Hi Everyone,
Potty time can be a bit of an ordeal in the three-year-old room, and when you think about it, that’s understandable. There’s a lot involved: pulling your pants off, balancing so that you don’t fall in, aiming (more or less) just so, putting your pants back on, flushing, and then quickly plugging your ears so you don’t become deafened by the loud rushing noise. And this is all assuming that you have realized in time that you have to go! It’s no wonder that the last important step -- washing with soap -- can sometimes be forgotten.
One little boy is usually in a particular rush to get back to whatever game he’s been playing, and needs special encouragement to wash his hands. To make the process a little more enjoyable, I’ve started making dying germ sounds whenever he scrubs his hands. When the germs stop screaming, he can turn the water off. He then says cheerily, “Bye germs! See you tomorrow!” and spits summarily into the sink.
If a simple act like hand washing can require such a process, it’s certain that the other teachers and I miss some opportunities for hygienic instruction; with a room full of busy three-year-olds, it’s impossible to be a “no germ left behind” classroom. The kids seem to come out no worse for wear. As adults, the teachers’ immune systems, however, have been systematically weakened by decades of hazards like regular bathing and hand sanitizer. And as the newest member on staff, I’d had the least exposure to the barrage of bacteria attacking us from every angle. In short, I’ve been sick for the last month and a half.
On the plus side, it hasn’t been boring. My symptoms keep changing: there was the normal cold/cough combo, then dizziness and exhaustion, then what turned out to be bronchitis. But most recently, I’ve just been very stuffed up, and haven’t been able to smell or taste anything for about ten days. The apple cinnamon muffins the four-year-olds were making, the smell of which was tormenting everyone else in the building? Nope. The garlic in my lunch? Nope. (Sorry, friends!) The result of the sniff test to see if a kid’s bag of clothes was clean? Nope. (Sorry, co-teacher -- that one’s on you!)
After a few days, though, I got used to not using those senses. And really, it wasn’t that big of a deal. Whenever I’ve asked people what senses they’d cut if they had to lose two, they almost always say smell and taste. In general, they can be pleasant and sometimes helpful aspects of our existence, but aren’t strictly necessary.
And even though my three most crucial senses were in working order, the word “senseless” kept surfacing in my mind. To be sure, by the most literal definition, I was senseless, at least partially. But there are two definitions of the word “senseless.” According to the dictionary on my computer, “senseless” can mean “incapable of sensation” and “without discernible meaning or purpose.” Sadly, part of the reason why the word “senseless” has been on my mind so much is because of the violence in Israel and Gaza over the last two weeks. Many people on either side of the conflict would offer heartfelt justifications for this newest edition of Retaliation Squared, would feel that further violence against the other side is the only fair form of retribution. But when does a civilian death ever make sense? What grief-stricken parent will ever acknowledge that her child’s death made sense to the other side’s military?
In a way, the two definitions of “senseless” seem unrelated at best, and contradictory at worst. One has to do with our physical sensation, the other with our mental processes. And yet, the more I think about it, the more I step away from traditional notions about the separation of the mind and the body. Our brains process the information that our senses experience as we interact with the world around us. Is a lack of physical sense therefore related to a lack of human sense? If Palestinians spent time tasting Israeli food, if Israelis spent time looking at Palestinian art, if they each spent time listening to each other -- not just to political arguments, but to their songs and stories and laughter and tears, would there be a decrease in the kind of senseless violence that has tragically characterized that region? I honestly don’t know. Conflicts centuries-old can’t be solved in a single paragraph. But I do know that over the last few weeks, as my head has felt muddy and my senses have been dulled, I have felt particularly disengaged from the people and surroundings around me.
A few days ago, with the help of extra-strong nasal spray, my sinuses calmed somewhat, and my senses of smell and taste began to return. After a week and a half of olfactory and gustatory darkness, even the most minor sensory experiences came as a bit of a shock. I kept smell-tasting this vague, sort of sweet odor, and couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. Was it from the nasal spray? Was it from some lotion I’d used? Was it just what my nasal cavities always smelled like, and I was only just now noticing because of my heightened, almost superhero-eqsue sensory powers? Everything was so real! I ate a bite of salad and gasped. Are croutons always this strong? I could finally smell the wet leaves and the crisp autumnal air covering Portland at the moment. As my senses returned to life, I felt more alive. In turn, I feel more able to appreciate and care for the life around me.
It could be mere coincidence that in this country, the two holidays most traditionally associated with family and community are also the ones associated with good smells and tastes. Nevertheless, as we have just celebrated one, and are entering into the season leading up to the other, I want to try to savor the upcoming delicious smells and tastes even more than normal, knowing that they help me connect to people and settings outside of myself.
That said, I might not reveal my recovered ability to smell at work just yet. I could go another few days free of sniff tests.
Have a great week, full of good scents and good sense! (Sorry. I couldn’t help it.)
Sarah/Mouse
