ABOUT THE HOME

Hawera Star, Volume XLVI, 7 August 1926, Page 17

ABOUT THE HOME

CONVALESCENCE A WOED IN SEASON. Of course vou have had the "flu’ this time? (writes G. Edith Burton m the Auckland Star). No! Then I must tell you kindly but firmly that you will have it sooner or later. In any case, vou must remember your convalescence after last time. If ‘‘last time” was in 1918, you are, of course, fortunate to be here to remember anything. I remember well 1918 convalescence, for though in our town we had a very clever little doctor, who only went to bed when his temperature was 104, and who lost very few eases, extraordinarily few his safe treatment was so drastic that had you been left to yourself you would willingly have died rather than face convalescence. When the morning cup of tea you craved for for hours turned to dead sea fruit (or Gregory’s powder) in your mouth; when even a dear, lovely yellow orange made you shudder; when every limb you possessed seemed to have been torn off and some other body’s fitted in their place; when eyes rolled in their sockets like red hot marbles; when the long hair you brushed with such pride fell in handfulls at your feet, and your skin peeled in flakes, you felt like Mark Twain at his Turkish bath, when he said: “1 perceive I have been long dead; please have me buried.”

Do you remember how women flocked to the barber’s to have their heads busterod, and even shaved, to try to save their hair. The rush then was worse than this shingled age, but, as, it. was not the will of Dame Fashion then, but stern necessity, women (with some exceptions) Jet their hair grow again.

My experience is, if you wish to convalesce “well,” do it in bed; for so sure ns you put your feet to the ground you are a dethroned queen. The family, while you are in bed, will fetch, and carry, and fuss over you. “Have you gone to 'bed’?’’ they say in an awed tone, with great emphasis on “bed,” and they come in quite often, and unwittingly jar your spine by jolting the foot, of the bed. “How are you now?” they ash, with concern. “Could you eat a lightly-boiled egg, with very thin toast? Would you like a tiny steamed flounder? Will you have a hot bottle?” Then they tip-toe out, and yell fearsomcly just beyond your door at someone much further away for banging a door. “Don’t you know mother is in .‘bed’?” The first day you get up all lis well. It is just before lunch, and everyone in the house seems to carry a cushion for you, or an extra pillow. They worry about the draught from this door, or that window, till your nerves are on edge. Three different members of the family prepare the thinnest bread and butter for you, and each looks resentfully at the other when the three plates are forthcoming. “I was getting mother’s bread ready,” they say acidly, each of them. Next day no one does it, and you are reduced to two cushions, and you shut one of the windows with your own frail hands, and Joan asks if you could just hem up the bottom of her coat; “but only if you’d like to do it, mumscy, and you must stop when you get the teeniest bit tired.” (How literally this is meant to be taken is seen w T hen Joan comes in at about five o’clock: “Finished my coat? Thank you, darling.”) On the third day you are “well.” Your appearance at breakfast is taken as a matter of course. Bob says: “Now you are quite well again, mater, I suppose we can have a little jazz tonight? Nothing .much; just a few eats aud coffee, and 'over early; not later than 12.” Father says: “Could you let down those new- trousers of mine haif-an-fncli? I would like them to-morrow.” Eva says: “If I fix up everything before I go, you’ll manage to get lunch, won’t you, dearest? I wouldn’t go to-day, but I’ve put Mollie off all the time you were ill.” And your neighbour says: “Dear me! how quickly you recover, Mrs S . Quite your old self again. I’ve brought in that coat of Maisie’s that you promised to fix .for her before you were ill. It won’t take you more than an hour; you are so good at that sort of thing. Yes, you ‘do’ look well!” So, dear sisters, stay in bed fill you are really well. It is quite a common fault in an otherwise, perfect nurse that she loses all interest in her patient once she has got her round the corner. While you arc in danger you are an object of strenuous interest. As soon as you are “on the mend” you are simply a tiresome creature who is neither well nor ill. I once had a brilliant nurse for a child with double pneumonia. That nurse simply tore that child from the arms of death. Yet in less than a week after she was bored to tears, and the child made no real progress till the doctor, seeing how things were, suggested that the little patient could be nursed now by its mother. Quite often in large public hospitals certain nurses arc picked out just for convalescents. When one is very ill, skill is all that is required; but when one has hardly the desire to get better,, then there is the need for the cheery, intelligent nurse. PARIS AND THE LOOKING-GLASS FASHIONS AND FANCIES FOE CHILDREN. ‘ Where the weather is concerned, we lack imagination. Give us a day of brilliant sunshine and we forgot, as if there had never been, the bad days of yesterday; a canopy of blue above us, and we cannot believe that the sky will ever be grey again. And as for clothes, we rush out and buy a stock of cob-web transparencies, all because of one perfect, day. Still, such optimism is good for trade. They do say, that one muslin does not make a summer, but the illusion came the other day, and I saw, not one muslin, but dozens of them. To be jarecise, everybody had rushed into crepe, maroeain, and" otherwise, with only a faithful scarf to make them feel that they were not out on faille. Hats, for once forsook the ‘cloche,” and took to shady, undulating brims, and in the Bois, Tom Thumb, very Chinesy, parasols, rivalled the rhododendrons in colourful picturesqueness. It was a cheering sight. The idea was to make most of the sunshine, because the weather prophets have predicted the worst summer on record.

In this day and generation, when young girls want to look like grown women, and the woman of forty tries

to return to the liey-dey of her eighteen summers, when, in fact, all ages are mixed into such a jumble, that iroin her dress, it is impossible to distinguish the ago of one woman from another, it might be interesting to see what has happened to the fourteen-year-old m England. I was talking recently to a buyer from a large English store, i\ho, being very much interested in her woih for the young, gave me some very interesting details. She told me, for instance, how hard it is to find models suitable for children, from ten to fifteen. Young England will not buy anything which looks too babyish, and, generally, they only want to wear clothes which are too old for them. At ten years of age they want dresses which look like their older sisters’ gowns. Tliov want to look just as chic ns the older girls, and they demand the same general style-points for their frocks, as their mothers do for theirs. The French child at ten or fourteen is still a baby, and dresses are made for them in consideration for their age. An Englishwoman will take a. shortsleeved child’s model, and have long sleeves made for it, or, as is more often the ease, will adapt it for children’s use. The little two-piece crepe-clc-ehine model so much in vogue for older women, are shortened, and adapted for their young daughters. At this rate \ve shall soon have no difference in age from ten to fifty. And at least, so fains clothes are concerned, the whole feminine contingent will be dressed alike. >

Fortunately, however, babies remain babies, and”the charming dresses of France for tiny tots can be excelled nowhere. Charming crepc-de-chine coats, nil hand embroidered with bonnets to match, are prettily lined with brightcoloured crepe-de-ehine of a contrasting colour to the coat. They come, as a mater of fact, in all shades for baby. To bo very smart baby wears shoes to match and silk stockings. I recently saw a baby’s rp incoat which deserves a word of mention. This coat was in blue, a lovely new shade of blue not navy, and not French blue, but a shade between the two. It was of waterproof crepe-de-eliine full in form and with Raglan sleeves. A small hat with a turn-up brim, of the same waterproof erepe-de-chine, completed the costume. A French baby invariably has her skirts above the knees. A French mother prefers to buy a less expensive frock, and buy it to fit, than to dress her baby in an expensive outfit, which will be the right size next summer. This she considers false economy.

The. other clay in the Bois do Boulogne, I saw a French baby who attracted much attention. Big brown eyes, with long, curly lashes, an ivory skin, and golden hair, had this little “beauty.” She was dressed in white velvet. A wide velvet hat was trimmed with two rosettes of vieux blue ribbon. The white velvet coat was very wide, with the fullness falling from the shoulders and due entirely to the circular cut. The collar and cuffs were loosely braided bands of white velvet, and the skirt came within an inch and a half of the knees. It was quite the most effective child’s costume I have seen this year.

Cinderella's slipper has at last been manufactured by human hands, and is bbing sold in Paris shops, and, strangely enough worn, not so much at the ball, as in the day-time, when it catches the reflection of the sun—when there is any —and glistens in all its chameleon shades. It is of the thinnest white patent kid, curiously glazed to a glassy shine. It looks exactly like a dainty slipper of opal, and is extremely fascinating. There was apparently, some reason for the specifications of Cinderella’s shoes, for .Paris’s new glass slippers look terrible on large feet. Flowers for dress garnitures are larger than ever, and the boutonniere is mammoth. The latest novelty is a flower made of smooth feathers to resemble single roses, lilies, passion flowers, and others, in which the linos are not too intricate. The flowers, of course, are exaggerated in size, and somewhat conventionalised in form. But the feathers are dyed in natural colours, and the centres are formed of metal threads. Some are tipped with jewels. Among these novelties, are wired flowers, of silk tissue and velvet, with petals outlined with small Rhinesteness. These arc very effective on evening gowns.—“ Germaine” in the Wellington- Evening Post. COURT DRESS DOWAGERS AND DEBUTANTES. The Duchess of York should be able to take some part in social events later in the season, though she is not expected to attend the first court (says the London correspondent of an exchange). QueOn Mary has made her choice of gowns, but the.details remain a close secret, in case any unscrupulous woman should dare to copy the scheme of a Royal gown, and so earn undesirable advertisement. The Queen gets her court gowns from Rcvillc’s, where many women in official positions buy their more stately robes. Wives of prominent Ministers attend all the courts, so they require four gowns. A court gown for a dowager of rank costs not less' than £SO, but the dress of a debutante does not necessarily cost so much, though plumes, veil, brocade slippers and other accessories swell the bill quickly. Under the present rule the. length of a court dress must be mid-way between the ankle and knee for a debutante and ankle length for those ‘‘presenting.” Queen Mary is not likely to modify the rule in the direction of shorter skirts, though Parisian dressmakers are agitating in favour of more license in this regard! A feature in court gowns during 192(1 is likely to be a train of rather deeper shade than, the dress. Thus a dress of faint coral pink, embroidered with mother-o’-pearl beads, may be finished with a train of deep pink, decorated with pink and white beads. A court gown shown by Paquin’s was of silver and blue brocade with a train of deep night blue, decorated with thousands of pearllike beads. PERSONAL WELFARE AND CARE OP APPEARANCE. When the sneeze “catches” you, you’re “in” for it. - No amount of dodging will .release you. The .first sneeze is really an announcement to you that an insidious cold germ lias been in. possession of you for two to five days (writes a Paris specialist to the Auckland Star). There arc colds and colds, but at the bottom of each, lies a gorm, miscroscopic in size, a giantess in mischief. For several purposes, it is well to place colds in three classes: (1) Colds entirely flue

to some special germ of infection, as the “grippe”; (2) colds due primarily to a disturbance of the circulation — these largely preventable, by the proper adjustment of clothing, by avoiding draughts, by preventing chills, ex-posure,-and cold feet; (?>) colds in great measure due to deranged nutrition corrected generally by diet. But, in the last analysis, the only way-to escape a cold is to prevent it. This can be done by toning up your system, and reinforcing the resisting power of your body. The best means to this end is as much exercise in the open air as you can, eating nourishing food, and avoiding those infected —your best, friends, if they are sneezing and red-eyed - and, by all means, keeping out of crowded places, when colds arc about. There is nothing just as good as daily physical exercise in the open air, for building up a constitution that will act •as a wall of resistance against the 'onslaught of the whole army _of cold germs. This muscular action improves circulation, aids digestion, and is altogether an exhilarating tonic and one that is applicable to the whole family. For the adult, no exercise is better than walking in the open air, if the position is correct, i.e., the head cicct, the chest thrust well forward, the arms swinging loosely, the abdomen tense. For those who have leisure, any exercise, from horse-back riding to golf, is good, if not carried to excess; and those whose time is taken up by more serious occupation, can often get exercise in the performance of their duties. Colds arc rarely considered in- connection with a luxurious meal, yet overeating is one of the gravest causes of the common cold. When more food is taken into your body than is necessary for its maintenance, the digestive organs have to w'ork overtime, to take care of it, .just as surely as if you were forced to do overtime in your work, or in other ways. You ean overwork for a certain length of time, but sooner or later you will become broken in health. Just so the digestive organs will become weakened, and the ever ready germs will find an easy entrance. Occasionally the cause is reversed to under-eating. But in any case, it is safe to adopt the popular diet of less meat, more vegetables, and more fresh

fruits. As to improper dressing, the illustration of the little girl who is all bundled up in furs, and the contrast of her opposite, who is under dressed, is an old familiar subject of your school days livgieue, and "one that you see duplicated every winter on any main street, or in the country. The excitation of overabundant perspiration caused by too warm clothing, lays the wearer open to the danger of taking cold, while the wearing of too scant clothing, and subjecting . the wearer to exposure, is a similar invitation.

The over-heating or under-heating of the homo or office, reacts on the body in like manner as over or underdressing. The air should be kept moist and the room, well ventilated. An almost certain way to annex a cohl is to fraternise with those infected, and this applies to the baby as well as to the grown up. Sniffers and

sneezers should be kept away from him. He should be handled as little as possible, and his bottle and spoon, and all the little paraphernalia which are used as a daily routine of his care, should bo touched only with freshly-washed hands. It is well for your safety, too, that your hands should be washed before eating, for many colds are now believed to be contracted, not through breathing, but by swallowing germs on foods or fingers. Another protective measure is the use. of a warm antiseptic gargle and nosedouchc.

It is important to keep your moral up to standard. Cheerfulness is a fine anti-toxin against < all disease. If a chronic worry is allowed to nag you you continually, it becomes a veritable monster, affects your circulation and so converts you into an easy prey for that sister-monster, a real hard cold germ, which, without mercy, will drive a thousand stinging needles into your nose and throat, and red-hot irons into your eyes and down your spine. Lastly, you cannot afford to ignore a cold. * The after-affects of what appears to be a trifling illness, may prove extremely serious. The best insurance against this evil, is to go to bed as soon as your temperature reaches approximately 100 degrees and stay there for at least 24 hours after it has returned to normal.

There are a number of other things that help to rout King Cold and keep you fairly comfortable during the unwelcome visitation. There is a brisk laxative, the old-fashioned hot lemon to incite perspiration, and something to soothe the nerves. The last must be taken cautiously and on a physician’s advice. But the greatest of remedies is the rest in bed.