When I became a grown-up, well I will never be grown-up all the way. So more accurately, on my way to becoming a grown-up it seems there is always more and more to learn how to do. My mom taught me how to cook and now I can see that had a lot to do with the size of my jeans. Yes her genes added size to my jeans.

When I got married, even though I could cook and sew and do what new married girls at that time knew what to do, over many years I was taught so much more stuff. But! Yes a hard taught “but.” One thing that I thought I knew how to do was to be re-taught to me one summer. Something so basic. And apparently something that I was doing all wrong.

 Oh it wasn’t how to weld or cut metal with a torch. I learned that. It wasn’t how to pack a wheel bearing. I learned and loved that. It wasn’t how to spray weeds, mow the lawn, clean the wood stove. I learned all that. It wasn’t how to rake hay. I learned how to rake and bale hay. I especially enjoyed watching the sage hen in the fields as they kept moving forward from windrow to windrow hiding in the dew kissed hay early in the mornings. Wonderful things I excitedly learned, always ready for each lesson. But there is always one thing isn’t there?

Every girl, no matter what she says, has at least one feature she likes about herself. Smile, hands, toes, hair, eyes. Mine? Well it’s my nose. It turns up just ever so slightly and I think it’s cute. So when I came in from raking hay one mid morning, sneezing my head off because when you rake hay it is dry and when the wind is lightly blowing, a goodly amount of that dry hay ends up, well up your nose. I am not allergic mind you, I just sneeze when it’s dry and haying season is in full swing. I never considered my sneezing as an allergy. I have seen people with awful allergies and I have not thought of me as riding on that bus. So when I came in sneezing and was told the error I was making, I was taken aback for sure. You make the call.

At the time I was a grown person, maybe all of my mid-twenties. I came into the house from the field, yes to fix breakfast, sneezing and blowing my nose to beat the band. I should have bought stock in Kleenex long ago. I blew and blew and, well to put it delicately I wipe my nose in an upward swipe as I finish. So when he says to me, “You k n o w you’re blowing your nose all wrong,” I know I must have thought I misunderstood him. I mean really, is there a right and wrong way to blow your nose? No, I didn’t think so either. Well we would both be wrong.

After some laughter and discussion the big honking reason, get it “big honking.” The reason my nose was not to be wiped upwards was because there apparently is a possibility of breaking your nose that way. So I got to thinking about my little upturned nose. Perhaps that was exactly why it was upturned a titch. It was all in the way I was taking care of my nose business all those years of my young life. Is my nose any different than my “family” nose? I went to family pictures to see. Did you know that pictures taken of people are almost always taken from straight on? Me neither. I know it now. I didn’t have many but the pictures I had, showed no side nose views. So if my family had a trait of slightly turned up noses it could not be determined.

Oh, I gave this new lesson a try. I started blowing and swiping down. I can tell you from experience that changing the way you are blowing your nose is not something that comes easily. Say every time you sat to dinner and on your plate was a juicy rib steak. You love steak. So you take a bite of it first. Each and every time. Then someone tells you that you must now take a bite of your baked potato first. No questions or variance. Just potato first. Could you change? Would you change?

I blow my nose and I still have a little turned up cute nose. Why? Because when I get a steak dinner delivered in front of me, I cut and take a bite of that steak first. Wink, wink.

Trina lives in Eureka, Nevada. Her funny book, “They Call Me Weener” is available on line. Or email her at itybytrina@yahoo.com to get a signed copy. Really