One Hundred Things My Mother Taught Me A Million Times - Chapter 100

#100 – “Don’t tell too much about yourself. It makes you vulnerable.”

Yesterday, as my husband and I were driving the “Wildflower Trail” west of Austin, we approached a stoplight in the suburbs, and an older, beautifully maintained Lincoln stopped in front of us. In the rear window deck there was a man’s hat. I realized in a flash that I might never stop remembering more things mom taught me a million times, like “Always keep a man’s hat in the back window of your car so you don’t look like you are alone.”

But that’s not #100. I always knew what #100 would be. I remember when Mom said it, and she only said it once. We were in the kitchen. Our eyes didn’t meet. She said, “Don’t tell too much about yourself. It makes you vulnerable.”

When I was young I tended to write mom’s words off as old-fashioned ramblings. I now write her words in honor of their timeless truths. But I didn’t dismiss #100. Something about it felt too real, too dangerous, causing my mind to tumble with speculation and imaginings. Why shouldn't I tell too much about myself? What will happen? How do you know? What do you mean by “vulnerable.”  Mom must have learned this lesson the hard way.

Do we harm ourselves when we bare our souls? The burdens of regret and the weight of secrets reside in us like inoperable tumors; anguish feeding the tumor. Some of us self-medicate to postpone the pain; and we heap one sorrow onto another. Some of us give it all to a “higher power,” the omnipotent cleansing. Some of us accept our imperfections, learn from our mistakes, and live each day as a blessing.

Have I increased my vulnerability by spreading my soul on the pages of this blog? Have I been completely truthful?

Mom was right.  Don’t tell too much about yourself. It makes you vulnerable.

Gulp: Adventures on the Alimentary Canal by Mary Roach

In Gulp, much as in all Mary Roach’s books, we meet the scientists who tackle the questions no one else thinks or has the courage to ask. We also find out much more than we want to know about the taboo tube through which we stuff and excrete food – the Alimentary Canal which includes the mouth, pharynx, esophagus, stomach, small intestine, large intestine, and anus.

Just as the subject of Gulp is a circuitous adventure, so too is the research that leads the author in unexpected and often icky directions, and we’re along for the ride, ready or not. There’s the issue of why stomach acids dissolve what we eat, but not us. Not something I’ve lain awake nights wondering about, but nevertheless a mystery worth exploring. Roach’s gift is that she keeps even the most clinical, comical.  Seriously! Gulp is hilarious and just full of interesting factoids.

For example, did you know that Elvis died of constipation? His autopsy revealed a colon 6 inches in diameter, nearly twice the size of the average person. It was also 9 feet long, compared with the normal 5 feet. They found five-month-old stool in there!  Sadly, Elvis suffered from a hereditary condition called bowel paralysis.

Even Roach's (pictured) description of the science of fecal transplants, which is probably what killed President James A. Garfield, after his assassin’s bullet failed, are interesting, albeit yucky.  Actually, fecal transplants, administered through enemas, have gained credence recently for “the restoration of the colonic microbiota to its natural state.” Unfortunately, Medicare won’t cover the procedure and fecal donors are hard to come by. No shit!

If you haven’t read any of Mary Roach’s books try Stiff first, as it is an all-time favorite. If you are a fan, I don’t have to tell you to read Gulp. Like me, you whooped with delight when you saw she’d spit it out!