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- The combination of qualities that form a person's temperament
- constitution: the way in which someone or something is composed
- The composition or constitution of something
- Cosmetics such as lipstick or powder applied to the face, used to enhance or alter the appearance
- constitute: form or compose; "This money is my only income"; "The stone wall was the backdrop for the performance"; "These constitute my entire belonging"; "The children made up the chorus"; "This sum represents my entire income for a year"; "These few men comprise his entire army"
- makeup: an event that is substituted for a previously cancelled event; "he missed the test and had to take a makeup"; "the two teams played a makeup one week later"
- A how-to or a how to is an informal, often short, description of how to accomplish some specific task. A how-to is usually meant to help non-experts, may leave out details that are only important to experts, and may also be greatly simplified from an overall discussion of the topic.
- Practical advice on a particular subject; that gives advice or instruction on a particular topic
- (How To’s) Multi-Speed Animations
- Providing detailed and practical advice
- remove something concrete, as by lifting, pushing, or taking off, or remove something abstract; "remove a threat"; "remove a wrapper"; "Remove the dirty dishes from the table"; "take the gun from your pocket"; "This machine withdraws heat from the environment"
- remove from a position or an office
- A degree of remoteness or separation
- degree of figurative distance or separation; "just one remove from madness" or "it imitates at many removes a Shakespearean tragedy";
- Look at or watch closely or with interest
- look at
- the organ of sight
- good discernment (either visually or as if visually); "she has an eye for fresh talent"; "he has an artist's eye"
? How Crying Keeps You Healthy? (184 views)
? By Charles Downey Saved From the St. John Health Archives Humans are the only animals who shed tears of emotion. Why do we cry? Are there any physical or health benefits from crying? Years of tears "Until the Industrial Revolution, crying in public was pretty normal, even for men," says Tom Lutz, Ph.D., an associate professor of English at the University of Iowa and author of Crying: The Natural and Cultural History of Tears. "Heroic epics from Greek times through the Middle Ages are soggy with weeping of all sorts," Dr. Lutz says. "Through most of history, tearlessness has not been the standard of manliness." For instance, when Roland, the most famous warrior of medieval France died, 20,000 other knights wept so profusely they fainted and fell from their horses. Long before that, the Greek warrior Odysseus cries in almost every chapter of Homer's Iliad while St. Francis of Assisi was said to have been blinded by weeping. Later, in the 16th century, sobbing openly at a play, opera or symphony was considered appropriately sensitive for men and women alike. Tearless generations The industrial age needed diligent, not emotional, workers. Crying was then delegated to privacy, behind closed doors. Children learned that weeping itself was the problem and not the result of a problem. People everywhere became more uncomfortable with public tears. In 1972, public crying was still so unacceptable that candidate Edmund Muskie was driven out of the U.S. presidential race when he shed tears during a speech. The purpose of crying Throughout history and in every culture, people cry. "Weeping often occurs at precisely those times when we are least able to fully verbalize complex, overwhelming emotions and least able to fully articulate our feelings," Lutz writes. Crying can also be an escape; it allows us to turn away from the cause of our anguish, and inward toward our own bodily sensations. Scientists feel that weeping is probably necessary because no human behavior has ever continuously evolved unless it somehow contributed to survival. "Science has proven that stress is terrible for the health of your brain, heart and other organs," says William Frey II, Ph.D., biochemist and tear expert of the Ramsey Medical Center in Minneapolis, Minnesota. "It isn't proven yet, but weeping has most likely served humans throughout our evolutionary history by reducing stress." Studying the waterworks In one oft-quoted study, Frey studied five different groups of people. The people kept records of all emotional and irritant crying episodes for a period of 30 days. Information such as date, time, duration, reason for crying, thoughts, emotions and physical components, such as "lump in throat," watery eyes vs. flowing tears, etc. Frey found that 94 percent of the females had an emotional crying episode in the 30-day recording period, as compared with only 55 percent of the males. Eighty-five percent of women and 73 percent of men reported feeling better and more relieved after a good cry. Dr. Frey's lab also chemically examined tears produced by onions and compared them with emotional tears. While chemical tears (caused by onions) were 98 percent water, emotional tears contained more toxins. Though there was no difference between men and women in average duration of crying episodes, men and women cry differently. Men cry quietly and their eyes brim neatly with tears. Women, on the other hand, make lots of crying noises as the tears stream down their cheeks. "Our testing revealed that men weep an average of 1.4 times a month while women cry about 5.3 times monthly," says Dr. Frey. Why do people produce tears? Some people believe that the rapid breathing associated with sobbing would quickly dry out the sensitive mucous membranes if tears did not keep them moist and that mucosal dehydration in the absence of tears could increase the risk of infection. While this may be one of the functions of emotional tearing, the clinical experiences of Dr. Frey and others indicate that sobbing is not a component of all crying and tearing episodes. And humans don't excrete tears while running or engaging in other forms of rigorous exercise where rapid breathing is also increased. Tears are secreted through a duct, a process much like urination or exhalation. Frey believes that like these other processes, tearing may be involved in removing waste products or toxic substances from the body. Perhaps that is why so many people report feeling better after crying. Not only is the venting of emotions liberating, but the actual chemical composition which is known to be different from tears produced from cutting onions may be involved in this increased feeling of well-being. "Crying is natural, healthy and curative," according to Barry M. Bernfeld, Ph.D., director of the Primal Institute in Los Angeles. "[Bu
The following is an unedited and rather hurriedly written preview of a long considered story that has never been written. Enjoy. This one is written for my fine friend Marie who is quietly persistent at teasing some stories out of my far from talented mind. If you keep it up, I promise to continue thinking about writing properly, or convince you I have nae talent and that I should give up! ‘I won’t take any pleasure from this years snowfall. I don’t take much pleasure in anything these days, least of all that silent world that lies outside these damp walls. It’s been two years, one month and 3 days since I last smiled at the once welcome sight of winters glories. Two years, one month and 2 days of wanting to forget, failing to remember and quietly giving in. So, just like every winter, I’ll sit here in the cold front room, I will stare fixedly at any distraction and I will pray for a quick thaw. A fast return to green grass, grey skies and that strain of bland denial that helps the months drag by. The months and the years that now lie between me and then. While I wait, I have to avert my eyes from that frozen, monochrome world. I know what’s out there; I know it’s waiting patient and proud, keen to demonstrate its newfound beauty, to show off its brief, stark parade of bowed branches and pristine fields of untouched white. So eager to lead me out into the snow, out through the garden, out through that gate and on into that dead white world where he still lies. Waiting? Wishing he was here? Wishing I was there? I guess I’ll never know. This time of year always held a special appeal to him. The embers of childhood still burned deep inside that chest and it was he that pushed for a move out here, out into the open, empty countryside. His idea was to get away from it all, to have the cramped woods and tiny worlds of childhood play writ large at our doorstep. He said it would help, said nature was all the therapy he needed. For a while it did. I would wake in the mornings and find him gone. His boots removed from their rightful place and dragged out like a faithful dog along the treads and paths he had worn in with his sense of adventure. In the summer I would be awoken by the sounds of cutlery and crockery. Soothed gently awake by the mingling aromas of fresh coffee, orange juice and the ever-burnt toast that would filter through the house. Our home. On a clear night, in winter or in spring, he would sit out there on the moss ridden front lawn and watch the stars. Never failing to point out Orion’s belt to me with a voice that somehow retained just enough wonder to make it worthwhile indulging him once again. His was the world around us: the paths and burns, the birds and the trees, the endless shifting of textures and colours of the timid Scottish seasons. Mine was the quiet, warm rooms of this house. Waiting for him in that domestic idyll. While he explored I would tidy around the fraying edges of his chaotic collection of ephemera and nonsense. Magazines that he would never read, letters he would never open, branches and pine cones brought home for another round of show and tell. I never minded, mine was a quiet life of waiting and patience, of knowing when I was second best to all that lay outside these doors. Don’t get me wrong; there was always affection between us. Between my world of domesticity and his untrammelled wandering through the patterns of Mother Nature. I never though I was in competition, never thought I might lose him to her. I was not a jealous corner of our settled love triangle yet for that acquiescence, what did I get? I became the jilted widow, hiding from the shame of abandonment, of being the bloodied loser in a fight I never knew I was in. So I won’t take any pleasure from this years snowfall. Not this year, not next year, not ever again. I will wait and I will hide and I will let this life slide right through me until the day my pride gives way and she comes for me too. I often wonder how I will go. Will I be taken from inside, a tumour or a needling, whittling virus that strips me down to nothing? Will I go like he did? Will I let the world search for me in these cold empty rooms that I used to love? Or will I wander from his familiar paths and let them find me full of frame but empty of mind. Lying out there in that field where he lay, just so she knows that I know what she did. For a moment I look out. I see the garden, a shapeless tableau of negative and nothing. I see the road and the impassable snow drifts that slide across that single lane. I see the gate. It lies wide open even now. It leads my eye on and up that rolling savage hill, dragging my thoughts with it back to that final desperate search when I walked the ways he never went. Searching in that empty washed out world for something other than my greatest fear.’