Currently Reading: Woman: An Intimate Geography

See, science is for girls. So far this book is fascinating. It's imaginative and has a sense of humor; it's not a dry science textbook on anatomy.  

Amazon.com Review


"Despite scientific evidence to the contrary, as far as the health care profession is concerned the standard operating design of the human body is male. So when a book comes along as beautifully written and endlessly informative as Natalie Angier's Woman: An Intimate Geography, it's a cause for major celebration. Written with whimsy and eloquence, her investigation into female physiology draws its inspiration not only from scientific and medical sources but also from mythology, history, art, and literature, layering biological factoids with her own personal encounters and arcane anecdotes from the history of science. Who knew, for example, that the clitoris--with 8,000 nerve fibers--packs double the pleasure of the penis; that the gene controlling cellular sensitivity to male androgens, ironically enough, resides on the X-chromosome; or that stress hormones like cortisol and corticosterone are the true precursors of friendship?"

Endless Surprises

Sometimes I have the urge to travel to other places bursting with natural beauty or rich history and culture. I do plan to see the mountains someday, take surfing lessons in Costa Rica, and walk through an ancient castle, but for now I’m satisfied to step out my country door to be greeted by a hawk circling overhead. Home. I suppose if all you’re after is another grand adventure and scenic vistas; my backyard would bore you soon enough as it doesn’t take long to take it all in on a large-scale view, but if you look closer, at the details, there are many treasures to be found. Like the small bush of raspberries I found hidden this summer. The plants that I can now name. “Weeds” used in herbal medicine and found in folklore. The little fairy door on the side of a mound, tucked away in an overgrown flower bed I have not yet clean up. A new insect—even if they still make me a little squeamish. In the summer, counting frogs on a daily basis never grows old. There’s the changing of the seasons, rich and distinct in their diversity.  And that’s just in my backyard. In Nova Scotia there are many places a day’s (or much less) drive way that feel completely different.

(text copyright Graceful Simplicity, 2009)

Food Inc. Pastoral No More

I grew up in the Valley, Nova Scotia. A place of pastoral post-card perfection. For a period of time, my closest neighbors were cows. Across the road, endless apple trees. When I return home for visits during the season, my bucolic heart softens at the scenery. But my food does not come from here, unless I take the time and effort to seek it out. I do not know where the cellophane wrapped chicken in the supermarket comes from; I used to think it came from the farms I saw; it seemed a logically conclusion. I realized the truth a number of years ago. Yes, the local farm that I usually buy from does sell some of their meat products at the regular grocery store, but the selection is few, the cost is high, and there's no way of ignoring what your meat once was (whole, with skin and bones intact). The bulk of the meat section is reserved for cheap, cut, sliced and diced, skinless, boneless, slaps of flesh on a backdrop of pink or black Styrofoam. I don’t know where it comes from; perhaps some of it is local, perhaps most of it’s not.
I don’t want to sound preachy. Lately, cost has been a larger factor for us in purchasing food, so maybe you have to make different choices at different times. But this movie definitely brought the message home, helping me recommit to making good choices. If I have to cut back elsewhere, I’ll do it. For me it’s all about priorities. I know it’s not that simple for some people, especially families. But if I’m able, I’ll make sure to vote with my dollars . . . and plant a bigger garden next year.

Watch the movie: It's not just about the meat.

(text copyright Graceful Simplicity, 2009)

A Poem for November

"How silently they tumble downAnd come to rest upon the ground

To lay a carpet, rich and rare,

Beneath the trees without a care,

Content to sleep, their work well done,
Colors gleaming in the sun.

At other times, they wildly fly
Until they nearly reach the sky.
Twisting, turning through the air
Till all the trees stand stark and bare.
Exhausted, drop to earth below
To wait, like children, for the snow."

              - Elsie N. Brady, Leaves