Blood & Bathrooms: on sponges and toilets

warning:  if discussion of menstrual blood or going to the bathroom makes you uncomfortable, you should definitely read this!

written as a note on my facebook page 16 FEB 2009: 

I'm on the sponge...



...because I've learned that the sea sponge is a great absorber of menstrual blood.


Not only is it cheaper and 'greener' (sorry) ... it feels a hell of a lot better than a dry, cotton tampon. It's spongy! It's natural. It's lovely.


Just take it out, rinse it, and pop it back in.


Happier cunts = happier world


On sponges:
As an alternative to tampons and bulky pads, I catch blood with reusable sea sponges.  You can find them at natural food stores (small, cosmetic type) for less than $3, and they'll last up to six months.  It's been nearly 2 & 1/2 years since I switched.  I haven't used tampons since, and I love it!  I've gotten quite good at being able to use the sponge in any setting... from roadside rest-stops in India (literal $h!t-holes) to restrooms in fancy international airports.  The only thing you need is water.  Yesterday was the best: we were hiking up a mountain.  Lucky for me there flowed fresh, glacial streams that ran parallel to the trail.  Yes, I know about freshwaters and why we should never drink from them.  Dead animals, animal feces, and various sources of bacteria and other microscopic nasties... make the water dangerous.  However, being that we were nearing the chilly summit of the hill, I took the risk and found it a lovely opportunity to pop a squat with the cool, clean water at my disposal for rinsing myself and my sponge.  Let's just hope there wasn't anyone just downstream going for a drink. 

In places like India and Tunisia, restrooms are ideal as there is always a source of water near the toilet.  Indian style toilets are the best, as they require the 'squat' which is a more natural, comfortable way of relieving oneself (I could write an entire post on my love for those toilets).  When using the sponge, having a water source is essential for the rinse.  If there's not a faucet right there, you must carry a water bottle... which is no big deal, as long as you remember.  Otherwise, you're forced to leave the bathroom stall with a handful of bloody sponge.  With a spare sponge and water bottle in tow, you're set!

On toilets: 
Besides being highly convenient for sponge users, toilets with water nearby are better overall.  I have a girlfriend who insists on using baby wipes after using the toilet.  Not only are they expensive, they're also made with a bunch of unnatural elements... and why would we want to bring our anatomical jewels into contact with unnatural elements?  Obviously, toilet paper is the norm in the States and many other places.  However, after living in India for a few months, I warmed up to the idea of using water instead.  Not only is toilet paper irritating, it often just doesn't do the job.  You know what I'm talking about... sometimes it's the never-ending wipe.  Now, this is often the result of a combination that's due to our position and the paper itself.  The squat position allows for a more natural and complete release of waste.  Imagine the mess of going to the bathroom while standing up.  Gross.  From there, imagine coming into a seated position.  From there, go even further and take it down to a squat.  Can you now see why it's even cleaner?  I must confess:  at times I squat on sitting toilets.  Moving on to toilet paper versus water.  Think about dirt on any part of your body.  Let's take the hands for example.  When your hands are dirty, would you find it more practical to wipe them off with a dry piece of toilet paper or clean them off with water?!  Exactly.

Alright, enough talking $h!t. Back to the original topic...


I know of one good friend who has since tried the sponge with success.  Anyone else?  Tell your friends about it.  It's less wasteful and will also save you money.  Of course... it's not exactly vegan.  Sponges are animals.  happy June! 

Un-lazy Sunday

Formed by volcanic activity, Jeju Island is a gem of the Pacific.  Populated with a mere 500,000 inhabitants, she boasts gorgeous beaches (each being unique from the next), rare, geometrically wonderful basalt rock formations, and hills in every direction. From almost anywhere on the island, including the roof of my living quarters, the 1950 meter high Halla Mountain can be seen.

 

Shortly after my arrival, I recall a conversation with a man named Moon. A group of us were enjoying a warm evening up on the roof. He informed us that, surrounding the centrally located Halla-san, there are precisely 368 hills.  Looking out towards Halla, there’s one hill that always catches my eye.  Her name isn’t important. I just appreciate her form. Locally, my favorite mini-mountain is Sara-bong.  A twelve-minute walk from my abode, she’s a pleasure to traverse.  And so I do, multiple times each week. 

When I have at least an hour, I walk Sara-bong and ‘her sister’, the hill beside her.  On any given day, there are always a few dozen people enjoying the climb to and view from her peak. Today being a mild Sunday, there were scores of walkers out. I enjoyed the company of my friend, Jen.  When I go it alone, it’s usually with the added benefits of sweaty, faster movements. Today’s benefits were different.  Walking more slowly, without music, my senses were fully tuned-in to the smells, colors, and sounds of everything:  feet on the walkway, birds, blossoming plants, and the noises of other people. They're alive! 

At the base of Sara-bong, after descending the far side, we took a break.  For a cool, delicious drink, there is a stone fountain-type trough with multiple faucets and metal drinking tins, surrounded by stone sitting area. There’s a lovely pebble foot-massage path that I enjoy.  As my bare feet slowly walked from one end to the other, I could hear the rhythmic chanting of monks from the temple around the bend.  Continuing on, I escorted Jen around to the ‘sister hill’.  (I have a thing for sisters, and “Sara” is a girls’ name).  A treat for Jen, she’d never walked this path, from which the sea is always visible.  Winding around and down, we come to a clearing that houses exercise machines and rounded wooden bench-planks for stretching… or lying and gazing up at the sky, as I’m wont to do. Rather than turn around, we take it forward to the road, making the walk a loop.  This allows us to pass over a riverbed, walk through a small neighborhood, and ease our way back home via the sidewalk of a main thoroughfare. Oh, and I also had the chance to introduce Jen to my Greek (or is he Roman?) boyfriend.

Vermont: 24 hours to love!

Before leaving Bennington VT, I find Willow Park to check out the nine-hole disc golf course.  Nice park, humble course.  Hanging signs on wooden posts act as tees.  On each sign, the original pictures are ‘X’ed out with a marker, and someone has drawn updated diagrams with arrows depicting the paths from tees to baskets, along with proper distances and pars.  Hole #2 reads:  “Basket missing, hit tee sign on hole #3”.  The grass is long and dewy.  Perfect for extremely muddy sandals & feet.  I couldn’t find the tee or basket for hole #5, but the rest of the course was fine.  Nice way to continue the morning.  Vermont has twelve courses.  I think I like Vermont.

I leave Bennington for a northern drive to the center of the state.  Stop at a gas station for fuel & coffee.  There’s a huge counter with at least twelve self-serve carafes of different varieties of coffee, along with a choice of milk or half & half.  It’s a tiny little gas station.  Yummy, Green Mountain Coffee.  I really like Vermont. 

I drive the scenic two-lane route 7 lined with farms and trees.  The road slows down for quaint towns along the way that bear cute houses, stores, restaurants, and inns.  No billboards, no tall neon signs.  No ugly stretches of strip malls and traffic lights. Groups of shops are housed in cute barn-like or house-like complexes that blend in with the quaint towns.  Driving through this state, even through the towns, proves to be a pleasure.  I love Vermont. 

I’m cruising at around 65 mph in a 55 mph zone.  I see a cop driving towards me, opposite direction & immediately slow down.  Lights come on, I think he’s got me.  Keeps going.  Two or three more times that day, I notice cops who don’t notice my speeding.  Vermont is awesome!  After a couple hours of driving, I reach the trailhead.  

It’s a 2.6-mile hike to the summit of Mount Abraham. The trail is amazing:  ridiculously tall trees in a thick, shaded forest.  Moss and fern and mushrooms and rocks and greenery like you wouldn’t believe.  No bothersome insects.  The air was fresh, cool, & easy to breathe.  Rocks, mud, & roots to maneuver around.  Big, rocky steps.  Huge boulders.  I’m grateful for being able to put my long body to good use.  Dude, this is a hike.  The last half-mile was almost grueling.  Grueling, yet an extremely enjoyable climb up the steep, rocky path.   The views near and at the top were outstanding.  Green mountains everywhere.  On my way down, two guys with packs were heading up.  I called them my “heroes”.  The hike down was just as beautiful, and I love noticing things overlooked on the way up.  I love how hiking is such a perfect exercise.  I love how different muscles are working at different rates depending on whether you’re going uphill or downhill.  If I lived in Vermont, I would tear up those trails, I’d learn to do it with a pack, and I’d have the sweetest legs ever.  I am in love with the State of Vermont. 

After the three hours of hiking, it’s time to head back South.  Such a brief visit in a wonderful place, I’d be staying in Albany, NY for the night.  …but not before a couple amazing hours of driving.  The mountains, the quiet towns, the fresh air, the nature. 

I hit the South Street Café in Bennington one more time for a cup of coffee.  Sipping outside, there’s a little red-haired girl showing me how well she can jump down the stairs, jump across the sidewalk, and jump straight up, telling me how excited she is that her family is moving back to Bennington.  I end up chatting with some guy about how awesome Vermont is.  If only I had a higher tolerance for cold.  He suggested wool blankets.  Time to hit the road again.  I stop at a store for some pure maple candy.  Soon after, I cross the border and enter New York State.  It’s just as beautiful up in these parts, heading toward Albany. 

I’m about to see Deborah, my sweetest friend since junior high.  I’m happily about to visit her, but my gut reaction as I arrive to Albany is strange.  Nearing the city, my eyes see a very tall building, and it brings tears.  As the approach continues, it’s a full-fledged cry.  I’ve never had this kind of reaction to a city.  It wasn’t because I thought it was beautiful.  I was crying because Vermont was over for now.  What a shumnious twenty-four hours. 

Keep walkin'...

As I approached the lake, I heard one of the boys say, “Just keep swimming like we aren’t doing anything”. Ha, this should be good.

“What are you guys doing?” I ask.

“Isaac’s skinny dipping!” Jacob informs me.

Oh yeah?! “That’s AWESOME! Everyone should skinny dip! I do it with my friends whenever possible.” It was cute they thought they should sneak. Little did they know I’d been skinny dipping twice that past week, in a very public outdoor pool, with very adventurous friends, playing the funnest ever game of Marco Polo, very illegally. Isaac requested, several times, that I “join the party”, but I declined. Inappropriate in this country for me to bare all in the company of two boys, aged 8 & 10. He convinced his older brother, Jacob, to remove his shorts. That didn’t last long, as Jacob thought it “felt weird”. Isaac didn’t ever want to put his shorts on again. He dove in, purposely raising his pale little butt out of the water, into the air. He jumped straight up, flashing the world. Basking in nature, he shouted out: “THE BODY IS A BEAUTIFUL THING! DON’T HIDE IT”... “FREEDOM!”… “JOIN THE PARTY! JOIN THE PARTY!”.

Everything thereafter became ‘skinny’. There were skinny-fish, skinny-games, skinny-races, skinny-splashing… and it honestly warmed my guts to see Isaac experience such joy as they dove down, collecting trash and making seaweed bracelets. This same kid, just an hour earlier, was complaining to no end about having to walk through the woods. Walking through the woods was part of the deal. I’d spent the last two weeks hanging out with these angels so they didn’t have to spend the end of summer in daycare. Part of our daily routine was taking a walk. As long as I was hanging out with them, sunshine & exercise were essentials. Home days, we walked around the neighborhood and usually across the street, where there’s a wooded trail complete with a few run-down exercise stations. Days at the lake, we hit the beautiful Bartram Trail. The first time we hiked, Isaac was all complaints, yet Jacob motivated him. “Think of how great you’ll feel when we finish three miles! It’s such an accomplishment!” By the time we hit the lake, both days, we were all smiles.

Spending those two-plus weeks with the boys was awesome. I never would have predicted the stress that came from hanging out with them all day before having to go into work for the evening. Not that they’re stressful company, by any means. They’re easy, fun, and extremely creative. But I don’t have kids… so I had no idea. Being so responsible, being so there. Sure I’ve babysat & have four nieces & nephews. But to spend 2 & ½ weeks taking care of these guys during the day… was a wake-up call. Feeding times, play times, cleaning up, being productive, getting away from the screens for physical activity. How lucky I was that they're two punk-rock, awesome dudes. High-fives over and over to their mom, my dear friend, Amy. And high-fives all around to any parents out there who manage to maintain the lives of their offspring.

Summer times always tend to blur… but hopefully they’ll remember the walks.