Joy

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From In the Unlikely Event (2015)

  But last year Miri met Mrs. Whitten, the boss’s wife, at an office party, and when Mrs. Whitten admired Miri’s dress, Miri jumped at the chance to say it came from Bonwit Teller. Mrs. Whitten said, “Yes, dear, I know. We get almost all of Charlotte’s good clothes at Bonwit’s.” How embarrassing that until then she’d had no idea Rusty was bringing her hand-me-downs from Charlotte Whitten. What must Mrs. Whitten have thought? But when she’d confronted Rusty about Charlotte’s dresses, expecting, she wasn’t sure what, Rusty said, cheerfully, “I never said I bought them, honey.” “You never said you didn’t.” “They’re beautiful dresses. What’s the difference if Charlotte wore them half a dozen times?” So Miri learned to adjust, to be grateful to Charlotte Whitten for being her size, for having good taste, for taking care of her clothes. But she didn’t tell her friends. She wasn’t sure she ever would. Some of the girls wore Cuban heels to the dance and others wore saddle shoes or ballet flats, but Miri carried Rusty’s black pumps with heels and changed into them in the coatroom at the Y. “Just don’t get them wet,” Rusty had said, before Miri left the house. “Don’t worry. I’m not walking outside.” “Even from the car to the Y, wear your flats.” “Okay.” They weren’t Rusty’s best shoes. These were leather and scuffed around the heel, though Rusty kept them polished. Miri was hoping to attract the attention of the older boys with her heels, and she did, for a minute—until they realized she was just in ninth grade and was friends with Steve Osner’s younger sister. At first the boys stood around surveying the room. The girls stood around talking to one another and pretending not to notice the boys. Then someone put on the first slow dance of the night—Nat King Cole singing “Unforgettable.” That was the moment Miri would always remember, the moment she thought of as changing her life, because he was there, the mystery boy from Natalie’s party, and he was heading her way. When he put his arms around her to dance, she melted into him, praying the song would never end. Unforgettable, that’s what you are Unforgettable, though near or far… But like all songs, it did end, and when it did, he took a step away from her and looked deep into her eyes. His were blue. Miri held her breath. “You’re taller than I remembered,” he said. “It’s the shoes.” “Oh, the shoes.” He smiled at her, a smile so disarming she melted on the spot. She smiled back. “I’m Miri.” “I know.” He knew? “I’m Mason.” His voice was gravelly, as if maybe he had a sore throat. “Mason.” She tried it out. She’d never known anyone named Mason. “Mason McKittrick.” McKittrick. Miri tried to hide her disappointment. He wasn’t Jewish. Irene wouldn’t approve. Okay, she wouldn’t tell her. She wouldn’t tell anyone. He would be another of her secrets.

• From In the Unlikely Event (2015)

  Foster hurried to the door. Once they heard the door close behind them Suzanne let out a sigh. As soon as their mother was out of sight, the girls started racing through the house. Miri chased them, a game they loved. “Eeny, meeny, miney, moe, catch a tiger by the toe. Which little tiger will I catch first?” The girls shrieked until Miri caught one, then the other, carrying them back to the living room. When they calmed down Suzanne painted their toenails and Miri brought them milk and gingersnaps from the kitchen. Later, when they were in their twin beds, tucked in just so, Miri and Suzanne took turns reading to them from a stack of library books. Mrs. Foster had been a first-grade teacher before the girls were born and stressed the importance of reading aloud to children. After that, Suzanne turned on the radio, both girls took out the homework their mothers thought they’d finished earlier and settled down on the living room floor. Mr. and Mrs. Foster returned happy, holding hands. It must have been a good movie. Usually Mrs. Foster asked for details of how the evening had gone. But not tonight. Mr. Foster drove them home, each with $1.50 in her pocket, a bonanza! Now that the holidays were over, Miri was saving her babysitting money for her ninth-grade prom dress. She figured $15 would do it, including shoes. When Mr. Foster started humming a tune, Suzanne leaned close to Miri and whispered, “I’ll bet they went to a motel instead of a movie.” This thought had never occurred to Miri. Why would a married couple go to a motel when they said they’d be at the movies? No, Miri didn’t believe it. She was sure Rusty would never do such a thing. Not that she was married. She didn’t even have a boyfriend. And Miri liked it that way. CapricornBorn on January 15, you are a natural leader and problem solver. You have the intelligence to understand any situation and the discipline to follow through in pursuing a solution. Coupled with the trait of great loyalty, it makes you respected by all who know you. There is no better friend to have than a Capricorn. —BY THE MIDDLE of the month Fred knew Miri so well he’d jump up and down, barking, the minute he saw her. She’d scoop him up, letting him lick her face. Unless she had an after-school activity, she’d meet Mason at Jefferson High and walk him down to Edison Lanes. Then she’d deliver Fred to Phil Stein’s house, either walking all the way to Westminster or taking the bus if the weather was bad, hiding Fred inside her winter jacket, the way Mason had taught her. She loved having his little body next to hers. Phil’s mother enjoyed Fred, so even if Phil wasn’t home it wasn’t a problem. Mrs.

• From The Vagina Bible (2019)

  I prep my skin for hair removal in many ways like we do before surgery. If this reduces infection after surgery, it seems intuitive that it would also reduce infection after shaving. I clean the area a few hours before with an antibacterial skin wipe. This could irritate the vagina and anus, so I would not use them on the labia minora or around the anal area. We put clean dressings on surgical wounds for twenty-four hours after surgery, so I take clean underwear to the salon to wear afterwards. I use a salon that doesn’t double-dip with the wax sticks, and I ask the aestheticians to test the wax temperature on my inner thigh first. I avoid cleaning or trauma to the area for the rest of the day. The next day, I start using my moisturizer (coconut oil) and cleanser again on my vulva, and a week later I start using salicylic acid pads every few days to loosen sebum and prevent any occlusion of hair follicles. BOTTOM LINE • Pubic hair removal or grooming is very common. Most women report doing it at some point, and many report doing it regularly • Only 4 percent of women get guidance from medical professionals; however, there is very little data on how to advise women of the safest techniques. • Removing pubic hair does not improve cleanliness, and there is emerging data that it is associated with an increased risk of infections like HPV and herpes, although the exact mechanism is not known. • Strategies to minimize breakage of the hair shaft below the skin surface are the best way to prevent ingrown hairs. • For laser hair removal, seek the opinion of a board-certified dermatologist or plastic surgeon. CHAPTER 14 Moisturizers, Barriers, and Bath Products THERE IS AN EVER-GROWING MARKET of special vulvar moisturizers, and it seems that bathing products, especially bath bombs and soaks, are everywhere, and some are specifically targeted for vulvar or vaginal “health.” The way some of these products are promoted makes it sound as if it is a miracle the vulva has made it this far. There are some benefits to moisturizers and a lot of pleasure to be had in bath products or fancy jars on the bathroom sink. We all define self-care differently. My pleasure item is shoes, but I can see how, for other women, indulgence could be a bathroom sink that looks like a steampunk apothecary. When using any product, it is important to be mindful of your reason. There are medical benefits, and then there is joy. It is not wrong for pleasure to be a motivator, I just don’t kid myself that my fancy shoes are good for my feet. What Is a Moisturizer? A moisturizer is a topical substance that increases the hydration of skin by protecting and repairing the skin’s outer layer, the stratum corneum. The main active ingredients in a moisturizer include one or all of the following:

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  The only “labeling” process that has impressed me in recent years came from a woman I met who only recently began enjoying her life. Painfully self-conscious during her first thirty-eight years, she woke up one day “and decided to stop criticizing myself. I resolved, instead, to label everything I do as ‘good.’ Since then I’ve been doing exactly what I want to do and enjoying every minute of it.” Self-conscious female fantasizers have more to learn from this woman’s labeling process than from many of the followers of Sigmund Freud. The greatest weakness in analytical evaluations of these fantasies, however, is that such intellectual dissections represent a rational approach to what is essentially an irrational process. For fantasies, like dreams, arise from the twilight zone of ancient experiences, future expectations, social conditioning, unfinished business, and complex biological and biochemical processes. The separation of these elements is possible if one recognizes that we make these evaluations as an intellectual challenge—much as one can find satisfaction in solving a crossword puzzle. But to suggest that such evaluations yield “truth” is either pretense or folly. 3. My Secret Garden Is Nothing More than Thinly Disguised PornographyPaul Krassner, in his satirical newspaper The Realist, once wrote a story about a pornography case appearing before the Supreme Court. If the Justices got erections while reading the material, it was declared pornographic. This raised a very ticklish question. Might the Court next be asked to rule on whether or not Vaseline was pornographic? Krassner’s exaggeration was funny. Yet the reality of the situation is apparent. Society often considers that which turns you on to be wrong. Unless there is a “redeeming social function,” such turn-ons are seen to be a threat to the morality or the fabric of our society. As I write this I find myself in somewhat of a box. I do think that My Secret Garden performs a useful service in that this open sharing of various sexual fantasies might allow many readers to accept, without shame, guilt, or anxiety, various fantasies of their own. Yet, even if that were not the case—even if every purchaser of this book bought it solely to be sexually turned on—I would also say, “Well and good.” What is wrong with healthy erotic responses? Why should anyone have to justify a desire to “turn on”? If you believe in the right to turn on to your own fantasies, don’t you also have the right to turn on to the fantasies of others? Is turning on some evil that requires a “redeeming social function” to justify it? I see more moral harm being done, not by the authors or publishers of “sexy” material, but by those censors and critics who attempt to foist and enforce their values upon others.

• From In the Unlikely Event (2015)

  She was beginning to enjoy having secrets from her family. While Natalie danced to every song with Winky Herkovitz, the best dancer in ninth grade, who dipped her, flipped her from knee to knee and twirled her, while Suzanne, the shiksa the Jewish boys loved, danced to every song with a different partner, while Eleanor, who still had braces on her teeth and refused to smile for photos, had a deep conversation with a chaperone, a teacher Uncle Henry’s age and Robo, well developed and athletic, made out in the cloakroom with Pete Wolf, who believed in Martians, Miri danced only with Mason. After a while he led her outside so he could have a smoke. She’d been right. He did smoke, and his brand was Luckies. Lucky Strike Means Fine Tobacco. He offered one to her. She shook her head. She’d tried it once and had almost choked to death. Almost vomited in front of everyone. But she liked the way he held the cigarette between his teeth. When he’d had enough he tossed it to the ground and stepped on it, crushing it like a bug. He kissed her then, outside the Y in the freezing-cold December night air, with neither of them wearing a coat. Her teeth were chattering but she wasn’t going to suggest they go back inside, not as long as he was holding her that way, not as long as he was kissing her that way and she was kissing him back. They kissed a second time and her legs turned to jelly. She’d heard that expression a million times, but until now she hadn’t understood it. She’d never been kissed by a boy like Mason. No sloppy tongue shoved halfway down her throat, no washing out her ear. Just perfect kisses. Two, three, four—she lost count. If she died then she was sure she’d die happy. They went back inside for the last dance. The lights had been dimmed and she and Mason danced cheek to cheek, thanks to her mother’s heels, their arms wrapped around one another. In the meadow we can build a snowman… She was glad it wasn’t “Goodnight, Irene,” often the last song at a dance. She loved her grandmother but she didn’t want to think about her tonight. “Can I walk you home?” Mason asked while they, and everyone else, scrambled for their coats. Miri nodded. “I just have to tell my friends.” Outside, Robo’s father was waiting for them. The girls had already piled into the car. “I’m walking home with Mason,” she told them. “Who’s Mason?” Natalie asked. “The boy I’ve been dancing with, the one from your party…remember?” “Yeah, but who is he?” Natalie said while the other girls hung on every word. “Mason McKittrick. He goes to Jefferson,” Miri said. “He knows Steve.” All this time Mason was standing next to her, listening. “Hey…” he said, giving a small wave to her friends. “Where does he live?” Natalie asked, ignoring Mason.

• From In the Unlikely Event (2015)

  It wasn’t like the Osners and Rusty socialized, it wasn’t like they were Rusty’s friends, or Rusty’s second family, the way they were hers. Henry dropped Miri at Natalie’s house on his way to pick up Leah. They were going to the Riviera nightclub in Fort Lee, the place where Frank Sinatra sometimes sang, where Martin and Lewis did their comedy act and Pupi Campo and his band played Latin music. Henry looked dashing in his rented tux. Miri wished she could see Leah. Would she be wearing velvet, taffeta? Would she look like Doris Day in I’ll See You in My Dreams ? Sometimes Leah had that Doris Day look, other times she was more Debbie Reynolds, peeking out from under her bangs. When he pulled up in front of the Osners’ house, Henry turned to Miri and said, “Tonight’s the night,” which embarrassed her at first, until he dug a small black velvet box out of his pocket. “I’m proposing to Leah at midnight.” He opened the box to show Miri the ring. Miri felt herself choke up. She knew the ring. How many times had she gone with Irene to the vault when she was younger to watch as Irene checked the contents of her safe deposit box, making sure the ring was still there, along with her diamond pin and her important papers? The ring and the pin were the only pieces of good jewelry Irene had left from before 1929, before the stock market crash, a different kind of crash from the one in the Elizabeth River two weeks ago—back when Irene and Max Ammerman still had money, before Max lost his fancy food emporium, before Irene sold the rest of her jewelry to pay the bills, before Max had the first stroke, and then the second, the stroke that killed him on New Year’s Eve, 1937, just weeks before Miri was born. Rusty named her for him. They always lit a yahrzeit candle for Max on New Year’s Eve and another when the notice came from the synagogue listing the date of his death on the Hebrew calendar. “It’s beautiful,” she told Henry. And it was. A lacy design of small twinkly diamonds. Irene had always let her try it on. And even though Irene had said, Someday, when Uncle Henry finds the right girl, he’ll give her this ring, she remembered exactly how disappointed she was at age nine to learn it would not be hers. “You’re the first to know,” Henry said. “Nana doesn’t know?” “Maybe tomorrow, if Leah says yes.” “Of course she’ll say yes,” Miri told him. “If she doesn’t she’s crazy and you wouldn’t want to marry a crazy person, would you?” She hugged him. “Happy New Year, Miri. I hope someday I have a daughter exactly like you.” He ruffled her hair. I am your daughter, Miri told him inside her head. “I know,” Henry whispered, as if he’d actually heard what she hadn’t said.

• From In the Unlikely Event (2015)

  Mrs. Jones ironed their pillowcases, the tops of their sheets and Suzanne once told Miri that Mrs. Jones ironed their towels, but Miri hadn’t believed her. “Why would anyone iron towels?” “I don’t know, but she irons Natalie’s dungarees, too. You can see the creases. And Corinne’s underwear. I’ve seen her ironing Corinne’s slips and nightgowns.” Sometimes, when Miri was ironing one of her Ship ’n Shore blouses she pretended she was a laundress, like Mrs. Jones. But the one time she’d tried to iron a bra it had melted into nothing. Poof, and her pretty blue nylon bra was gone forever. Miri and Natalie joined the singers around the piano. When someone called out the name of a song, Dr. O didn’t hesitate. He moved right into it. For the first time every song spoke directly to Miri. He dances overhead, on the ceiling near my bed. Yes, she thought. One day you’re a regular girl, two weeks later, you’re someone in love—and wasn’t that also the title of a song? When Rusty and Tewky came to the piano, Miri stopped singing. Rusty knew every word of every song and sang them too loud, smiling at Tewky, enjoying herself. Not that Rusty didn’t sing in her room, or when she was in the bathtub, but out in public? This was something new to Miri, and she found it embarrassing. By then the dining room table was laden with platters. Not just the Sloppy Joe sandwiches, but a chafing dish of spicy meatballs in sauce, brisket sliced as thin as paper with white horseradish, cucumber salad, potato salad and pickles. There were trays of cookies and tarts. And rugeleh from the Jewish bakery. Fern ran around the table in circles, like a small, badly behaved dog, and if not exactly barking and snapping at people’s ankles, then close to it. Mrs. Barnes tried to catch her but Fern was too fast. After the buffet supper the guests headed downstairs to the finished basement, where she and Mason had first danced together. She wished he could see it tonight, with gold and silver half-moons and stars hanging from the ceiling. At the bar, bottles of Champagne sat on ice waiting for midnight toasts. And the music—instead of Nat King Cole singing “Nature Boy,” the jukebox was filled with dance music for Corinne and Dr. O’s crowd—the samba, the rhumba and the newest craze, the mambo. “You’d think Pupi were here himself,” Miri heard one of the guests say, reminding her that Uncle Henry was dancing with Leah to the real, live Pupi at the Riviera. Miri had to admit Tewky Purvis was a good dancer, the way he twirled Rusty but never lost control, the way Rusty was able to follow his every move. As far as Miri knew, the only place Rusty danced was in her bedroom, though sometimes she’d turn on the record player in the living room and try to get Miri to be her partner.

• From In the Unlikely Event (2015)

  No, it was a kaleidoscope with exquisite pale stones, regrouping into intricate designs as she turned it. This was nothing like the toy kaleidoscopes she’d had as a child. She’d never seen anything like it. She couldn’t put it down. Finally, he took it out of her hands. “It was my mother’s.” His mother’s. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” She wanted him to tell her more but she sensed he wasn’t going to. When Rusty knocked from inside her bedroom door, signaling their fifteen minutes were up, Miri walked Mason downstairs to the front door. “This is the best present anyone has ever given me,” she told him. “It’s the only thing my mother had to leave me.” “I’ll keep it safe for you,” she said. “If you ever want it back—” “Don’t say that.” He kissed her goodnight. Then he whispered, “Don’t ever say that.” RustyFifteen minutes, Rusty thought. They couldn’t get into trouble in fifteen minutes, not with her just a room away. Besides, she could hear them talking softly the whole time. They’d known each other what—a month?—but she knew it felt like much longer to them. Everything was heightened when you were young and in love. And she could see they were in love. And so sweet together. It was that sweetness that got to her. She wasn’t going to warn Miri that it couldn’t last. She wasn’t going to warn her they were too young, like the song. Why spoil it? There would be heartache when it ended but Rusty would help her through it. Maybe it was better for Miri to experience first love now than in a few years, when she wouldn’t have as much control over them. Fifteen minutes. Plenty could happen in fifteen minutes when no one was watching and you were in a Nash with a seat that folded back to make a bed. She picked up the copy of From Here to Eternity she’d checked out of the penny library at the confectionery on Morris Avenue. It was a thick book. She’d better get in more reading time. At the rate she was going, she might as well have bought it. MiriIt snowed again overnight on Friday, so Miri awoke to more fresh snow on the day of her slumber party, a birthday celebration planned with her girlfriends before she’d met Mason. That afternoon she went sledding on Wyoming Avenue with Suzanne, Robo and Eleanor, while Natalie was in New York at dance class. Donny Kellen and his brothers were their usual obnoxious selves, steering their sleds into the girls, trying to knock them to the ground, where they would wash their faces with snow if they got the chance. Miri hated the Kellen boys. She hated them even more since she’d read Ethan Frome in English class. Suppose they forced her to crash her sled into a tree and she wound up like Mattie Silver in the book? What would Rusty do then?

• From The Glass Castle: A Memoir (2005)

  So they told us all about how other kids were deceived by their parents, how the toys the grown-ups claimed were made by little elves wearing bell caps in their workshop at the North Pole actually had labels on them saying MADE IN JAPAN . “Try not to look down on those other children,” Mom said. “It’s not their fault that they’ve been brainwashed into believing silly myths.” We celebrated Christmas, but usually about a week after December 25, when you could find perfectly good bows and wrapping paper that people had thrown away and Christmas trees discarded on the roadside that still had most of their needles and even some silver tinsel hanging on them. Mom and Dad would give us a bag of marbles or a doll or a slingshot that had been marked way down in an after-Christmas sale. Dad lost his job at the gypsum mine after getting in an argument with the foreman, and when Christmas came that year, we had no money at all. On Christmas Eve, Dad took each of us kids out into the desert night one by one. I had a blanket wrapped around me, and when it was my turn, I offered to share it with Dad, but he said no thanks. The cold never bothered him. I was five that year and I sat next to Dad and we looked up at the sky. Dad loved to talk about the stars. He explained to us how they rotated through the night sky as the earth turned. He taught us to identify the constellations and how to navigate by the North Star. Those shining stars, he liked to point out, were one of the special treats for people like us who lived out in the wilderness. Rich city folks, he’d say, lived in fancy apartments, but their air was so polluted they couldn’t even see the stars. We’d have to be out of our minds to want to trade places with any of them. “Pick out your favorite star,” Dad said that night. He told me I could have it for keeps. He said it was my Christmas present. “You can’t give me a star!” I said. “No one owns the stars.” “That’s right,” Dad said. “No one else owns them. You just have to claim it before anyone else does, like that dago fellow Columbus claimed America for Queen Isabella. Claiming a star as your own has every bit as much logic to it.” I thought about it and realized Dad was right. He was always figuring out things like that. I could have any star I wanted, Dad said, except Betelgeuse and Rigel, because Lori and Brian had already laid claim to them. I looked up to the stars and tried to figure out which was the best one. You could see hundreds, maybe thousands or even millions, twinkling in the clear desert sky.

• From In the Unlikely Event (2015)

  Miri didn’t know where he lived or why it mattered. “I live on Salem,” Mason said. Then he whispered to Miri, but loud enough for the others to hear, “They don’t trust me.” “They don’t know you,” Miri told him. Robo said, “As soon as we get home I’ll have my father call your mother so she doesn’t worry.” “No, don’t do that,” Miri said. “I’ll call her myself.” She borrowed a nickel from Mason and used the pay phone inside the Y. Rusty answered on the second ring. “I’m walking home from the Y, okay?” “I thought Robo’s father was picking you up.” “He is, but I’d rather walk home.” She knew Rusty was waiting for more. “With a very nice boy,” she added. “You don’t have to worry.” “Okay,” Rusty said, just like that, surprising Miri. “But don’t dawdle. If you’re not home in half an hour I’m calling the police.” “Mom…it’s a long walk.” “I know exactly how long it is.” “Okay.” “And not in my shoes.” “I’ve already changed out of them.” “Okay then.” Miri was grateful for Rusty’s good mood. She took off one of her mittens and stuffed it in her pocket so she could hold Mason’s bare hand as they walked home. His skin was rough, probably chapped from not wearing gloves in this weather. He had a strong grip. Some guys held your hand like it was a fish they wished they could throw back. Mason spoke first. “That was Dr. Osner’s daughter, right?” “Yes, Natalie.” “My brother’s girlfriend works for Dr. Osner.” “You know Christina?” “She got me an emergency appointment one day when I had a toothache.” “He’s my dentist, too,” Miri said, then wondered why they were talking about teeth when the moon was shining and the sky was full of stars. Maybe he was wondering the same thing because after that they stopped to kiss at every tree, her back pressed up against it, Mason leaning into her. When they came to the site of the crash, they stood silently, his arm hugging her shoulder. “Where were you when…” he said. “I saw it happen,” she told him. “I was coming home from the movies with my mother.” “Jeez…” “What about you?” “I was at work…at the bowling alley on East Grand. We didn’t hear anything but we felt it. I thought it was an earthquake.” “We don’t have earthquakes in New Jersey, do we?” Right away she regretted asking such a stupid question. He shrugged. “There’s a first for everything.” There’s a first for everything, she repeated silently, and he was a first for her. When they got to her house he asked if her number was listed. “Yes. N. Ammerman. That’s my mother. Or I can give it to you now.” “I don’t have a pen.” “I do.” She dug a leaky pen out of her bag and handed it to him.

• From The Vagina Bible (2019)

  There is at least one bath bomb that makes the claim that it is beneficial for vaginal pH. That is the biggest warning against using it, as the company must think the vagina fills with water during a bath. When you bathe, you do not get a douche. Then there is the fact that no topical product can alter vaginal pH any more than temporarily, and attempts to alter the pH are typically damaging to the vagina. Bath bombs and bubble baths typically have fragrance, and if they have cool colors then they have dye. Some even have glitter (a big favorite in my house). I’m currently a bath bomb aficionado, as one of my sons is an addict. I’m amazed that society focuses on the nonexistent smells of the female genital tract while largely ignoring the greasiness of the male adolescent, many of whom seem as averse to water as the Wicked Witch of the West. If bath bombs are what get my teenage son to rinse the testosterone-fueled sebum-fest off his skin, then bath bombs it is! Whether these products are synthetic or botanical does not change their risk for irritation or allergic reactions. Irritation and allergies aside, there is no convincing evidence that bath bombs or bubble baths cause urinary tract infections, although an irritant reaction on the vulva could easily be mistaken for a bladder infection, as the symptoms overlap significantly. Before puberty, girls are at higher risk of irritant reactions, as their labia are very small and don’t cover the vestibule (vaginal opening), and the mucosa at the vaginal opening doesn’t have estrogen. So for some younger girls, these bath products can be irritating. Bubble baths that produce fantastic bubbles are essentially diluted liquid soap, and (as we have already reviewed) soap strips the protective fatty layer off the skin and can paradoxically leave the skin drier. If you are going to use them, keep in mind that it’s probably best not to indulge daily. They usually have a surfactant like sodium lauryl sulfate, or SLS, which can cause allergic reactions for 3–5 percent of people. If you find the softness or feel of the bath products soothing, but want a fragrance-free and dye-free alternative that is unlikely to be irritating at all and are willing to give up bubbles, you can consider these two options: • EPSOM SALT, WHICH IS MAGNESIUM CITRATE: These have been used for years, so it has an extensive track record. They don’t add anything health benefit-wise; however, they also appear to have no health risk. You can also add some olive oil or avocado oil to the water if you like. Your skin will feel temporarily very soft. It’s pleasing, but not medically beneficial.

• From The Glass Castle: A Memoir (2005)

  It was Brian, eating the ice. • • • The doctors said I was lucky to be alive. They took patches of skin from my upper thigh and put them over the most badly burned parts of my stomach, ribs, and chest. They said it was called a skin graft. When they were finished, they wrapped my entire right side in bandages. “Look, I’m a half-mummy,” I said to one of the nurses. She smiled and put my right arm in a sling and attached it to the headboard so I couldn’t move it. The nurses and doctors kept asking me questions: How did you get burned? Have your parents ever hurt you? Why do you have all these bruises and cuts? My parents never hurt me, I said. I got the cuts and bruises playing outside and the burns from cooking hot dogs. They asked what I was doing cooking hot dogs by myself at the age of three. It was easy, I said. You just put the hot dogs in the water and boil them. It wasn’t like there was some complicated recipe that you had to be old enough to follow. The pan was too heavy for me to lift when it was full of water, so I’d put a chair next to the sink, climb up and fill a glass, then stand on a chair by the stove and pour the water into the pan. I did that over and over again until the pan held enough water. Then I’d turn on the stove, and when the water was boiling, I’d drop in the hot dogs. “Mom says I’m mature for my age,” I told them, “and she lets me cook for myself a lot.” Two nurses looked at each other, and one of them wrote something down on a clipboard. I asked what was wrong. Nothing, they said, nothing. • • • Every couple of days, the nurses changed the bandages. They would put the used bandage off to the side, wadded and covered with smears of blood and yellow stuff and little pieces of burned skin. Then they’d apply another bandage, a big gauzy cloth, to the burns. At night I would run my left hand over the rough, scabby surface of the skin that wasn’t covered by the bandage. Sometimes I’d peel off scabs. The nurses had told me not to, but I couldn’t resist pulling on them real slow to see how big a scab I could get loose. Once I had a couple of them free, I’d pretend they were talking to each other in cheeping voices. The hospital was clean and shiny. Everything was white—the walls and sheets and nurses’ uniforms—or silver—the beds and trays and medical instruments. Everyone spoke in polite, calm voices. It was so hushed you could hear the nurses’ rubber-soled shoes squeaking all the way down the hall. I wasn’t used to quiet and order, and I liked it.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  And I am glad for your sakes that I was not there, that ye might believe; i. e. seeing My marvellous power of knowing a thing I have neither seen nor heard. The disciples already believed in Him in consequence of His miracles; so that their faith had not now to begin, but only to increase. That ye might believe, means, believe more deeply, more firmly. THEOPHYLACT. Some have understood this place thus. I rejoice, He says, for your sakes; for if I had been there, I should have only cured a sick man; which is but an inferior sign of power. But since in My absence he has died, ye will now see that I can raise even the dead putrefying body; and your faith will be strengthened. CHRYSOSTOM. (Hom. lxii. 2) The disciples all dreaded the Jews; and especially Thomas; Then said Thomas, which is called Didymus, unto his fellow-disciples, Let us also go, that we may die with him. But he who was now the most weak and unbelieving of all the disciples, afterwards became stronger than any. And he who dared not go to Bethany, afterwards went over the whole earth, in the midst of those who wished his death, with a spirit indomitable. BEDE. The disciples, checked by our Lord’s answer to them, dared no longer oppose; and Thomas, more forward than the rest, says, Let us also go that we may die with him. What an appearance of firmness! He speaks as if he could really do what he said; unmindful, like Peter, of his frailty. 11:17–2717. Then when Jesus came, he found that he had lain in the grave four days already. 18. Now Bethany was nigh unto Jerusalem, about fifteen furlongs off: 19. And many of the Jews came to Martha and Mary, to comfort them concerning their brother. 20. Then Martha, as soon as she heard that Jesus was coming, went and met him: but Mary sat still in the house. 21. Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died. 22. But I know, that even now, whatsoever thou wilt ask of God, God will give it thee. 23. Jesus saith unto her, Thy brother shall rise again. 24. Martha saith unto him, I know that he shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day. 25. Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: 26. And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this? 27. She saith unto him, Yea, Lord: I believe that thou art the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the world. ALCUIN. Our Lord delayed His coming for four days, that the resurrection of Lazarus might be the more glorious: Then when Jesus came, He found that He had lain in the grave four days already.

• From Introduction to the Hebrew Bible and Deutero-Canonical Books (2018)

  THIRD ISAIAH Some of the oracles in Isaiah 56–66 are close to those of Second Isaiah in spirit and tone. These oracles are found in chapters 60–62. Chapter 60 is a joyful prediction of the restoration of Jerusalem, familiar from Handel’s Messiah: “Arise, shine, for thy light has come.” The prophet envisions an open city: “Your gates shall always be open; day and night they shall not be shut, so that nations shall bring you their wealth, with their kings led in procession” (Isa 60:11). As we have seen in Second Isaiah, this is a universalistic vision, but a Zion-centered one. There is a place for all the nations in the restored order, but it is a subordinate place. Kings will be led in subjection in a triumphal procession. The descendants of those who had oppressed Jerusalem will be forced to bow down. Nonetheless, the contrast with the vision of the future in the last chapters of Ezekiel is striking. The Ezekiel tradition was concerned to create a holy city where Judeans would be separated from Gentiles. The Isaianic tradition also envisions a holy city, but one where Gentiles enhance the glory of Jerusalem by serving it. The poetry of this oracle is lyrical: The sun shall no longer be your light by day, nor for brightness shall the moon give light to you by night; but the L ORD will be your everlasting light, and your God will be your glory. (Isa 60:19) This is one of many passages in which the last chapters of Isaiah provide imagery that would be picked up much later in the book of Revelation. According to Rev 21:22, the New Jerusalem “has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God is its light.” The euphoric tone continues in Isaiah 61, where the prophet claims to be anointed and endowed with the Spirit of the Lord. Prophets are not usually said to be anointed in the Hebrew Bible. Elijah is commanded to anoint Elisha as prophet in his place (1 Kgs 19:16). The anointing is metaphorical; he performs it by throwing his mantle over Elisha. In the Dead Sea Scrolls, however, prophets

• From A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (BDB) (1907)

  + 1. TENT n.f. canopy, chamber (as cover- ing, enclosing) —abs.’ n Is 4°; sf. INBO y 19%; AMEN Jo 2% ;—1. canopy, עלדבל-כבוד ח'‎ Is 4° | over all glory a canopy (for protection). 2. chamber, of bridegroom ו‎ 19° (metaph. of sun rising); of bride Jo 2% (|| 130 of bridegroom). MET n.pr.m. 1 Ch 24" priest of 13th‏ .זנ course, 695 4.‏ 1 דזפים‎ n.pr.m. a son of Benjamin Gn 467! (G Odile 2 Ope), descendant of Benjamin 1 Ch 7° (G Audhew, Apher, GL Odep), and so / pan ys; ,ץ‎ DDN, an, as,‏ ,חפף (NH yan; Aram.‏ חפ all rub, cleanse, esp. the head).‏ זף אני sa‏ פשע חַף Tan adj. clean—only‏ Jb 33° I am pure, without: transgression,‏ שָכבי I am clean (in speech of Elihu).‏ tyan vb. delight in (cf. Ar. as be mindful of, attentive to, keep, protect, Aram. $2 whence eu ¢ eager, zealous, Ar. 5 anger (excitement), 125! enrage (Aram. and Ax. of excited attention, Heb. of delighted atten- tion), D1?" כ אך‎ 26 196.75: NH חפץ‎ weakened to thing, v. De®", Ph. in n.pr. (חפצבעל‎ ;- - Qal Pf. ח'"‎ Gn34%+ 28 כו‎ 1. NYDN 1566"; 2m, +*%21%כ חָפַצְתָּ‎ 4 t.; YBN Jb wae etc., +14 t. PE; Impf YT Dt 29+ t.5 PEM ש‎ 37" 147%; pl. BN) Is 13% Je 6; EM y 68%; PYBM 15 587° ete.+9t. Impf.; Inf. abs. yan Ez 18"; on Pt. YO = adj. verb., v. infr.;—1. of men: a. take pleasure in, delight in, 6. 3, ₪ woman Gn 34" (J), Dt 21% Est 2%; a man 18 18" 19! 2 5 20"; in matters and things 2 ₪ 24° Is 13” 66° 166% 109" 112° 519” Pr ies Est 6°79; ¢. acc. 68" Is 58? Ec 8°; implic. obj. ץ‎ 73”. b. delight, desire, be pleased to do a thing, would do it Dt 257* 1 K 9’ Est 6° Ru © 38 ש‎ 40° Jb g® 13° 21 33” Is 58? Je 42%, c. abs. PEAY עד‎ wntil it please (of love) Ct 27 3° | 5% 2. of God: a. delight in, have pleasure in, c. 3, persons Nu 14° (J), 2S 15% 22% = Vy 18%, 1 K 10°= 2 Cho’, ץש‎ 229 41” Is 624; | not in the strength of a horse y147"; in doing evil Mal2”; in the death 01 the sinner 13218" 33"; but in mercy, justice, and righteousness 26 95; בחר באשר (לא) חפצתי‎ Is 564 65” 66%; not with (acc.) the blood of bullocks [81% זבח(ים)‎ y 40% 51'S", or the death of the sinner | Ez 18"; but with ton Ho 6° 211 7% nox a ——_ x. "שיש

• From While You Were Out (2023)

  Now, eleven months after we’d left Wilmette, Holmer was yanking us back there in a hurry. The new school year would be starting soon. With no time to spare, he went house hunting on his own and bought a prairie-style bungalow in Wilmette about a mile from our old neighborhood. Maybe all this ping-ponging between New York and Chicago was doing my mother in. MY MOTHER LOVED OUR NEW Wilmette neighborhood, but she hated the house. The kitchen’s too small, and this stucco looks cheap, she sighed when she walked through the front door for the first time. She had been hoping for something grander like the house she’d grown up in, a brick French provincial with a winding staircase and pocket doors. As far as I was concerned, we were in heaven. Just like at school, the 1200 block of Greenwood Avenue was crawling with kids, most from big Catholic families like ours. The Binders across the street had six kids. The Clohisys on the corner had ten. The Meskills on the other corner had only five kids but made up for it by having a skating rink in the backyard and a blackboard in their basement. Maureen, the youngest, even had her own nun outfit. We turned cartwheels on our front lawns, played Wiffle ball until the streetlights came on, and then switched to Ghosts in the Graveyard, darting from tree to tree and crouching behind the bushes until our mothers hollered for us to come inside. One neighbor was a pediatrician; another, a surgeon. So, if we fell out of a tree or crashed our bikes, we just hobbled across the street and one or the other of them would patch us up in no time. Frazier Thomas, host of Garfield Goose and Friends, a popular kids’ television show, lived next door, and his daughter, Kitty, became one of my best friends. Our houses were so close together that I suggested we try to shake hands leaning out of our respective bedroom windows. Living so close to such a celebrity gave me instant cachet with the kids at school. Frazier Thomas puts ketchup on his scrambled eggs, I announced with great authority on the playground one afternoon. The seeds of my reporting career were already being sown as I learned how to leverage my insider knowledge for playdates. The mighty elms that lined our redbrick street formed a kind of leafy cathedral ceiling. Many nights, I lay in bed and stared out the window, pretending that the branches were the arms of God holding us tight. Since my mother had disappeared again, I’d been having trouble sitting still at my desk and cried easily. If you use up all your tears now, Margaret, you won’t have any left for when you really need them, Sister Mary Assisi said. Better to save them for when a tiger starts chasing you through the jungle. Tigers! Sister knew about the tigers. What did she know about my mother?

• From Escape (2007)

  Linda didn’t envy the mud ducks at all. She looked stricken that they had dared do this. Daring had nothing to do with it for me. I was frustrated that they could do something I couldn’t. Linda went over to talk to them, and it was the by now very muddy redheaded girl who spoke to her first. She said her name was Laura, and then she rattled off the names of her little brothers and sisters. Laura looked over to us and said, “Why don’t you guys get in the mud, too?” Linda told her that our mom would get mad at us if we got muddy. Laura seemed perplexed. What we were saying made no sense to her at all. When the novelty of splashing around in the muddy stream wore off, we asked her if she wanted to play dolls. She said she didn’t have any dolls. I couldn’t believe it. “You don’t have any dolls? What do you play with?” Laura shrugged. She didn’t need dolls to play dolls. She picked up a crooked little stick from the ground and walked over to Mama’s flower garden and plucked a flower. “See, this is her skirt and this little blossom can be her hat.” Next she snapped a blossom off a flower and put it on the stick. Then she found another flower to make a skirt. Now the stick girl had a flounced hat and skirt. I was impressed. Laura had taken a stick and made it into one of the best dolls I had ever seen. “All I have to do to change her clothes is pick another flower.” I certainly couldn’t change clothes as much with my real dolls as she could with her stick ones. Linda, Annette, and I quickly found sticks to make our own dolls. We spent the rest of the afternoon playing with Laura. At dinner that night we talked nonstop about our new friend. In the years ahead, even Mama came to love Laura. She would say that her daughters didn’t fight as much when she was around. The first day of school finally came. My mother took me to my classroom and watched while I picked out my desk. She said she was proud that I was starting first grade. The door to our classroom opened a bit and I saw one of my classmates stick out her tongue at the girl in the doorway, whom I couldn’t see. Then I heard her exclaim, “Ooh, she has red hair.” Laura came in and found a seat, but I could tell she was shy being around so many new people. Not only were we in the same class, but we rode the bus to school every day for the entire year. I was so happy! Having her on the bus helped me feel safe.

• From Escape (2007)

  I chimed in, “So, are you trying to tell us that all we have to do is be obedient and we’ll never be abused again?” “Yes, I am,” she said, “and do I have a story for you about obedience.” The story she told—which was true—held everyone in a trance about a large polygamous family that went on a picnic in a small car and a large van. The car began to have problems and wouldn’t start. The father told one of his wives—a first-grade teacher I knew—that she needed to help him get the small car going. He instructed her to get in the van and use it to push the car slowly up the hill. He said when it got to forty miles an hour it would start. The wife was somewhat confused but didn’t dare ask a question. If she wanted the blessing of perfect faith, she must be perfectly obedient. The wife got behind the wheel of the large van and her husband got into the car. He waited, but there was no push. When he turned around, the van was gone and he couldn’t figure out what had happened. After a few moments the van appeared in his rearview mirror, bearing down on him at forty miles an hour. He leaped out of the car just before she pulverized it. Everyone at the coffee roared with laughter. “Yes, the prophet’s answer is far more efficient,” I said. “Killing our husbands through perfect obedience is a lot more practical than trying to woo them by being fascinating.” The women laughed again. We were being dangerously honest with one another and we knew it. I realized how much freedom I had lost since I’d been married. I hadn’t had such fun with other women since high school when my friends and I joked about the nusses. I was wary about a lot of the new ideas that were circulating in the community, but I didn’t have any sense of how fast they could take hold. Even if Warren Jeffs seemed to have some weird ideas, Uncle Rulon was still the prophet, and I had complete faith in him. Merril continued to marry his daughters off to Uncle Rulon to enhance his own prestige with the aging prophet. Merril’s need for power was insatiable. His daughter Merrilyn was also assigned to marry Uncle Rulon in 1992. She cried and pleaded with her father in protest. Merrilyn said it was impossible for her to marry Uncle Rulon because she was not as strong as Loretta and Paula. Merril didn’t care, nor did he realize that she was telling him the truth. Merrilyn was Ruth’s daughter and was also gorgeous. She was thin with long, dark hair, and like me, she was still in her early twenties. When forced to do something she didn’t want to, Merrilyn would pretend to comply but then somehow find a way to rebel. Merril insisted she must be obedient to the will of God.

• From How to Be Yourself: Quiet Your Inner Critic and Rise Above Social Anxiety (2018)

  Finally, remember the confidence myth. You don’t gain confidence in a vacuum and then go off and conquer the world. Instead, you learn to be confident, to have courage, to get over anxiety, to live your life authentically, by doing challenging things. And an authentic life includes some rejection, some awkwardness, and some embarrassment. But guess what? It also includes deep satisfaction in your accomplishments, even when they don’t turn out exactly as you pictured them. And with ongoing practice, you’ll find it also includes many Moments and even some elation. By practicing, you’ll learn that even if bad stuff happens, you can keep moving forward, keep being brave. You can handle it. But don’t take it from me; take it from Jia, who said to me: “It was surprising how easy it was to get a yes. I realized how many opportunities I missed because I was afraid of people rejecting me, but I was just rejecting myself.” He paused. I’ve learned to recognize that pause in client after client, as well as in myself. It was The Moment. Then with wonder in his voice he said, “The world is a lot nicer than I thought.” PART 4 Busting the Myths of Social Anxiety 11 How (and Why) to Turn Your Attention Inside Out Wah-wah, wah. Wah wah wah wah. Wah wah. To Diego, the medical resident sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher. She was reviewing with him how to perform a testicular exam while their alarmed-looking patient looked on, but Diego was too busy trying to look calm and doctor-like to hear much of what she said. Then she stopped wah-wah-ing and looked at him expectantly. With a start, Diego realized he was supposed to do something, which, given the circumstances, was probably a testicular exam. Diego was a third-year medical student, but so far this year felt more like being on the wrong end of a sniper’s rifle. During the first and second years of med school, he had largely buried himself in a study carrel or worked long hours in the anatomy lab, determined to excel. But this past July, when he and his classmates made the shift from classroom to hospital, he fell headlong into culture shock. He found himself in a whole new world of responsibility, helping to care for real, living patients—not the dead ones of the anatomy lab or the imaginary ones of his textbooks’ case studies. But the biggest change was the scrutiny. Given that the residents and attending physicians didn’t trust the med students to do much besides breathe without supervision, Diego was observed by someone in authority all the time. He was supposed to take vitals, take histories, conduct physical exams, but he always felt as if he were play-acting. His Inner Critic would whisper to him, They can tell you don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t belong here. You look stupid.

• From Between Us

  Masuda designed and drew a cartoonish task, based on the classic paradigm of emotional perception tasks to which I referred in chapter 1. The stimulus material for this perception task showed one of two boys: a Caucasian boy whom we called Jon and an Asian boy to whom we referred as Taro. In each picture, Jon/Taro was depicted as having one of three emotions: happiness, anger, or sadness. Jon/Taro was surrounded by other people who also showed an emotion. In some of the pictures, the surrounding people’s emotions were the same as Jon’s, but in many cases, they were different. We asked our participants, U.S. American and Japanese college students, what the middle person (Jon or Taro) was feeling. [image file=image_rsrc2M5.jpg] Figure 2.3 Happy Jon/Taro with angry others Different from the earlier study with athletes, our study examined which emotions the participants perceived, not just how many. Asked what Jon or Taro felt, our American college students gauged Jon’s or Taro’s expression exclusively. If Jon (Taro) looked happy, they rated him to be happy. If Jon (Taro) looked angry, they rated him as angry; etc. American students perceived MINE emotions: their ratings were tied to the expression of the middle person. The Japanese college students saw OURS emotions. They looked at the middle person’s expression as well, but in contrast to our American participants, they also looked at the expressions of the other figures in the cartoon: The Japanese respondents rated Taro (or Jon) as happiest if the other people’s expressions were happy as well. They judged Taro (Jon) to be less happy when the other people in the picture looked angry, but moreover, they judged Taro (Jon) to be angrier in that case. To Japanese, the emotion was inferred from all the people in the picture; the emotion was not just inside the person—in Taro or Jon—but also in the other people in the picture. In fact, an eye-tracking machine (a special device that tracked the gazes of our participants while they were judging what Jon or Taro felt), showed that Japanese spent some time looking back and forth from Jon to the people surrounding him, but Americans never took their eyes off the target person. Taka Masuda went on to replicate this study, using pictures of real faces instead of cartoons. As before, North Americans (Canadian students this time) saw MINE emotions—they based their judgment on the facial expression of the person in the middle—but Japanese saw OURS emotions, referencing both the middle person’s facial expression and the expressions of the four surrounding faces. Even though the instruction for North American and Japanese respondents alike was to judge the emotion of the target person—Jon or Taro—North Americans constructed his emotions as something happening within him, and separate from others, and Japanese as something happening between different people. Mental or Relational: Feelings or Acts?