Underwear

I heard a little tidbit on the economy this morning which made me laugh...and remember.

Apparently, sales on men's underwear are up. Now, I don't believe this means men have suddenly decided to upgrade their decrepit, torn and stretched underwear, on purely whimsy...and neither does Alan Greenspan.

Over the years, tracking men's underwear stocks have shown, during bad financial periods, men don't renew their underwear...at all. Not even one lonely pair. Apparently, the usual flat line of underwear sales even begins to dip.


But as soon as a recession begins to wane, men's underwear sales suddenly spike up from the aforementioned flat line. The deduction?  Financial matters are on the upswing.

I don't believe for one minute it is actually the man doing the buying.  Rather, it would be his significant other.


Every man I have known forms an inordinate attachment to his old undies. Replacing them (on their own), recession or no recession, would require extreme intestinal fortitude...


But I don't believe it is only men's underwear, which women are buying, that should show an upswing...recently I felt flush enough to try and replace my old pair of undies. 


There again.  I also feel an inordinate attachment to one pair of underwear which I've had since the beginning of time. Certainly they have been with me through two marriages and a committed relationship.

At times, they have been very large, other times they're snug, and then there are the special occasions when they fit just right.  The material has worn thin, the cotton which covers the elastic has eroded...yet I am still comforted when I find them, clean and folded, in my underwear drawer.


According to Greenspan, it should be bras I am buying, since bra sales go up, when money is more readily available.  But it is not bras I seek. Rather, when I go underwear shopping, it is a quest to find another pair just like my old pair.  


And perhaps men are wiser than I. In this case, at least. Perhaps they already know replacing the old is more difficult than I think. It is a quest which undoubtedly will end in failure.

And so, they hand the chore over to their other.



In a rather convoluted way, my conclusion is not that of the financial experts, which says men put their underwear last on the list of expectations they feel they must fulfil first.


I think men feel similar to the way I feel, about my old pair. We've been through a lot together, those old panties and I. They are thin, the tag has long since faded, but they have comforted me through many crises.


The World feels better when I wear them.


I believe this strange attachment...and I know it is a little odd...has its roots in our two-year-old need to have a favourite blankie or toy near.  Recently, I read those sometimes decrepit blankies are objects of trust by these toddlers. In case Mom or Dad leaves, the child still has an essence of his parents, which he's transferred to the blanket he so loves and trusts for comfort.


Some children don't require loved objects to give them comfort. As adults, then, perhaps they are the ones replacing and buying new underwear, since attachment to something is not their way.

And how did I get on this subject?


Perhaps the chuckle I received when I heard the economy could be on the rise since men's underwear sales have gone up lead me to a strange muse this morning...

Laughter

Laughter is good medicine...isn't that the saying?

When I think of laughter, I think of the soft, chuckling sound, like the music of River flowing over Pebbles and Stones, of a baby's' first attempt at jocularity...

I think of the robust, hearty laughter that ensues from a good joke.

I think of the quiet, heartbreaking, despairing laughter that results from life's drastic changes.

I think of the social, charming laughter used in group situations...a warm, sympathetic sound that draws people in...

And I think of the laughter that deepens into uncontrollable, rolling hilarity...the kind I remember sharing with good friends in my teen years.

But laughter has another side, perhaps a darker side, in me.

There are times when laughter releases emotion, when I laugh at inappropriate events. And there are times when I laugh at the foibles of foolish behavior, when there is nothing left to do but shrug my shoulders...and release that deep chuckle building in my gut.

Then there are the times when laughter used in psychic warfare defuses and releases negative energy, when it aids in letting go and letting God. This kind of laughter reminds me of what a good joke life really is.

Because that kind of laughter, used when all else fails, tends to bring the other party up short, tends to remind them, too, of the ridiculousness of it all. There is no answer to laughter.

I remember the story of Rumpelstiltskin. The picture I have in my mind of him having a tantrum when his plans went awry...hopping around on that peg leg, absolutely out of control...makes me laugh every time. And this is the unfortunate picture that flashes into my consciousness each and every time I'm engaged with someone who is indulging in frustration and anger.

Suddenly, like an explosive whoosh..laughter billows out of me. This has given me grief, more than once, in my life...it can be taken as a taunt, fueling the other person's anger, where words are then no longer used.

When emotions run amok, when anything I say is used against me, when reality is twisted into a perception only apparent to the other, when that proverbial brick wall suddenly rears up in front of me...my only recourse is to laugh; to release that trapped ball of energy that is going nowhere...

I laugh when I no longer have anything left to say.

I have found, in doing so, that I find acceptance of the situation I'm in. And with acceptance, I further strengthen my resolve, and suddenly...I no longer feel the need to explain; to smooth the ugly, churning waters. It is what it is.

This kind of laughter renews my equilibrium.

Laughter is all about incongruity, after all...an inconsistency in any given situation, or a sudden surprise.

Laughter is the best medicine, with dark or light humour. It allows me to put things into perspective, to remember what is important.

With my granddaughter, I share her giggles; with my grandson, my heart leaps about when I laugh with him. I share uncontrollable mirth with my partner, as we watch some humourous story on TV.

Each and every time laughter wells up in me, regardless of the situation, I feel better.

What could be better than that?

A Watery World

I took a walk around the garden in pouring Rain this morning; I sloshed through Water in Puddles and small Lakes and Rivers.

Water every- where. Sounds around me are full of swishes, drips, gurgles, bubbles...and the booming song of the waves upon the Beach.

I meditated as I wandered, scarcely noticing the pelting Rain. There is an unease to my spirit these days; this morning I pinpointed the cause.

The Holiday Season is upon me. I can no longer deny it. Everything seems to be decorated. There are decisions to make...dinners and such. And once again, I will face the anniversary of my daughter Katrina's death.

It will be ten years since she moved irrevocably on...without me, her mother, to help her along her way, on December 30th. The strong, piercing pain that once throbbed within me no longer darkens December days further than wintry skies alone.

But there is still an ache. A soft, gentle ache that closes my throat, making me swallow hard. A hard knot in my solar plexus and easy tears where my emotional body needs succor completes the picture.

I don't believe it will ever lessen further. The huge, crashing waves of emotion that used to swallow me entirely are no longer as large and overwhelming. Smaller, softer waves of longing and sadness now tickle my toes...just enough to keep me aware of that heavy ache Katrina's death left with me.

She was my child. There is a disorder...a twist... that happens when a child dies before the parent, even if she was twenty-three. Life is not supposed to happen this way. But it did. It just did.

And it happens to many of us parents. I wanted my child to be safe; I did everything I could to do that very thing that is such an important part of parenting. I know that. And I am grateful for the time that Creator allowed Katrina to be a part of my life.

As I sloshed through the Water...Water that tugged and pulled at my emotions...I remembered some of the things Katrina taught me. One lesson that is still with me, always, is when she told me that just because she didn't show her emotions didn't mean she didn't feel them.

And there were many more lessons...Katrina's patience was legendary. Her non-judgemental attitude taught me to let things go, to not obsess wildly about events I could do nothing about. Some of her lessons did not become apparent until after her death...it was her legacy.

But I find myself wondering, at times...what would Katrina do in a case like this? And always, always the answer comes. And I carry on, knowing our family has the greatest guardian there ever was.

Acceptance, after many years of anguish and sorrow and anger, has finally arrived. I used to think, in my youth, that after someone died, I would spend a day or two in sorrow...and then "put it behind me". I used to think I knew what acceptance was.

A watery world...in which my tears flowed, just as suddenly as the strange little Rivers that have forged their way through my backyard. It felt just as cleansing as the Earth did, after sheets of Rain and gusts from Wind showered her clean.

I need to have days like this...my spirit calls out for it. I need to weep...and so I do. These are different tears than angry or happy tears. There is no end to these. Sometimes the dam they're in needs to overflow.

And a watery world is just the place to let them.