On weeping

Mostly, I am normal. Average in almost every way including the usual scattering of opposing propensities.

I do suffer, however, with autonomous tear ducts.

I remember hearing for the first time, the term river of life, and thinking that I and my tears were a part of that, participants, contributors.

Family legend has it that as a child, I could, for reasons of drama or trauma, conjure and expel tears in arcs, out from my body, dousing my comforters, and quickly bringing doom to my oppressors.

As a hay fever victim I have spent many a late summer day half under water, viewing the world as would a pond dwelling amphibian, peering with some effort, wearily over the surface of twin lakes.

And as a movie audience I am in the category of the very easy mark. The poorest play on simple sentiment, the most vapid and obvious scenario loaded with sap and stringed instruments, open-faced children in distress, deaths, births, hand-holding, all self realizations, triumphs over adversity and injustice, emotional devastations, bypass my brain and head straight for the ledges of my eyelids where, bidden or not, water gushes forth in biblical proportions.

My children find this highly amusing. When they detect these pivotal moments approaching, whether by plot or music or quiet sniffs in the background, they curl their heads around periodically to check on my progress.

Is she crying yet? they ask each other.

Sometimes, feigning sympathy and nicety, they will leap to their feet and run largely for Kleenex, showering it on me, tucking it under my chin, crooning and chuckling.

When we read aloud a book with which they are familiar, they lurk, smirking, waiting for the chapter when the dog dies, to see if, this time, I will get through it in one piece.

When I don't, when I bravely struggle through as best I can, stopping and starting, sobbing, drenching myself, soaking Kleenex after Kleenex, I am usually awakened to reality by the silent vibration of the bed shaking with the soundless suppression of hilarity and thereupon I am submitted to the kind of raucous tattling and finger pointing and summoning of siblings that turns into the ever widening bank of family folklore. It is so shocking and cruel.

Just wait, I tell them. Just wait.

Someday your wicked, hard little hearts will be so opened and they will never really close again and you, too, will be victimized by greeting card commercials and national anthems and such.

Then, of course, there is going out in public.

I have found, over the years that my children have been in school that certain events, certain types of situations are prone to bring about this sort of salt water emission.

I have begun to carry, therefore, a good sized, color co-ordinated hanky to all parades and programs, basketball games, birthday parties, board meetings, anything that involves a bit of pageantry or a display of teamwork or, worst of all, deliberate, heart-poinging ritual.

I have found myself weeping at weddings of strangers whom I was merely paid to photograph.

The approach of a parade -- even still far in the distance -- with the band playing and all the darling children on flatbeds and the glad-looking people on horseback, all the waving and nice communion feeling, this flattens me.

Little leaks spring forth predictably on the last day of school.

The first day of school.

Open house. Bulletin boards. Pow wows. Bake sales.

It is, I contend -- outside of the constant threat of dehydration -- a healthy condition.

My eyes are very clean. My cholesterol is probably low. My emotional cards are always on the table.

To anyone similarly afflicted, or to those who just like wonderfully simple salad and rice and vegetable garnishes, I recommend trying Gomasio because it is a very tasty Japanese invention, it is loaded with calcium, and it will help maintain a good saline balance for athletes and weepers.

The temperature of the skillet should be around 300 degrees, or, if you just check things with the palm of your hand, not terribly hot.

I like unhulled sesame seeds, which are brownish in color and look toasted.

If you prefer to start with raw seeds you probably know that it is a good idea to and smell them before buying. They are especially vulnerable to rancidity when stored at room temperature.

It is also worthy of noting that ground seeds are much more digestible than whole ones and their nutritional power is released for you by breaking open the hulls.

Once ground, they do not keep very long, either, so make up enough for just a few days. It's easy.

In a heavy skillet, cast iron, preferably, gently heat:

1 C. sesame seeds

Allow to dry toast, stirring frequently until the fragrance is released and the seeds look golden.

Grind in a seed mill, blender, or food processor until the texture is uniform, and that of a meal. Then add:

1 Tbsp. salt

Stir it in and there you have it. Use in place of salt. Or just eat it out of the pan, dipping vegetables into it.

In any case, you are not alone.