Comments
I hope there are some really clean people out in my neck of the woods. They must be because they have all the soap. Not just sanitizer and hand soap. Not just bleach and alcohol. Not just detergents and wipes. But the most critical of cleansers, body wash! Specifically, my body wash.
 
steam-300x336Years of prednisone use has thinned my skin so much that removing a bandaid usually means removing the top layer of skin with it. As a result I don’t use many bandaid but I do use a lot of moisturizers. Years ago I discovered a version of Dove body wash with a deep moisturizer that complements its cream moisturizing lotion and ever since I’ve been happy in my skin. Normally I have several containers or the stuff but I found my cupboard bare and on a recent attempt to restock all that was on the store shelf in its usual spot was dust. Not only was my cherished deep moisture version gone, so were the light moisture, sensitive skin, gentle exfoliating, and something called “cool moisture” varieties, and also missing were the store brand copies of all the ones apparently considered fit to copy including the decent copy of my deep moisture. What to do?
 
I needed something so I scanned the equally empty shelf locations of Dove’s competitors and found nothing except the odd designer wash priced to impress. (I wasn’t.) That left only one option…the men’s section.
 
I don’t know if any of you have ever tried to buy “men’s” soap. Where TV sitcoms would have you believe men typically shower with one all-purpose jug-o-clean combining soap, shampoo, conditioner, and deodorant, the reality is that the men’s toiletry section presents more options than the soft drinks and water aisle. It is possible to find a men’s soap that includes a decent moisturizer. What isn’t possible is to find a men’s body wash that isn’t scented. And they are all weird scents.
 
Men’s soaps and washes, along with the shampoos and conditioners that really do come in separate bottles, have scents not found in nature. To go along with the train of thought they have names that describe nothing. Clean. Fresh. Sport. Energizing. Invigorating. Active. Quench. Now what hell does “Quench” smell like. Actually it doesn’t matter. They all smell the same, menthol. Just different intensities of menthol.
 
It’s a good thing I keep bar soap in my socks and underwear drawer as my “men’s sachet.” It was either that or order some cedar and fir scented Spit and Polish (honest, look it up) which at least are two real things I might recognize when I smell them.
 
And don’t forget to wash your hands.
 
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