The Future Holds No Room for Hate

 

Photo: Rhipsalis (similar to pencil cactus) with yellow flowers pendant from the tips. Small but striking bright yellow flowers seem to flow from the ends of stumpy green sticks.

   The middle of last week marked Holocaust Remembrance Day. One can hardly find ways to observe it because doing so means dredging up a truly horrific time in human history. And yet, it happened. And yet, we must remember lest we ever forget what some humans did to other humans, in seemingly modern times.

    If terroristic deeds that purposefully destroy life can be pinned onto a solitary person, then we can chalk that up to evil - the machinations and mayhem of madmen, but what can you call it when whole societies perpetrate the same evil under various names meant to deaden the senselessness of it?  What is it called when governments, leaders, and common people take up torches against others? Who are the people who turn in their neighbors, burn their houses, kill their children? Ethnic cleansing, civil war, lynching.

    My sister-in-law, who is Jewish, wants me to go to Auschwitz with her when we are once again able to travel. I want to go there, have always wanted to. It isn't the kind of vacation destination that you put on a bucket list or travel planner, but the idea of going to the place where so many innocents were murdered means that we have not forgotten the depth of the crime and that we will revere those who were killed there.

    Reading The Diary of Anne Frank as a child, I was appalled and hurt that such things could happen while there were "adults in the room". Where was their decency and compassion? Was there not one single person among them who was sufficiently shocked that they would refuse to participate? Were there not even a few who said, "no way, I'm not taking part in this!" Could that small group not grow into an uprising to tamp down the surge?

    It is 2021, nearly the span of a lifetime since the Holocaust. But humans are not quick to learn and are prone to repeat their crimes.

    Since the dawn of mankind, Earth-dwellers have fought with each other, over territory, over resources, because of jealousy or lust for power. Wars have raged and continue to, even though we've gotten more skilled at diplomacy and communication.  Is there no other way to solve a disagreement than to kill your opponent? But the heat of battle, the crimes of passion, are nothing like killing in cold blood, of feeling nothing when exterminating whole societies of people. 

    I, too, have hated. It is a human emotion. I have hated someone enough that I would like to punch them in the face. But could I continue punching them after they fell down? Even in a Hollywood fight scene, getting your opponent sufficiently punched that they know who you are is enough. But what makes someone hate a people enough that they want to murder all of them?

    I read recently that the other side of hate is fear. If you stoke up enough fear - of Native Americans, of Black people, of Mexicans, of so-called "socialists and libtards" then there is fuel for hate to conflagrate and consume. I have often thought of genocide as atrocities that happened in the past - but we know of the extermination of Native Americans to take their land, we know the Ottomans killed half the Armenians, we watched as Serbians murdered Bosnians, we witnessed Hutus killing Tutsis, we know of Darfur, of ISIS, and of the systematic killing of Black people in our own country under the banner of law and order. There are too many examples of genocide to even list here. 

    We saw this dangerous tinder box opened again on January 6 at our nation's capitol. Among those who participated in an insurrection hell-bent on destruction, retaliatory killing, even assassination, was a lone man in a Camp Auschwitz t-shirt. A t-shirt! A t-shirt likening the largest extermination of a peaceful peoples to a summer camp?? Many were shocked, but some shrugged it off. Ultimately, there will be hundreds of arrests, and hopefully those who wreaked the greatest damage will pay society for their misdeeds. But what punishment can you give someone who has such little regard for a group of people? Could that man wear that shirt if he suddenly learned that his son was engaged to a Jewish woman? Would he be able to explain that shirt to his granddaughter who was learning about Anne Frank in school? 

    How we reexamine our past in terms of our present is one indication of what we've learned. How will we explain to future generations our actions or inaction during a particularly terrible time? Will we be able to recall being outspoken and outraged, or will we remember just how powerless and complicit we allowed ourselves to become? Let us all strive to conquer fear by becoming fearless. Let us work to eradicate hate by spreading love. Because as Martin Luther King said, "Only light can drive out darkness" and a future where hate is extiguished is a world that will be ruled by love. Is that even possible? Not only possible, but essential.

Detecting Patterns, Decoding Paradigms

Photo: my husband Duane at the Duanesburg Diner in Duanesburg, NY.  Coincidence...? I think not!

    My husband and I used to joke about the time that we bought a Honda Element - a relatively uncommon car - and as soon as we did, we began to see Honda Elements everywhere! It's the same as when someone becomes pregnant, and all at once, there seem to be pregnant women wherever they look.

    My son Josh, who lives in the Pacific Northwest, tells me he is finding circular references and themes in things he is working on. Is it a coincidence or a pattern emerging? He reminds me that he wrote a blog entry years and years ago (May 2004, to be exact) where his friend purchased a strawberry-rhubarb pie, which was relatively rare in Austin, Texas, and that they got to talking about this curious red celery plant. Then he starts a conversation with a random stranger on the bus to college the next morning who mentions that he recalls growing up on a farm where they loved the sour notes of gooseberry and... rhubarb. Later that same day, he is studying in a book about brain function and how contrasts "help the brain process more fully - like cooks combining sweet and sour, strawberry and rhubarb." The red celery, again.

    Clearly, detecting patterns has helped humans to survive and thrive. Our early ancestors realized that things that occur in similar settings, have the same structure or color, or simply happen around the same time are connected in some way.  

    They found food that way, predicted the seasons, and mapped the stars. But have we lost that ability to divine predictions and decode paradigms? Now our food is collected from grocery stores where all we need is a list and a credit card, both of which we'd forget to bring if didn't carry them with us everywhere. Our seasons are little more than wardrobe changes because none of us needs to know the perfect date for planting or the ideal time to hunt for meat. Don't even get me started on GPS, which has rendered us completely clueless about reading maps or learning directions. So now, when we witness coincidences and detect similarities, we're weirdly taken aback. 

    Is it human nature to find things that are the same? Is it evolution that has faded our need to make correlations or de-evolution that's robbed us of a survival skill? Some scientists and researchers in psychiatry believe that there are forces out there that lead us to find these similarities. Others believe that there is a synchronicity that drives humans to seek out similarities between themselves and others: we have an instinctive need to connect with people. But only when we are open to looking. 

    When we started thinking of getting a Honda Element, we had subconsciously begun looking for that car wherever we went. Because we were open to seeing them; we didn't cause them to appear. They were there all along.

    Makes me wonder: how many more things could we see if we were truly open to seeing them? If you start seeing Honda Elements or running into rhubarb - don't blame me, it's just your brain regaining lost abilities!

The reason for this season

Photo: Grampy and Boy both love snow - here they are climbing a tiny hill for sledding. Photo credit: Hannah Frederick Photography

     Winter might be the most maligned manifestation of nature. Sure, there are people who love it, get out in it, and look forward to it, but so many people do everything they can to escape it or run it down.

    "Ugh... It's snowing!" or "Here comes another snowstorm..." and "Oh gawd, I hate shoveling!"

    But somewhere between the hygge* and the haters lies the real reason for winter - it is a cycle of nature. It is simply what it is. In the hemisphere that is furthest away from the sun for half the year, the sun shines less intensely and allows the natural cool of the planet to overrule. Just as it is hottest at the equator, and frozen at the poles, the northern part of the North American continent experiences a cold climate roughly six months of the year. It is not a punishment intended to make us suffer. The cold is just the absence of heat.

     Anyone who's lit a steady fire in a fireplace or wood stove on a wintery morning knows the satisfaction that only warmth on a cold day will bring. There is truly no substitute. As the heat radiates through the room, such a cozy and comforting feeling materializes that storybooks are written about such things. And if it happens to be a day when you are able to stay in that place for the whole day, it feels like a vacation in the Rockies or a lodge in the Catskills.

    If you are able to procure or produce a steaming pot of soup and a hunk of bread, then you are in good luck.

    When we first moved to Central New York from Texas, we were mesmerized by snow. My husband would unknowingly torment the young men and women at his work by gazing dreamily out the window at the huge flakes of snow falling while extolling the virtues of winter. They would grumble and complain about what a load of trouble it was. Because they'd grown up here, they had just had enough of it. "Look at that beautiful snow!" he would say as they gave him sideways glances and muttered bad words under their breath.

    Sure, there are parts of the country that revel in warm weather all year round. They get the joy of paying for air conditioning, fighting mosquitos, and sweating all the time. While we trade out our t-shirts and shorts for fleece and sweats, they wear the same boring clothes all the time. 

    Besides the obvious beauty of a freshly fallen snow is the benefit it brings. My mother used to say that snow is 'poor man's fertilizer'. How she knew this, coming from a tropical island, had to be attributed to the two years she lived in England, or her lifetime of reading English literature. So it is true that certain nutrients are made available by snowfalls, but it turns out that there are benefits galore that winter actually brings. 

    Did you ever thank winter for giving you an aerobic workout for nothing? Even a short trek mushing through snow is a mighty exercise. And if you bury your head in the pillow and choose to sleep a little longer, you're allowing yourself to get some much-needed rest. Cuddle up with a book, watch a movie, bake something, play a game, organize a closet... All perfectly valid ways to celebrate and glorify the coldest season of the year.

    Even though my favorite place in the world is my backyard garden, I couldn't spend 12 months a year out there - so the winter is a perfect way to wind down, regroup, and plan ahead. It also provides an absence that makes the gardener's heart grow fonder. When I have rested enough, I just can't wait to get out there and play in the dirt again!

    If you think I make a good case for winter, you should hear what I have to say about spring...

*Note: Hygge (pronounced HOO-gah) is a quality of coziness and comfortable conviviality that gives a feeling of contentment or well-being (regarded as a defining characteristic of Danish culture).

To all the Bean Dads

Photo: tin can and can opener can't wait to get together

    There was a time in our not-too-distant pasts when getting "in the news" meant that you did something great or noteworthy. These days, the most inconsequential or odd thing can make you famous overnight as video clips, moments of bad behavior and examples of human frailty spread over social media like a.. well, virus.

    This week's 15 minutes of fame goes to Bean Dad (or as some would call him Mean Dad!) - a father who responded to his 9-year-old daughter asking him to make her some lunch by telling her to go open a can of baked beans. Alas, though 9 is but a tender young age, he expected her to use a can opener to get at her own lunch.

    He gave her the handheld device and a fresh can of baked beans and told her to figure it out herself. This went on for something like six hours while Dad attempted to provide all the information Girl needed to do the thing herself, but not the help to actually do it. He resolved that neither of them would eat a bite until she could figure out how to open the can.

    Frustration grew into exhaustion, which spun off into boredom, but eventually, she plied him with enough questions that defied her best version of logic. Dad - admitting his original sin of never having taught her how to use the can opener - agreed that the gadget was well designed but terrible in user-interface and intuitiveness. He watched with keen interest as Girl finally realized that every part of this lowly tool was useful and none were superfluous.

    Finally, the scarred, label-ripped, embattled tin can got caught in the pinching clamp of the opener's jaws and she squeezed the handles enough to get a bite into the top. A bit of bean juice squeezed out, signaling they were finally getting somewhere! By then, both Dad and Girl were lip-biting as Girl cranked the opener until it traveled around the circle of the rim and finally freed the congealed beans.

    Next, she would need to learn how to turn on the stove!

    Social media, being what it is - part Christians vs. lions, part back-seat-driver, there came a torrent of comments, admonitions, ridicule and (because it is the internet) death threats. Dad struggled to explain himself. As a podcaster, musician, and a citizen of the Twitterverse, he trafficked in snarky comments, witty insults, and oblique observations. He defended his actions, protested those who said he was abusive, and spent the better part of the day struggling to put his own worms back into the can which he had opened.

    As a child who learned how to cook early in life (it was either that or yard work on a Saturday afternoon, so I took to the kitchen!), the idea of "not knowing" how to use a can opener, or a measuring cup, or the oven was completely foreign to me. Until I was old enough to use the things myself, I was able to observe my parents or older relatives doing those things. Then when it came time for me to do them, I only had to master my personal technique.

    I don't blame Dad completely for his actions. I had sometimes resorted to tactics like this when my kids were young, though I didn't keep them from lunch in order to do it. When parenting, life gives many opportunities for the creative adult to demonstrate the lessons that would be lost in the telling. For most children, to learn by doing is to learn it best.

    Where Dad failed Girl first is by allowing her to reach the age of 9 never having seen another person wielding a can opener in the first place. Had she been sheltered from the gritty realities of life in the kitchen? Did she have her nose glued to a screen such that she never saw this particular tool in use? Couldn't she have made a peanut butter sandwich?

    I can see this scenario playing out in kitchens across this country - children unaware of the simplest tool or gadget simply because they never asked and no one bothered to tell them, parents too exhausted by work or chores to explain anything worthwhile. There are many missed opportunities there. I have known adults who preferred to do all the work themselves so that their children didn't have to, or because they were afraid it wouldn't get done properly. Ultimately, the adults were exhausted from doing everything and the children were bored from doing nothing. The solution here is to start the teaching from a very young age. My children learned how to use a knife by cutting hot dogs with a butter knife. They washed vegetables, peeled carrots, and smashed potatoes until they were experienced enough to do the next thing. 

    We expect children to learn complex subjects like science and math and grammar but they must also learn the simple things in order to succeed in life, or at least to get by. If there's a kid in your life, call them into the kitchen and teach them how to make something -- anything! English muffin mini pizza with jarred sauce and cheese, beanie weenies with sliced hotdogs and canned beans, or quesadillas with flour tortillas and cheese. Next thing you know, they'll be making your lunch on a Saturday afternoon!

    

Roasting spices

    Though it was late in the season, I chose a warm-ish November afternoon to roast spices for my family's proprietary curry powder blend. Usually an activity I do with my mom, this time I did it alone.

    Sri Lankan curries are unlike Indian curries because our combination of spices is ever-so-slightly different. The magical marriage of coriander, fennel and cumin, in South Asian cuisine, is a fine balance - tipping it one way or the other can push you to one side or the other of the vast continent. To that minute flavor profile, add the subtly-screaming nuance of a roasted powder that brings depth and strength, transforming meat and hearty vegetables into a rich and complex dish.

    In my grandmother's day, she custom-toasted the blend each day for that evening's meal. After a slow and steady roasting, the spices were cooled and ground fresh. These days, my roasting happens on a day when I can sit outside on the patio, constantly stirring a pan of seeds over the low and steady heat of an electric burner.

    After the sun started to descend, I began to feel the chill in the air and my arm was getting tired from the constant stirring. Leaving it for even a minute would mean the tiny seeds would burn, imparting an acrid and unacceptable scorch.

    For the last eight or nine years, this traditional/modern roast was an annual activity that I did with my mom. When she died in April, I knew this was one of those things in our family that would change forever, and that I, in turn, would have to find the one who would continue the ritual.

    Sure, you can find Sri Lankan roasted curry powder online, but there's no guarantee that anyone even remotely Sri Lankan has assembled them. And no way to know how close to the brink of scorching they've gotten (you've got to get reeeaaaly close to get that chocolatey color!). Besides, when you cook Sri Lankan food once or twice a week, you'd go through one hell of a lot of teeny McCormick's bottles.

    At the beginning of my personal roasting history, I knew little except that it had to be done this way - no short cuts. I followed my mother's leads, measuring three parts coriander to one part cumin and one part fennel. Even the traditional name of this concoction is confusing... It is called thuna-paha, which roughly translates to 'three-five'. My logical mind says it means "take three of this one and add one of the other two to get five." Regardless, there is an alchemy to it that transcends the simple recipe and tedious assembly - plainly put: roasting takes time, and in ethnic cuisines, time equals love equals deliciousness.  

    So, I'd set up the electric burner on the back patio in early winter, slipped on my gloves, assembled the separate ingredients, grabbed the cast iron wok, and got to work. The coriander goes first because it is the biggest and takes the longest, followed by medium cumin and slivery fennel seeds. Each batch of seed goes into a bowl to cool and at the very end, the other herbs and spices meet to complete the flavors: curry leaves/karapincha, pandan leaves/rampé, cardamom pods, cinnamon bark, cloves, peppercorns, fenugreek. The fragrance that emanates from this is nothing short of divine. You might ask why this roasting has to be done outdoors until you've done it once inside your kitchen... But trust me, it does.

    When my brother and I were kids, we totally took Sri Lankan cooking for granted. We wanted Swanson's TV dinners or Chef Boyardee or McDonalds. We didn't get why my parents craved their spicy meals. We get it now - flavorful and filling, these dishes have evolved over thousands of years. They are now the stuff of our ancestry, our shared traditions and family feasts. 

    A good friend recently shared an article on how even the term curry was both colonized and dismissive. Across India and Sri Lanka, none of the traditional dishes is really considered a curry, like in the British-take-away sense. There are baduns (stir-frys), malluns (finely shredded sauteed greens usually mellowed by grated coconut), mild dishes with creamy turmeric gravy, and spicy dishes redolent with tomato and coconut milk, and sambols, and chutneys, not to mention many varieties of rice and types of flatbreads, rice cakes and vermicelli. I think our mother would be happy to know her cooking will live on and that the traditions we hold so dear are ones we learned from her.