The Story of Me and Tomatoes

This all started by thinking about the concept of disgust. We all feel disgust, usually triggered by some specific sense – sight, smell, touch, taste, sound. Sometimes it’s triggered by a thought too. The tendency is natural, but at the same time it might be worthwhile to not base all of our decisions upon the feeling of disgust. 

For example, someone might set down a plate of rotten food in front of me. I will not eat it. Why, because I am disgusted by the sight of it? No. Because I can see the food has rotted, it smells bad, and I know eating this would make me sick. The decision to not eat the food shouldn’t be based upon the feeling that it disgusts me, but the fact that things would not end well for me if I did eat it.

Here’s the thing though – I would feel the same sort of disgust if someone placed a dish in front of me that looked and smelled bad, and yet was perfectly fine to eat. Should I then refuse to eat the food, just because it disgusts me? No, certainly not. Especially if I see others are okay with eating it, or if I know this is a dish frequently consumed by people, there is no harm in at least giving it a try. I may not like it afterwards, but that is no reason to not give it at least a chance.

The most personal example for me, I think, is about me and tomatoes. I don't like tomatoes. I never did. I don't know why. As a child, I simply refused to go near them: I wouldn't touch them in the store, and when they showed up in my food I would pick them out and throw them out at the end of my meal. My mom got mad at me and yelled at me at every meal, and finally gave up, resigned to the fact that I would never touch the darned things.

This continued for quite a while, way into my teens. The first signs of change came about when I went to college. Even there, eating in the mess, I continued with my habit of picking out tomatoes. The other girls found it rather quirky, though it didn't bother anyone.

But then one day I found myself thinking, why do I hate this vegetable (fruit) so much? It's not like it's doing me any harm, people eat it for a reason. Also, there is a distinct flavour that it does add to the food, which is quite noticeable, even if I don't like the standalone taste of it. I could not bring up a single logical reason why I would avoid this vegetable. The only reason was, for whatever reason, I did not like the vegetable.

I realized too, that it wasn't the vegetable itself that bothered me. It was just seeing it in my food. My mom ran this experiment a few times, where she would puree the tomatoes rather than dice them. I ate the food without complaints, and did not even think about the tomatoes. The only difference was I was unable to see them. So the problem was with me, and not at all with the vegetable.

As I realized this, I started to eat the tomatoes rather than pick them out. I took on the tactic of simply ignoring the fact that they were there at all, and got very good at it.

I still don't like tomatoes. And I won't eat a fresh tomato if you just hand it to me. But I can accept that my prejudice really has no grounds, and I shouldn't let it get in the way of what's beneficial to me.

Ailanthus Altissima

My beloved's neighbour has a large tree in his backyard - of course he has several, but there is a particular one that I did not pay much attention to until recently. the same variety grows in another neighbour's yard too - a specimen about six feet tall. I did not notice this tree until a few months ago, when my beloved and I discovered a specimen growing out of one of the basement window-wells, through a crack barely an inch wide.

He didn't want the plant there, for fear it would cause a rupture, so he tore it out and threw it away and thought no more of it. A month later we found the plant had shot up bright back, as though it had never left, about a foot and half tall. He cut it out and threw it out again. The root system remained however, and sure enough, a month later, it was back.

This time, at my behest, he pulled it out as gently as he could and replanted it in another corner of the garden. We also relocated another sapling that I found growing in a rather clumsy place under the deck.

Three months later, both saplings are sturdy and thriving. It has rained several times in the past three months, which I'm sure has done nothing but encourage the young trees. What's more, we found several more saplings sprouting up all over the front and back yards last week, including one very sturdy specimen already three feet tall.

It almost seemed as though this tree was propagating via the root system. It is a common asexual method of reproduction in various plant species. A lot of weeds usually propagate this way, hence leading to my beloved dubbing the plant, "the weed tree". I chose to bestow that more colourful title of "the slutty tree". My beloved suggested going online to find the real name. In the spirit of research, I did.

Ailanthus altissima, it is called. The history and survival of this species is rather interesting. So that I may not unnecessarily repeat what has already been written about this one, you may read all about it here on Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ailanthus_altissima All I'll say is, there's something pretty remarkable about a tree that could survive the Hiroshima atomic bombing, especially at such close range as 300 metres. It's often said cockroaches will the be the only survivors in the event of a nuclear World War III - but Ailanthus will likely survive too, and revegetate the planet.

There's some comfort in the thought, I think, that organic life will not completely be destroyed. But there's coldness too, given that I and my species won't be amongst the survivors.

For now, I'll just watch my slutty trees grow. In about three years, if they survive the winter snow, we'll have some decent shade in the backyard.

Chicken Basil by Diane Crispell

Dish: Chicken Basil
Cuisine: Thai
Total Preparation Time: 1 hour
Serves: Two

Ingredients: 

For the entree: 

• 2 chicken breasts
• 5-7 red chilies
• 1 bulb garlic
• 1/4 green bell pepper
• 1/4 red bell pepper
• 1/4 yellow bell pepper
• 1/4 white onion
• 1 tbsp peanut oil
• Fresh sweet basil leaves (look for purple stems)
• Salt and pepper to taste

For the sauce:

• 2 tbsp brown sugar
• 1 tbsp fish sauce
• 1 tbsp oyster sauce
• 1/2 tbsp soy sauce
• 1/2 tsp chicken bouillon base

To complete the meal: 

• 1/2 cup rice

Utensils: 

• Chinese rice bowl
• Aluminium wok
• Chopsticks
• Pressure cooker or electric rice cooker

Preparation: 

• If using a pressure cooker, soak the rice in water for 30 minutes to make the grains soft.
• Wash the chicken and cut into big bite-sized pieces and flatten with the blade of a knife. 
• Sliver the bell peppers and onion. 
• Slit the red chilies with a knife. Then soak them in cold water and remove the seeds with your fingers while they soak.
• Chop the garlic and red chilies finely. 
• Wash the basil leaves and remove the stems.

Cooking Directions: 

The sauce:

• Add all the sauces to the Chinese rice bowl and mix using a chopstick. 
• Add water till the bowl is almost full, mix well to even out the sauces. 

The rice: 

• If using a pressure cooker, immerse the rice in twice as much water (1 cup water for 1/2 cup rice, 3/4 cup water will make the rice looser and less sticky) and place in the pressure cooker. Set to medium high heat, and turn the range off after two whistles. 
• If using an electric rice cooker, follow the cooker's instructions to cook 1/2 cup rice.

The entree: 

• Heat the peanut oil in the wok on medium high heat for about 30 seconds. 
• Drop in the chicken pieces and turn to medium heat. 
• Using chopsticks, separate the pieces.
• As the pieces sizzle, add salt and pepper. 
• Try to coat them evenly with oil but do not let them turn brown. (Look for the pieces to turn white with a little bit of pink still in them. This is because they will continue to cook as you proceed to add the sauce and vegetables.)
• Add the chilies and garlic to coat the chicken pieces. 
• Add the bell peppers and onion, and toss to mix with the chicken. 
• Simmer for about a minute, so that the vegetables are still crisp. 
• Add the prepared sauce and turn the heat up to high. 
• Allow the ingredients in the wok to bubble for about 10 seconds. 
• Turn the heat to low and add the basil leaves. 
• Mix well and turn off the heat when done.

Serve: 

• Serve each person a portion of the entree with their desired amount of rice. 
• Serve with a chilled drink to cool off the heat.

Possibility Versus Probability

"I don't believe in ghosts."

"Why not?"

"I don't think they exist, that's all. It's very unlikely."

"You can't know that for sure! What if you're wrong? Science can't explain everything."

"That's true. Science can't explain everything. Doesn't mean the answer only lies in supernatural explanations. Or that I should accept the existence of ghosts as supernatural beings that were once living people. There could totally be other explanations."

"But you admit it's possible ghosts exist?"

"Sure. The possibility always exists. No problem with that. But I don't think it's very probable that they do."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"It's possible that ghosts exist. It's not very probable that they exist."

"What's the difference?"

"It's possible that ghosts exist - maybe they do and maybe they don't. But that by itself doesn't mean anything. There can be all sorts of explanations apart from ghosts. What really matters is how probable the idea of ghosts is - meaning how likely is this explanation to be true compared to the other explanations."

"You're talking all fancy now. I don't understand you."

"Sorry. All I'm trying to say is being possible and being probable are two different things."

"Those are just words. You're trying to confuse me with fancy words."

"But words are what we use to symbolize what we mean. Yes, these are words, but these are words with specific meanings, and I mean those specific things by using these words. If you don't understand them, I can explain them, but just saying they are words and you don't understand them means you don't really care, and I'm wasting my time."

"Well alright, what do you mean then? Can you explain what you just said about possible and probable?"

"Let's take a simple example. Suppose I tell you we're going to visit these friends of mine, and they have a child who is five years old. I'm busy, so you have to go buy a toy for the child. Now, what kind of toy will you buy? For a boy, or for a girl?"

"I don't know. Is the kid a boy or a girl?"

"I haven't told you. You have to guess. What do you guess?"

"That's not fair. I don't know, I can't guess anything."

"Exactly. From your point of view, there are two possibilities - the kid can be a boy, or the kid can be a girl. But unless I give you more information, you can't tell which it is. What would you say about the probability? How likely is it that the kid is a boy, versus being a girl?"

"I don't know... could be either."

"Yes, again because you don't have more information. You've heard of probability, right? You're probably heard the language somewhere - 50 % chance of something, 10% chance of something, 90% chance, or 10 to 1 odds, or the like? Use whatever language feels comfortable to you. The idea is that because you don't have any other information, there's a 50% chance the kid is a boy, and 50% that it's a girl. Make sense?

"Yeah, sort of."

"But. Suppose I had phrased my sentence like this: We're going to visit these friends of mine. They have a child, and he is five years old. Now what can you say?"

"Well, the child is a boy!"

"Let's put it this way. They have a child, so there are still two possibilities - it's a boy or it's a girl. But my next sentence was he is five years old. That decides it, right? How likely is it that the child is a boy?"

"Ummm... 100%?"

"Yes. Of course, there is still a possibility that it's a girl, and that I made a mistake and said he is five years old, instead of saying she is five years old. But how likely is it that I made such a mistake? After all, I do have a good handle over the English language. Would you agree?"

"That you know English? Yes, you speak quite well. You wouldn't make a mistake like that."

"It is possible, certainly, but very unlikely. Since I'm unlikely to make such a mistake in speaking, it's more likely that the child is a boy. More likely means higher probability - now do you see what I mean? Possibility just tells you what options exist. Probability tells you which option is more likely than the others, and by virtue of being more likely, that option is a better one."

"But it's still just an option right? Other options might be less probable, as you call it, but they can still exist."

"Yes, they can. And sometimes it turns out that a less probable option is actually the correct one. But not usually. And in some cases, an option can be so unlikely that it's almost absurd. You can argue for example, that it's a possibility that the earth is flat, that sailors who sailed around the world, and astronauts who went into space somehow all managed to fool themselves, and the earth is really just flat, and that's certainly a possibility. But it's not very likely, is it? There is enough proof that the earth is round. The possibility that the earth is flat is not just extremely remote, it is patently absurd."

"And you think the same is true for ghosts?"

"Yes. You can explain supernatural phenomena using ghosts and things. But you can also use rational, natural explanations. Guess which set of explanations can be tested using theories and experiments? So yes, I'm not convinced that ghosts exist."

Thirsty

I feel so thirsty
        Cold is the mountain
But I am warm
        The ice melts away
I don't want to get up
        As the sun shines
My beloved with me
        It flows forth strong
The light of my soul
        Satisfying desire
The gem in my heart
        The need deep within
Softly straddles me
        Burning so intense
I cannot arise
        To wet the throat
Will not leave his embrace
        For so many millions
Shall not be separated
        Cannot live without this
For the sake of water
        Will not awake
To slake a mild thirst
        To live for eternity

It Snowed All Night

It has snowed all night, and it will snow all day today. This is beautiful. This is a real winter day, the real white in the winter night that everyone will remember. 

There is a foot of snow covering everything. Little flakes fall gently and softly, brushing my face as they settle on my clothes. There is a mild breeze, yet it is not biting cold as I had imagined. This is a blizzard, my beloved tells me, it is measured by how much snow falls, not by the force of the gale that brings it. Indeed, you learn something new every day. 

We pick up shovels to clear up the driveway. It looks easy, I think, but I am mistaken. Snow is fluffy and light, but try shifting a ton of it, and you realize, one must be sturdy to survive in this climate. Nature is sneaky in how she looks!

Thousands, millions of tiny little flakes, floating down gently, and then a gust of wind might push them on with more force. Hundreds of little flakes together form an ocean of snow. Everything takes on a vivid, vibrant colour against the expanse of solid white. The brick red of our neighbour's house. The dark green of the evergreen trees on the mountain. The soft orange of leaves still clinging onto branches, by a slim thread. The gold of the dry grass, cloaked by the snow. The grey of the sidewalk, peeking out through where we shoveled. The brown of the bark of trees, standing solidly against all weather. 

Everyone is at home, warm by a fire, drinking a bowl of hot nourishing soup, watching a sports event being played out in a different city in a warmer climate. My beloved is curled up under the blanket. I snuggle close to him, and savour the heat of his body. I ask him if we can play. He smiles at me, holds me close, and we drift off to sleep. 

But barely a half hour later, he wakes, and walks about to taste the blizzard for himself. He returns, and dresses me up warmly, in a cap and jacket, in boots and gloves. His fingers are firm yet gentle, careful as one might be with a child too young to be out in the world on her own. I am reminded of Bambi being taken by his mother to see the meadow for the first time. 

We drive out to our favourite place, tucked away in a unique little corner of the mountains. It was where I realized he is beloved to me. A little trail makes its quiet way through the trees and rocks, running alongside a tiny trickle of a stream, sometimes ascending and other times descending. The trees and bushes may sometimes obscure the path, and at others leave it widely visible. And today, all of it, path, bushes, trees, rocks, stream, was covered in two feet of snow. 

My beloved throws a fistful of snow at me, and I throw one right back. the snowfight escalates till we are on top of each other, rolling and tumbling over the soft powder, laughing like little children. Shhh, he says, someone might see us. 

Does it matter?

A little clearing emerges between the trees, covered in fresh untouched powder. We can hear the chirping of a few lonely birds, but even they have not set foot on the snow. I can jump and dance like a filly, watching my feet plunge easily through the soft mass, and there is nobody to stop me. Nobody to call me silly. Nobody to tell me to act my age. I can be a child again. I can be a cute tiny snowbunny. 

It is quiet. Insanely quiet, but for the occasional chirping of birds. There is no music to be heard from the houses. There is no squeaking of forest animals. No rustling of leaves, which have all fallen. No babbling of the stream, which has now frozen. Even the murmur of the wind is faint, it can barely be discerned. As I hold my beloved close, the loudest sound in my ears is his breathing and his heartbeat.

I bring you a song, and I sing as I go, for I want you to know, that I'm looking for romance. 
I bring you a song, in the hope that you'll see, when you're looking at me, that I'm looking for love.  
I'm seeking that glow, only found when you're young and it's May, only found on that wonderful day, when all longing is through. 
I'm seeking that glow, only found when a thrill is complete, only found when two hearts gently beat, to the strength of a waltz that's both tender and new. 

It seems the night will have themes from Bambi. 

This is a world of hidden treasure and secret beauty, of woodland faeries and forest spirits, of quiet music and still dance. Are we only visitors? Perhaps so, but our passport is perpetual, it will never be revoked. And as my beloved and I walk back towards civilization, we make a promise: we shall be back to witness as the snow melts and the leaves return to the trees.

Random Conversation: Are We Players?

Last night, my friend and I were sharing some gossip about our mutual friends, catching up as I had been out of touch for a long time.

She told me about this one guy, who has always sworon to us that he would never get into a relationship, on account of his mother who didn't approve, and his own observation of his friends who went through dramatic roller-coasters in their own love lives.

"He's become a player," she said.
"What?"
"He's become a player."
"WHAT? Player? What? But... but he always swore he wanted to stay away from women! What happened?"
"He grew up. He finally grew up, and his hormones kicked in, and he gave in to them."
"Oh my goodness..."
"Yeah, he's become a player."
"Doesn't it seem like every guy goes through this phase?"
"You think so? No... I know plenty of guys who aren't like this..."
"You're lucky then, because it seems like almost every guy I know has gone through this..."
"Do you think we are players?"
"What?"
"You and me. Do you think we are players?"
"You and me? No. No, we are not players."
"Hmmm..."
"I mean, we could be, if we wanted to. I don't see why not - we're both smart, educated, forward thinking, good-looking - reasonably good-looking at the least... we could be players if we tried. It would be so easy to toy with the hearts of boys. But I don't find within myself any desire to do so."
"Neither do I... oh well."