My thoughts on the benefits of sensory observations:
As Ethel Herr states in An
Introduction to Christian Writing on page 31, “[Our senses] are the
physical gateways that lead all the impulses from the outside world into our
minds and hearts. We must keep them well
oiled, active, and in good repair, lest our neglect cause us to miss something
important.” We take in the world using
our senses. Many of our most powerful
memories involve sensory experiences – the pain and pleasure of childbirth, our
favorite restaurants, and when and why they became our favorites, the first
time we smelled our favorite cologne/perfume, or touched silk, or enjoyed the
opera, or saw our first college acceptance letter. Stories come alive for the reader when we
engage their senses.
The Exercise:
When I first went to the domestic violence shelter for my
orientation a few weeks ago, I was surprised by the stained carpets,
dilapidated staircases, and the strong smell of mildew. When the trainer said that the shelter would
be moving to a better location in September, I was relieved. During my first week of volunteering, the
light in the playroom was broken, so although the room was filled with many
brightly colored toys – a hot pink boa for dressing up, red, green, yellow and
blue cars, and who can forget the bright orange skin on the Sesame Street
muppet, Ernie - we had to rely on the quickly disappearing light from the
window. When I went to use the bathroom,
there was an “x” across the toilet made out of masking tape that said, “Do Not
Use” in black permanent marker. It seems
to me that women and children on the run from abusers deserve a beautiful place
to live – working toilets, bright sunny windows, fluffy couches, and fresh
lilacs on coffee tables.
When I went in last week, it was my turn to play with the 8
month old baby boy while my partner played with the little girl who’s almost
two. I was a little nervous about
playing with the baby for 90 minutes, because my knees hurt when I bend down,
but as soon as his mom passed him to me, I inhaled a whiff of his baby powder,
and the memory of my own children at that age made me not want to let him
go. Before his mom left, she said she
had a cold, and was looking forward to the break. As I stroked his back, I could both feel and
hear his rattled breathing. I guess he
had a cold, too. From this other sounds
and smells coming from him, it seemed that he also had a little gas.
I held his fat little hands as I tried to help him
stand. Is there anything on earth as
soft as a baby’s skin? I tried showing
him a plastic book, but how quickly I forgot how much babies like to put everything in their mouths. I wanted to continue showing him the books,
but I was conflicted about touching all the drool he left on the books (all
four of them). I don’t think I would’ve
cared if he wasn’t sick, but I guess I’m more of a germaphobe than I thought. Looking down at my leg and seeing the sticky,
creamy residue left behind when he spit up on me didn’t help. Where were antibacterial wipes when you
needed them?
The little girl who’s almost two loves to play with the
kitchen toys, and while I was holding the baby, she regularly came over to
offer the pizza she “cooked” to me and the baby. The baby doesn’t know what pizza tastes like
yet, but pretending to eat her food, especially when I didn’t really have
enough time to eat before coming to the shelter, sure brought to mind the blend
of tomato sauce, oregano, mozzarella cheese, and the crunchy, yet, chewy crust
from pizza slices that I haven’t had in so long.
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