Just An Old Dirty Hippie

It is the perfect day before spring and you can see from the picture above how blue the sky is above the fuzzy bud of wisteria.
Just fucking gorgeous and I am going to go take a walk and I've been to yoga where we talked a lot during our downward dogs, our forward bends, our twisting, stretching, breathing, holding, pushing farther.

Some days we just seem to want to talk in yoga and that's all right with me. Today we got to the subject of dirt and germs. Dirt and germs. One of the women in my class has had to spend a lot of time in hotel rooms recently because her husband had a terrible bout with cancer and they had to travel to get treatment for him. She hates hotels and hated them before her husband got ill and she admits she's germaphobic. The subject came up because my yoga teacher is going to go to St. Augustine at the end of the month with her husband and they are staying at a nice place on the beach with a good Brand Name because she feels that will be a clean place to stay.

As usual, I am not on the same page as the other women in my class. Dirt doesn't bother me and germs don't either. Okay, I don't lick toilet seats and who does? (Don't answer that.) And I know that studies have been done which show that things like the remotes in hotel rooms and the comforters are rife with germs and all sorts of things you probably don't want to think about but if you DO think about them- so what?

Well, that's my opinion and I stated it in class and my teacher said, "Well, that's because you're a hippie."

I looked at her and I knew what she meant but I had to say, "Hippies aren't dirty."

She backtracked and tried to explain what she meant but in a way, she's right. Not that I'm dirty but that dirt doesn't bother me. In fact, as we all know, dirt is somewhat sacred to me but I understand that what you find in my garden and what you find on a hotel remote are two different things.

And yet. Not really.

There's an awful lot of shit in my garden, which is a good thing to find in a garden. Horse shit and cow shit and rabbit shit and chicken shit all make great fertilizer and that's that. You can buy that shit at Home Depot in big bags and it has been sterilized but the shit in my garden hasn't been so I suppose it's full of microbes and other...shit...and well, so what?

I came away from the entire discussion just ever-so grateful that I don't have a germ phobia. I have enough phobias of my own, thank-you very much, but germs ain't one of them.

I mean, think about it- what is a germ? A bacteria? A virus? The best part of a plant? Things germinate. So do ideas.

I think the word "germ" really got a bad name during WW II when we were fighting the Germans. Maybe. Who knows?

Are there germs in pee? Actually, it's sterile but I don't want to drink it although Gandhi drank his own, I hear, and I don't want to sit on someone else's. Are there germs in shit? Oh. You bet. Especially human shit. But our bodies are pretty used to them unless you get ahold of one that's especially virulent which does happen, mostly in the produce we buy. Are there germs in ejaculate? I don't know. Germs in menstrual blood? I don't know. Again- what are we defining germs AS?

I think it's more of a yuck-factor than an actual fear of germs which might cause disease. We're so damn picky these days. And we go around with our hand sterilizer and our Lysol wipes, trying to wipe out the germs on surfaces and ourselves and really, it's impossible. Like the way they used to shave women before they gave birth because that made things more sterile. Well, of course it did not. In fact, the breaks in the skin caused by the shaving made infection more possible. You cannot sterilize a human body. And you're not supposed to! The bacteria in a woman's vagina probably plays a part in her child's immune system development. And it's a known fact now that denying children their inborn need to put every damn thing in their mouths is a good way to promote asthma. Our bodies are meant to deal with microbes and bacteria. They are not, however, designed to deal with antibacterial goop and wipes.

We just go crazy about this...shit.
And no, I don't take things out of the dogs' mouths and put them into Owen's mouth. And I even boil his bottle (it's glass) occasionally. I love bleach. To get my whites white. But what the hell good does it do to disinfect the INSIDE of the toilet bowl? I mean, how long is THAT going to last? And why would my hands be inside a toilet bowl anyway?

So we were talking about all of this and I brought up an article I read in the Oxford American about dirt-eating. Yes. People eat dirt. Not dirty dirt. Nice, clean subsurface clay. And we still don't know why. There are theories. And animals, too, seek out certain dirt and eat it. Yes, it may provide nutrients which are lacking and it may actually detoxify certain things in the diet. No one is sure. But what IS sure is that people, throughout history, have craved dirt. To eat. You can buy it packaged and labeled in convenience stores in Alabama. I have seen this with my own eyes. And no, I did not buy any and taste it. I have no craving for dirt to eat. Only to get my hands in, especially in spring.

I have ingested tiny amounts of loved-ones' ashes, licking my fingers after I tossed the ashes into the air. This was more ceremonial than anything else. I hear Keith Richards snorted some of his old daddy's ashes when he died. He then retracted the statement but I'll bet you anything he really did it. Good for Keith!
And let's face it- we've all had things in our mouths which make absolutely no sense if you think about it.

Look- nasty is one thing. I do not like nasty. But regular old human and earthly dirt is just part of it. You might as well go to the beach and start trying to sweep the sand up as to sterilize and disinfect all the things you touch throughout a day. And I am just so glad I don't worry about it. I think about one of the best meals I ate in Cozumel last year and it was at a lunch counter, open to every fly and germ on the island and a man was frying shrimp in a big wok-like pan and they toasted white buns and put the shrimp on them with tomatoes, sliced by a knife which was probably not washed after they used it to cut up meat products, and I slathered the sandwich with a hot-pepper mayonnaise sauce which was sitting out on the counter and who knew for how long? It was delicious and I wish I had one right this very second! With a Toronja in a bottle and I wouldn't be worried about the germs on any of it. I think of the tourists I see in Mexico (always American) who won't drink anything with ice in it, who ask if the pool has chlorine in it, who ask if the salad has been washed in purified water, who are afraid to eat anywhere but in the American chains, thinking that somehow the bacteria there will be safer than the bacteria in the restaurant across the street with a name they do not recognize.
Poor souls.

Well, I AM an old hippie and I do not mind dirt. Or germs, either, for the most part. Here is the spinach we are going to eat tonight:


It's not only growing in dirt, it probably has worm shit and bird shit on it somewhere. OH NO! But I will pick it and bring it in and fill up the sink (which is probably dirtier with "germs" than the garden soil) and wash the spinach in it and then put it on a clean kitchen towel to drain and dry. Oh. It is going to be SO good.
And I'll do all of this with my hands which will no doubt have dirt under the fingernails because I plan on doing some weeding today. YUCK!

And when I go to sleep tonight, it'll be on sheets that my Yorkie sleeps on and god knows that dog is filthy.

So yes, I suppose my standards of cleanliness wouldn't pass inspection for a lot of people but that's fine with me. As Mr. Moon says, "I ain't afraid!"

And Owen, who spends several days a week here and who has since he was quite young, has never been sick a day in his life. Okay, he's only six months old, but still.

He will get sick. That's the human way. We do encounter germs which make us sick. I am not denying that. I am just saying that going through life being afraid of them is a sorrowful way to go through life.

And that's what this old hippie has to say today.

Happy Friday, y'all.
Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. Lagniappe:

Dogwood blossoms coming on today.


Tulips I got at the store, old tiny bird feeder I found in the woods, old typewriter Mr. Moon found at the dump. Dirty!


Redbud. Which, as Lily pointed out, should be called Pinkish Purple Bud.