Mary Shelley's Favorite Keepsake: Her Dead Husband's Heart

getty images (shelley) / istock (heart and jar)
getty images (shelley) / istock (heart and jar)

People grieve in different ways. Back in the 1600s, it wasn’t uncommon to make jewelry out of the hair of deceased loved ones. In some parts of Madagascar, people dig up their dead relatives every few years to dance with them. And even now, we consider it fairly normal to incinerate people, then save them in decorative urns on our mantels. Taking all that into account, maybe what Mary Shelley did when her husband died wasn't that weird.

Percy Bysshe Shelley was just 29 when he drowned after his boat, Don Juan, was caught in a storm on July 8, 1822. Shelley's body and those of his two sailing companions were found 10 days later, identifiable only by their clothing. Shelley had stashed a book of John Keats poems in his pocket.

The poet was cremated, but for some reason, his heart refused to burn. Modern-day physicians believe it may have calcified due to an earlier bout with tuberculosis. Though Percy’s friend, Leigh Hunt, originally claimed the heart—he was there for the funeral pyre-style cremation and felt he had a right to keep the unscathed organ—it was eventually turned over to Mary.

Instead of burying it with the rest of his remains in the Protestant Cemetery in Rome, Mary kept the heart in a silken shroud, and is said to have carried it with her nearly everywhere for years. In 1852, a year after she died, Percy’s heart was found in her desk. It was wrapped in the pages of one of his last poems, Adonais. The heart was eventually buried in the family vault with their son, Percy Florence Shelley, when he died in 1889.

How Often Should You Poop?

iStock
iStock

When it comes to No. 2, plenty of people aren’t really sure what’s normal. Are you supposed to go every day? What if you go 10 times a day? Is that a sign that you’re dying? What about once every three days? Short of asking everyone you know for their personal poop statistics, how do you know how often you’re supposed to hit the head?

Everyone’s system is a little different, and according to experts, regularity is more important than how often you do the deed. Though some lucky people might think of having a bowel movement as an integral part of their morning routine, most people don’t poop every day, as Lifehacker informs us. In fact, if you go anywhere between three times a day and three times a week, you’re within the normal range.

It’s when things change that you need to pay attention. If you typically go twice a day and you suddenly find yourself becoming a once-every-three-days person, something is wrong. The same thing goes if you normally go once every few days but suddenly start running to the toilet every day.

There are a number of factors that can influence how often you go, including your travel schedule, your medications, your exercise routine, your coffee habit, your stress levels, your hangover, and, of course, your diet. (You should be eating at least 25 to 30 grams of fiber a day, a goal that most Americans fall significantly short of.)

If you do experience a sudden change in how often you take a seat on the porcelain throne, you should probably see a doctor. It could be something serious, like celiac disease, cancer, or inflammatory bowel disease. Or perhaps you just need to eat a lot more kale. Only a doctor can tell you.

However, if you do have trouble going, please, don’t spend your whole day sitting on the toilet. It’s terrible for your butt. You shouldn’t spend more than 10 to 15 minutes on the toilet, as one expert told Men’s Health, or you’ll probably give yourself hemorrhoids.

But if you have a steady routine of pooping three times a day, by all means, keep doing what you’re doing. Just maybe get yourself a bidet.

Have you got a Big Question you'd like us to answer? If so, let us know by emailing us at bigquestions@mentalfloss.com.

Jazz Icon Charles Mingus Wrote a Manual for Toilet Training Your Cat

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iStock

Imagine it's the 1950s and you're in a basement jazz club in New York City. A haze of smoke lingers in a dusky room, glasses clink as waiters drop off martinis and Manhattans, and people bop their heads to the sounds of Charles Mingus, the hottest jazz bassist around. After the performance, Mingus pulls up to the bar and cradles a stiff drink. You approach him, but before you can say anything, the musician turns to you and asks an important question: Hey, man. Where does your cat poop?

This isn't as far-fetched as it sounds. Besides being one of the most revolutionary jazz artists of his day, Mingus was also a passionate advocate for teaching people how to toilet train their cats. So passionate, in fact, that he wrote instructions for a cat toilet training program (he called it the "CAT-alog"), which he routinely tried to sell at his gigs. He even placed print ads so that interested clients could buy his pamphlets via mail order.

The CAT-alog is a reflection of the man as a musician: blunt, concise, and demanding in its details. (You can read the instructions in their entirety here.) He swore by the program's effectiveness, claiming it took three or four weeks for his cat, Nightlife, to transition from the litter box to the porcelain throne.

Here's a breakdown of Mingus's process:

First, teach your cat to use a homemade cardboard litter box. ("Be sure to use torn up newspaper, not kitty litter. Stop using kitty litter. [When the time comes you cannot put sand in a toilet.]") Gradually, begin inching the box toward the bathroom. ("He has to learn how to follow it.") Once you've reached the bathroom, place the box on the toilet. ("Don't bug the cat now, don't rush him, because you might throw him off.") Then cut a small hole in the bottom of the cardboard ("Less than an apple—about the size of a plum."), and gradually cut down the sides of the box until it becomes a flat sheet. ("Put the flat cardboard, which is left, under the lid of the toilet seat, and pray.") Then, one day, remove the cardboard entirely.

Mingus insisted that, with patience, his methods would work. In fact, he advised: "Don't be surprised if you hear the toilet flush in the middle of the night. A cat can learn how to do it, spurred on by his instinct to cover up." In 2014, however, Studio 360 at WNYC put Mingus's instructions to the test … and failed.

Some cats, Mingus admits, just aren't "as smart as Nightlife was." But he'd likely agree that cats, like jazz musicians, really aren't the types to be bossed around.

For more, please listen to actor Reg E. Cathey read a silky smooth excerpt of Mingus's CAT-alog here. Trust us: You'll be glad you did.

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