Kapok Atishoo et al

Tis the season to sneeze for me. The Kapok trees are in full hay fever mode spreading their fluffy joy around our area. Yes, I know the bees love them, but sadly even though I might admire their beauty and buttressed roots, I can't join in their happiness. My Mom had a Brazilian Kapok in our front yard once upon a time. Pretty flowers of pink that then turn into fluffy balls of irritants. The trunk was covered in large thorns that made climbing up and removing the offending pods before they burst an impossibility. Aah well, thank goodness for antihistamines and hiding my itchy nose behind a face mask. But let me tell you, when you start sneezing in a public space .... you are suddenly considered a pariah in this time of Covid. You can buy Kapok filled pillows to sleep on. Yeah? Nah. Even though the pillows are supposed to stay clean and mite and mildew free for decades, I just cannot convince myself that I could sleep on one. When I close my eyes at night to supposedly sleep, it's like a movie screen has dropped down and everything that has happened during the day, goes on replay after replay. I agonise over what I said or others said to me. Did I do that right or wrong? Should I have said X, Y or Z to whomever? My husband would close his eyes and within seconds be fast asleep. Me, not so much. I asked him once how he was able to do that sleeping trick and his reply was that he was a very visual man. He couldn't imagine things unless they were laid out in front of him. So, when he closed his eyes all those visual stimulants stopped and his brain shut down. My mind is a visual playground that never seems to shut down. I close my eyes and the clowns come out of the shadows. The merry-go-round starts up its engine and horses prance round and round my thoughts. I do those deep breathing things where you pretend your mind is a blank slate and every time a thought comes onto it, you rub it out. If that doesn't work, I imagine lying under a spreading oak tree and counting leaves, squirrels and birds ... and at a push, even the insects make their appearance in my mind. Is that a frog peeping out? Or a praying mantis?

I recently did an online course on the psychology of illustrated books. This was run by a local university and I thought I would let my vocabulary out for a run. I usually curb my language because people have told me over the years that I scare them and make them feel inferior when I use words they can't understand. But hey, if you can't break out the dictionary mouth at university, then when can you? Because I will never meet the lecturers and tutors, I decided that not only would I allow my potty mouth free reign, I would also air my opinions without fear of condemnation. Oh, it felt good not to have to smile and bite my tongue when people say things that I don't agree with. Happy momma moment. Why do we all enjoy those times when we can let our Id (shortened version of Identity or the deepest part of our unconscious mind) out and not feel like an idiot? Okay, ego had a fun time too. And during this time, I was also doing my reader/writer assignments during exams. One day I sat down with Charlie and started reading the questions and boy did he give me a workout. He was sprouting Latin and words I had never heard before. I read and wrote for a solid three hours. We literally finished the exam as the clock struck five o'clock. He picked up his phone from where I had stashed it and exited stage left. Leaving me to feel like I had run a marathon or been run over by a steam roller. I cleaned up my pens, his exam papers, closed windows and switched off lights etc and took a very leisurely stroll to the adjudicators desk across campus. I was too tired to hurry. But I felt good. Without my excellent writing skills, poor Charlie would have all that knowledge in his brain and nowhere to put it. When I was about fifteen years old, Jack Field, my English teacher, told me I had a handwriting reminiscent of a spider wandering over the paper and it was totally illegible. Never very clever at school work, he advised me to spend some time getting my head around writing legibly because otherwise he would refuse to mark my papers. I went to the town library and got a book out about calligraphy. Guess what I did during those July holidays? Yup, at fifteen I learnt to write. And yes, I still channel Jack Field every time I sit with those kids as their assigned reader/writer. When I matriculated at age 16 a year and a half later, I handed in my exams, beautifully written in a copperplate hand ... and failed. Yes, all that writing like a pro and I still crashed and burned my exams. I did pass the lower level of matric but not the standard that was required to attend university. Not that I stood a chance of going to university. Too expensive and my options were limited. But when I think back to my own exams all those years ago, I can barely remember the questions and answers, but I still write reasonably legibly, even after three hours of intense work.

Did you get any Christmas cards this year? Yes, me neither. Some countries are not allowing postage to other areas of the world and sadly New Zealand falls under that banner. Not enough planes flying that can take our airmail cards flying off to distant climes. The first recorded 'Merry Christmas' was in 1534. Not a card, but rather a Christmas letter. The first card arrived in 1611. The card was huge and not supposed to sit on a mantlepiece. It had a picture of a rose on it, four poems and a song as well as the good wishes to King James 1. But the start of the tradition comes even later, 1843. Sir Henry Cole started sending out these gorgeous hand painted cards by John Horsley. Three panels, one that depicted a family eating dinner and two panels showing caring for the poor. They printed up 1,000 cards and sold them for a cost of 1 shilling each. That might not sound like much, but that 1 shilling could buy a whole meal for a family. About $12 per card. Now that is dedication. I must admit to scouting for discount cards on the Boxing day sales, put them away and promptly forget where I have hidden them and have to go out in December to buy more. If you have one of those original Christmas cards in your family chest, they are now worth thousands of pounds or dollars. Sadly the cards I send will never reach that value. Ever. Sir Henry then decided that he would need a postal service that was reliable and instituted the penny post. (unsealed cards cost 1/2 penny, which meant that anyone could open the envelope and read your message. Only rich folks could afford to send anything via mail prior to the Penny Post era. The Americans started sending cards in the late 1840's. In 1875 an immigrant in the States started printing cards and then along came the Hall brothers who created Hallmark cards. But only 15% of cards are bought by men, who most probably are going out on an errand for their boss or their wives. Oops sorry, I am being sexist there. After all it was the Druids in ancient England that encouraged people to give small gifts or tokens of good luck during the Winter solstice. And that predates any Christmas card or even the idea of something similar. Perhaps this year we should go back to that ideal. I sent out homemade facemasks to friends. I did plan on giving homemade shampoo bars to friends, but felt a bit embarrassed about how they looked. After I had made the shampoo bars I put the muffin tins I had used as moulds into the dishwasher, and goodness me, foam-ageddon. And just to make things more interesting, the dishes that were in the dishwasher with the muffin tins now smell delightfully like shampoo. But thank goodness, they don't retain the taste. How to make your own (cheaper version) of shampoo bars? Take a few bars of soap (I used Dove that was on special for $1 per bar) chop it smaller, add a tablespoon of hand cream (I used Nivea), one tablespoon of coconut oil and set all ingredients on the stove to melt. Very, very, extremely hot. Not for children or those without asbestos hands. Anyhow, when it is nicely mixed together, pour into moulds, aka muffin tins and allow to set. 5 bars of soap make 6 bars of shampoo.

When I was a child we had the Green soap bar or sometimes that mottled beige bar of Sunlight soap. It was used on our bodies, hair, to wash the clothes and the dishes, and even if you were desperate, you could foam it all over your head and use it to change your hair into 'highlights'. Once you were foamed up, you would sit in the sun and allow sunlight and Sunlight soap to work their magic. Sometimes you would get straw coloured hair and if used on darker hair, it could result in red, orange or even pink hair. Good times. The soap would strip alllllll the oil from your hair and you would walk around with a halo of frizzed hair for days. But my shampoo bar doesn't do that. The coconut oil and hand cream stops my hair frizzing like a mad Christmas halo on steroids. Enjoy the next few weeks of madness and stay safe.

Lots of love

Pat

PS. you are welcome to share my 'greetings' with all and sundry for no cost at all. No postage required, no Penny Post or even expensive cards .... just me and my idiot mind that I share freely.