Bamboo Is the New Flax

About twenty years ago, flax became extremely popular, especially compared to another natural fiber, hemp. Since you can’t smoke flax, other uses had to be found for this plant. Flax became a leading fiber of choice for clothing, thanks largely to the eponymous brand. It also showed up in soft goods for the household and in other items of décor.

Now we’re in a new millennium, a new century, and two decades beyond flax. I’ve discovered that bamboo is the new flax. I cannot believe what items are touted as being made from bamboo. I would expect to see it in housewares and décor—in things like baskets and placemats, and tiki lights and wind chimes. Can you believe there are companies selling sink backsplashes made from bamboo? Wouldn’t they get mildewed when wet?

Worse, I think of bamboo as a product that is brittle and throws off splinters easily. That quality has made me sit up and take notice at some of the products I uncovered. Cutting boards and salad bowls, while not totally outrageous on their face, would have me worried about using ones made from bamboo. If I find fiber in my salad, I want to have put it there.

But what really made me stop dead in my mental tracks was an ad in a recent Tuesday Morning flier for bamboo sheets. Yes, sheets. Would you roll around on sheets made from a product that sheds sharp little pieces of itself? I don’t care how fine the “thread count” is; you won’t find me buying bamboo bedding. No way. No how.

Bamboo is showing up outside of home goods, too, but some of those uses are not that surprising. Bamboo bicycles must be very light and easy to pedal around town. Sunglasses and yoga mats don’t seem like a stretch, though leggings might be. The names of some of the companies selling this stuff are noteworthy, too. There’s Bambooki and Boo Bamboo and BumBoosa, for instance. (More on that last one later.)

Electronics accessories is an area that seems to be one of the post popular uses. There are bamboo laptop cases, USB flash drives, PC keyboards and mice. Impecca makes a hand-carved designer bamboo mouse that’s available in cherry, walnut, espresso or natural colors. You can choose from 23 different IPhone cases that SigniCASE offers in bamboo.

I can see that none of this has you itching and scratching. Well, how about this: bamboo hair and beauty products, like the Bamboo Charcoal Face & Body Soap Bar. Or the revitalizing hair conditioning treatment. Or the products for eyelashes and eyebrows. I’m clumsy enough trying to put on mascara. I wouldn’t want to have to worry about splinters in my eyes, too.

Still not skeeved out by any of these products? Here’s my absolute favorite bamboo items you can now buy from BumBoosa. Diaper liners, baby wipes and toilet paper rolls (individually wrapped—zero plastic!) These are guaranteed bio-friendly products. The baby wipes are even award winning. Non-synthetic and “tree-free.” Users of the TP describe it as “eco-luxurious.” BumBoosa claims it’s “processed using the thermo-mechanical pulping method.” Who can resist whatever that is?

I’ll tell you who: I can. I’m sure I’m just showing my own ignorance. Toilet paper comes from trees after all. Or maybe I’m just too set in my ways, now that I’m retired. It doesn’t matter what I think anyway. The rest of the country seems to be hopping on the bamboo bandwagon.

Suddenly I have a vision: Procter and Gamble decides to switch their sourcing for Charmin to bamboo. Those commercials we see everywhere with the blue cartoon bears cleaning their bums? Gone. The new ones feature pandas. Chewing on bamboo shoots on one end, wiping their tushies with bamboo TP on the other. Is this a great country, or what?

The Search for Exclusivity

I read somewhere (probably in Ad Age) that the makers of Grey Poupon mustard screen people who want to friend them on Facebook. If you don’t cut the mustard (sorry, couldn’t help myself), they ignore you. Apparently it’s all part of their marketing strategy to position themselves as the mustard for the upper crust. (Again, sorry.)

This gave me an idea. What if I announced that I’m screening people who want to follow my blog? Although quite a few of you read the blog, only a handful signed on as followers. Perhaps if I became more exclusive, it would give me cachet. Cachet usually leads to a following.

This seemed like a good plan, until I started thinking about how I would screen folks. I took a closer look at Grey Poupon, expecting it to become my paragon for screening. Here’s what I uncovered on their Facebook page.

GREY POUPON was founded in 1777 and… is generally regarded as the classiest condiment in the world. Their page had 64,309 “likes.” There was no apparent screening mechanism. Perhaps the Ad Age article drew so much attention they couldn’t handle the volume, so they opened the floodgates and let everybody in.

The “General Information” link gave a soupçon of this. Their “Rules of the Road” has four paragraphs and five bullet points wherein they: “…tip our hats to those who create a civilized community… where fans can share their passion for GREY POUPON mustard…” And so on, including legalese about giving them the unrestricted right to use whatever you post.

The final paragraph states: “For existing fans: if you do not wish to be a fan of the official GREY POUPON page… please feel free to “unlike” our page.” “Aha!” said I. They DID have a different mindset when they created their Facebook page. Those existing, prescreened fans were more “civilized” and likely to be put off by the hoi polloi allowed to post on the site now. This did not help me with my own screening, so I needed to move on.

Before I did, I took a gander at the historical list of commercials. I stayed just long enough to determine that the person who edits their Facebook page doesn’t know how to spell “rakish.” I would have clued them in to this error, but you need to “like” the page before you can post on it. There’s no way I’m engaging with hoi polloi who could never pass muster, much less mustard (from a Volkswagon Beetle window).

Back to my own screening criteria. Here are some things I feel I have a right to expect from my blog followers. They should know how to spell “rakish” and they should look good in a hat set at a rakish angle. They should be able to tell the difference between hoi polloi and swells at a distance of 100 feet, which means they need to know what a “swell” looks like.

I’d like them to know how to make a kickin’ pot of vegetarian chili and to be able to say “thank you” in at least one language other than English. They should have a stash of those recyclable grocery bags in the trunk of their car. They don’t talk in a loud voice on their cell phone when they’re in public, and they know when (and how) to turn it off. They brake for animals; they do NOT speed up.

Conversely, here are some deal breakers. Have you ever caught a fish with your bare hands? Collected empty beer cans to make a piece of furniture? Do you have more than three tattoos? Are any of them larger than 4” across? Would you look right at home in a WalMart? Even if that Walmart were in Alabama or Mississippi? ( Especially if it’s in Alabama or Mississippi?) I don’t have to tell you what a “yes” to any of these means.

Finally, here are a few multiple-choice questions to test your suitability to follow me.

1.     Which of the following do you consider a culinary treat?

a)    Ahi sashimi

b)   Squirrel stew

c)    Eggplant rollatini

2.     Your window box garden is now growing:

a)    Fresh basil

b)   Weeds

c)    Weed

3.     Your favorite summer footwear is:

a)    Merrell or Teva sandals

b)   (For men) Tube socks and Birkenstocks; (for women) flip-flops

c)    Tennies or boat shoes

If you answered any letter b, you’re too déclassé; don’t even apply. If you answered any letter c, I’ll put you on my waiting list, but don’t hold your breath (and don’t inhale…). The rest of you can fill out my screener online. Be sure to attach a photo of you in a hat set at a rakish angle.

Why We Forget More As We Age

Recently I discovered a scientific basis for why we forget so much as we get older. To explain this, I need to put it in biological context. A woman is born with a finite number of eggs in her ovaries. Once they’ve all made that monthly journey down her fallopian tubes (or have shriveled up in situ), there are no more eggs to be had.

It’s much the same with brain cells wired for memory. Our brains have a finite capacity for the number of things we can remember. Once our hippocampus is full (usually as we approach retirement age), there’s no more room for new stuff. Depending on your sentiments and the type of brain you have, you either fail to store any new information, or the new information bumps out something older that’s already in there.

If you’re paying attention, you’re no doubt wondering how your gray matter decides whether to refuse to remember new information vs. getting rid of something older, and what that "something older" might be. A key factor is the state of the economy when you reach your golden years.

Accountants will be familiar with two ways to value inventory: LIFO (Last In, First Out) and FIFO (First In, First Out). In an inflationary economy, companies prefer LIFO accounting. Inventory you use up is valued at the higher cost of a recent purchase, rather than the lower cost of something procured perhaps years earlier. (Yes, I know that companies can’t just switch back and forth willy nilly.)

An older brain will simply refuse to remember something new unless it’s really important. In that case, in a deflationary economy (speaking hypothetically, of course), a FIFO brain jettisons the oldest memories first, if it can find them. A LIFO-economy brain bumps out one of the more recently-acquired pieces of information. This explains why, in the real world, those with failing memories can often recall things from decades past, but not from yesterday.

Like everything else involved with gray matter, this is not a simple, clear-cut process. There’s a certain amount of emotion involved, too. If the positive emotional value of the memory about to be expunged is at least twice that of the new item, the brain will refuse the new information. Similarly, if the negative baggage of the old stuff is twice that of the incoming, it’s out with the old, in with the new. I hope you’re getting all of this.

If you’re of a certain age, expect to be forgetting more and more recent knowledge from now on. Baby Boomers have little chance of approaching retirement in a deflationary economy. Interest rates may start ratcheting up next year. If rates go up, can inflation (and LIFO memory) be far behind?

Getting back to the ovary/eggs comparison. Scientific advancements enable a woman to use a donor egg to create a baby. We need to co-opt that science for gray matter in order to counteract the forgetfulness that comes with aging. We donate blood. We donate bone marrow. Is it too much to ask to be able to donate a few cells from one hippocampus to another?

While we wait for this breakthrough, there are certain mental exercises you can do to help you retain the memories you cherish most. If you were paying attention three paragraphs back (and if you’re not functioning in extreme LIFO mode), you’ll remember that emotions can influence which older memories get expunged to make way for new ones. This tidbit is the basis for your exercises.

Decide which memories you are determined to hold onto. Pair them with some positive emotional imagery. Focus on this pairing for at least two minutes. The emotional connection will now override the LIFO/FIFO functioning of your brain. The memories you want to keep will remain, regardless of where they are in the LIFO/FIFO hierarchy.

Conversely, think of something you’re perfectly willing to forget. Pair it with something repulsive in your emotional repertoire. Focus on this pairing for at least four minutes; (bad stuff takes twice as long to jettison). The emotional connection will similarly override the hierarchy.

There you have it. A simple explanation for why we forget more as we age and easy-to-perform exercises to manage this problem while we await a scientific breakthrough to allow brain cell transplants.

In the meantime, it’s a good idea to scatter some notebooks around your house and in your car. And several pens or pencils. Write down anything really important, and then hope you don’t forget where you put the notebook. You can thank me later, if you remember.

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

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I recently read Ellen Degeneres’ book Seriously… I’m Kidding. In one chapter, she wrote about the lies we all tell. An example she used: you’re on your way out the door to work when you notice a stain on your shirt. You’re too lazy to change, so you tell everyone it happened on the way to the office.

While we all tell white lies, retirees tell more of them. Our lives are a petri dish of little lies. We also lie for different reasons than when we were younger. Young people are prone to one type of lie: the Get Out of Trouble one. It begins with “the dog ate my homework” and progresses to “we ran out of gas.” (Remember what you were doing when you told that one?)

I’ve identified six types of lies that older folks tell. These do not include Get Out of Trouble, though at least one senior lie resembles that youthful one.

The first senior lie is the Embarrassment/Matter of Pride lie. Your daughter phones to check if you took your medicine that morning. “Of course I did,” you reply, indignantly, on your way to fetch the day-of-week dosage container that has not yet been opened today. Although this resembles the youthful Get Out of Trouble, it’s not fear of getting into trouble that’s behind it. It’s the embarrassment of having to admit you once again forgot.

The second type is the Ignorance/Forgetfulness lie. The senior shuttle bus can take you to the local market every Tuesday at 10 am. Your neighbor asks why she didn’t see you on it last week. “I didn’t need to go to the market. I have everything I need,” say you-of-the-empty-cupboard.

This is not the same as simply lying about something you forgot. With the medication example, you lied knowingly when confronted. The second type is done in complete innocence. You didn’t know about the shuttle, or you forgot you ever knew. Rather than admit that, you fabricate a lie to divert the conversation elsewhere.

Type three becomes increasingly common as we age: the Convenience lie.

Normally, I don’t park in restricted areas, but lately I find it harder to resist convenience. The other day, I pulled into a “No Standing” zone in front of the bank so my husband could use the ATM. His knees are creaky and he uses a cane if he’s going a considerable distance, but he’s fine for shorter walks.

As he was leaving the car without his cane, I asked him to take it with him. “That way, if anyone says something to me about parking here, I’ll tell them it’s because my husband is an invalid.” I could hear Ellen Degeneres chastising me: “Liar, Liar, pants on fire!” I guess my husband couldn’t hear her, because he dutifully took his cane and pretended to hobble up the steps to the bank.

The fourth variation is Delaying Tactics. This buys time while you try to figure out (or remember) what’s being asked of you. Women commonly use this by rooting through their purses, mumbling, “Hang on. It’s in here somewhere.” We’re actually buying time while we try to remember where we put whatever is supposedly in our purse.

Type five is Deflected Blame, which is sometimes a companion to Get Out of Trouble or Embarrassment. I’ve blamed my cats for “scratches” and “claw marks” on my limbs and torso when my GP asks how I got them. I might have stabbed myself with a knife or scissors, but blaming the felines keeps him from lecturing me about my carelessness. Besides, it could have been the cats. Who knows?

This reminds me of one of my favorite movie scenes. It’s from “10,” where Dudley Moore is visiting the pastor to get information on the Bo Derek character. The housekeeper noisily passes gas as she bends over to set the serving tray on the coffee table and the dog races out of the room. The pastor explains: “Whenever Mrs. Kissel breaks wind, we beat the dog.”

The sixth and final senior lie is Keep In Practice, which is just what it sounds like. Even with plenty of occasions to employ the other five types, it’s a good idea to have a few of this last one in your hip pocket, just in case. “My doctor said that’s not a good idea.” (Be careful to never specify which doctor.) “I’m trying to de-clutter, so I packed it away in the attic (or donated it to Good Will.)” “Yes, I know you told me that, but I didn’t realize you were serious.”

If you think you’re immune from telling any of these senior lies, feel free to proclaim your innocence. Chances are, no one will believe you anyway.