A Dutch Fricandelle - Fish - Kosher Recipes And Cooking - Jewish Food Cuisine - A Collection Of Valuable Recipes And Hints

A Dutch Fricandelle -  Fish - Kosher Recipes And Cooking - Jewish Food Cuisine - A Collection Of Valuable Recipes And Hints A DUTCH FRICANDE...

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Showing posts with label glamarous. Show all posts
Showing posts with label glamarous. Show all posts

What The Nervous Woman Should Do To Feel Strong And Empowered - Woman Beautiful

What The Nervous Woman Should Do To Feel Strong And Empowered - Woman Beautiful 




“The beautiful seems right by force of beauty; and the feeble wrong because of weakness.”—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

Of all the unfortunates on the face of the globe there is none so worthy of real all-wool pity and yard-wide sympathy as the woman of nerves. Yes, and her family needs a dash of consolation, too. One nervous woman can create more nervousness among other women than could a cageful of mice or a colony of cows suddenly let loose. It is not for herself that the fuss-budget should mend her ways, but for the great good of humanity at large.
We are all of us more or less nervous, and it is really interesting to observe what strange outlets woman’s natural nervousness chooses.
“I’d walk from Hyde Park to the city hall at midnight and never be a bit scared. But let me stay in the flat alone after dark and I’m in a state of terror that would make you weep were you to behold me,” confesses nervous lady No. 1.
“I have nerves of iron,” pipes up nervous lady No. 2. “Except when there is a thunderstorm. Then I wish I were as dead as Julius C├Žsar.”
“Well!” drawls nervous lady No. 3. “I don’t believe in ghosts at all, but I’m scared to death of ’em. Sometimes I not only keep the gas burning all night, but I sit up in bed so as to be right ready to run away from ’em.”
Some people have contempt for the nervous ones. I have only pity. Any one who has gone through the tortures of hearing imaginary burglars three nights in the week for ten or twelve years on an endless stretch needs consolation and then a good, straight talk on the beautiful convenience of horse sense. Most women are always hearing burglars. Probably one in a thousand turns out to be a real, live housebreaker. Whenever the wise woman hears one fussing with the lock on the front door or trying to squeeze into the pantry window, she just says: “Same old burglar. He’ll be gone in the morning,” and he always is. That’s a heap better plan than arousing the household and suffering the unmerciful torture that a family given to ridicule can inflict.
I heard a woman say the other day that she never knew what it was to be nervous until a certain ragman began to take pedestrian exercises up and down the alley back of her house. He carries a canvas bag over his shoulder, and he yells “Eny ol’ racks” until that woman locks herself in a closet and stuffs sofa cushions into her ears. His “Eny ol’ racks” has got on her nerves so that she is simply beside herself until that man takes himself and his yell out of hearing distance. To be sure, he yells through his nose, but why in the world that woman should make herself miserable about something she can’t possibly help is a double-turreted mystery to me. The thing for her to do is to sit down placidly on the back porch and make up her mind that the ragman is not going to upset the tranquillity of her existence; that he hasn’t any right to interfere with her happiness, and that she isn’t going to be fool enough to let him. I’ll wager a peseta against a gum drop that she could do it, too, and without half an effort, if she would only once be consistent and determined.
There is no use in beating about the bush. I feel sorry for the nervous woman at all times and every day in the week, but there’s no chance of a doubt that the nervous woman is mentally unbalanced for want of courage and lack of will power. Some place, way back in the far corners of her intellect, there are numerous little sore spots that need the healing tonic of level-headedness and the bravery of belief in her own strength. Those wise gentlemen of pellets and pills tell us that when there is a defect in the structure of the nervous system, some certain region of cells not well flushed with blood is usually at the bottom of the infirmity. The cure, they say, is discipline and training, good food, exercise and plenty of sleep and good fresh air.
Sunlight is a glorious medicine for the woman of nerves. If I had a nervous fuss-budget under my care, the first thing I would do would be to feed her well. I’d give her nourishing broths and daintily-served vegetables, and little steaks and chops and plenty of fattening cereals and drinks. I would bundle her off to the parks every morning with sealed orders not to come back until she was dead tired and as hungry as a small girl at a boarding school. I would impress upon her mind the great need of throwing worry to the winds and taking in good, long breaths of God’s blessed fresh air. Then, after feeding her some more, I’d make her take a nice, refreshing sponge bath and tumble early into bed. After several days of such treatment I’d corner her where she couldn’t get away and lay down the laws.
“Now it’s just with yourself,” the lecture would begin with, “whether you are to be a jolly-hearted, wholesome-looking woman or a tailor-made gown with a bundle of nerves inside of it. No matter what comes, don’t make yourself wretched by fretting. Every one has troubles. You can’t escape them. Sometimes they come with a sweep-like tornadoes gone mad, and you’ll say to yourself: ‘My heavens! I wonder if I’ll live through it all?’ But you will, and between you and me, my dear, it’s just as well to come out of the battle with a smiling face as with eight additional crow’s feet and a new scolding lock of gray hair. Just say to yourself: ‘I will not grind my teeth because the man next to me in the street car is chewing a toothpick. I am not responsible for his lack of manners. I positively refuse to have fits because the woman in the flat next to mine plays the flute eight hours a day. If it’s convenient I’ll move; if it isn’t I’ll not make existence a daylight nightmare.’
“School yourself!” I will continue. “Get lots of starch in you and a backbone that is a backbone! Don’t fall down in a heap and mope over things you can’t help. The agreeable things in life are as rare as sage-brush growing in Gotham, while the disagreeable is bobbing up eternally. So brace up, my friend, and make the best of it. Discipline yourself. Keep your mind fresh and bright, and your body strong and healthy. If you have hard work to do then do it with the least possible expenditure of worry and nerve-force. Be in the open air as much as you can, and above everything else dwell not on the unhealthy state of your nerves. Let self-mastery be your shibboleth and ‘no nerves’ your prayer.”


Excerpt From – Woman Beautiful By Helen Follett Stevans (Mme. Qui Vive).