Learning and understanding

A friend of mine, who owns a small business, was very upset recently because she had received several bad online reviews from people who (by their own admission) had never used her services.  The reviews were written in support of a third party, who had asked people to “rate down” the business.  I watched, unable to do much to help, as she struggled to restore the good image of her business, and learned just how much power rests in the keyboards of users. Everyone has had bad service and bad experiences with businesses.  I will drag out my horror story of the restaurant that made errors in 4 out of 6 meals and failed to deliver a fifth, and then refused to do anything to correct the problem.  (If anyone wants the full details, I’ll happily share with you if you promise never to visit that location.) We’ve all encountered the surly salesperson who is rude and unhelpful; the waiter who messed up orders repeatedly and the restaurant that lost reservations.  As internet denizens, we can

Nostalgia is fun, isn’t it?  Looking back at the golden years gone by, when everything was rosy, life was good and things were rosy.  Things just aren’t what they used to be, are they?  Kids are just not like we  were; people are just so entitled, and nobody wants to work for anything.  Life was better then, not like now with the world being such a horrible place! We grew up hearing how good things used to be.  That there were jobs to be had for the asking, that our education was the door to a comfortable life.  I remember that in high school during the 1980s, we heard that if we studied hard and did well, we would be able to find good jobs that would take care of us for life. It wasn’t that simple.   Even then, that world was collapsing.  More people were educated than before, there was increasing competition for jobs, and automation was making inroads into jobs.  The manufacturing economy in the Caribbean was failing, faced with the rising output of the Far East (Singapore and Ko

I have too much time in waiting rooms where I am exposed to some advertising that causes me to wonder about the future of humanity. So apparently gluten is the source of all that will destroy the world.  For people who are affected by celiac and related issues, it is a problem, but for the rest of us, it’s not.  Just to sum up quickly, gluten is a complex of proteins found in wheat, barley and rye.  In a simplistic approach, if a food contains wheat, barley or rye, then there is a likelihood that it will also contain gluten.  Notable exceptions are alcohols (spirits), because protein molecules are not volatile and therefore are not captured in the distillation process.  Foods that do not have wheat, barley and rye are naturally gluten-free, like rice, vegetables, fruit and meat.  So when, this week, I saw an advertisement for “whole grain, gluten-free” popcorn, I had to ask — what on earth is that?  Technically, it’s accurate, since popcorn is a whole grain, and it’s gluten-free, but

I intensely dislike Disney’s A Little Mermaid, while I love the Hans Christian Anderson version.  I remember that I traumatized a student once by telling her that the unnamed mermaid does not marry the prince, but dies.  I’m not sure that she’s forgiven me yet, and I’ve had my niece ban me from telling her about books that were made into movies because I might cause her the same shock. It’s true that I, like many other members of the book-loving public, am often disappointed by the film adaptations of my favourites.  I understand, at least intellectually, that a book cannot be perfectly translated into a visual medium, and that there is a need to edit and adapt to fit the medium, running length, audience appeal, and a range of other factors.  I accept that my tastes may not be the same as the general public or even others who are generally similar to me (my friends will tell you that I am never one to go to a “chick flick” with all the angst that accompanies the storyline).  However,

“Off on another trip?  You’re so lucky to travel as much as you do... I wish that I could travel too.”  I’ve been having this conversation several times lately.  It’s an echo of one I had with a former, now deceased, colleague many years ago.  She was talking about a planned trip somewhere off the beaten track, and I said almost the same words to her.  Her reply stuck with me since then, even though we were never friends.  She said, “you have leave available to you, and you have a steady income. You can choose to travel if that’s important to you.” At the time, I said that I couldn’t because I had obligations, that I didn’t have anyone who would travel with me, and I had a long list of excuses as to why not.  My colleague pointed out that I had the choice to do what was important to me.  That was a slow-dawning revelation, which was reinforced by several elders who stressed the importance of self care.  One of the things that I had to learn was how to balance my training on work and

I celebrated my 50th birthday this week.  As everyone has pointed out, it’s a milestone; half a century.  It’s an age that I wasn’t sure that I would actually reach, given last year’s particular challenges.  I decided to have a gala event to celebrate, since my doctor had withheld permission for me to travel.  The event was marvellous, with many of my close friends there to share with me. When I turned 40, I was horribly depressed.  I didn’t want to be 40.  It sounded like I was old, passé, ready to be turned out to pasture and beyond help.  I felt like I had failed in many of my goals, and that I would never accomplish anything worthwhile.  My friends did come out to celebrate, but I kept it very low-key, and issued a ban on any commemorative “you’re 40” material.  I spent time comparing myself to my contemporaries and colleagues, and felt that I hadn’t accomplished anything.    I was full of regrets and recriminations. Obviously a lot has changed.  The tear through my life that h

It’s been a year since I was stopped from working.  A year when I have worked to redefine myself and find meaning in a confusing world.  I haven’t. I’d like to pretend that I have but… So a year ago when I dropped off my certificate saying that I would not be working, I was probably one of the few people who expected that I would be here this year — I had said to my doctor that my goal was to be travelling for my birthday this year.  He was diplomatic but not too optimistic. As I’ve documented elsewhere, it hasn’t been an easy year.  Giving up my identity as a public servant was not something that I had expected for a while yet, and ending my working time abruptly was difficult.  Balancing my sudden liberty with my treatments was also not enjoyable.  As my strength returned, my frustrations also grew.  It’s been hard, but I had to admit that my capacity for work is not where it used to be; that I cannot manage anything like a full day’s work, and I definitely can’t handle a week’s w

I just got back from my weekly grocery run.  I rather enjoy these shopping runs, partly because cooking is my domestic skill and partly for the samples and interactions that occur.  Today the samples included a cane-sugar-sweetened soda, some “healthy snacks” and some convenience foods. Let’s overlook actual science as we sample, shall we?  This may hurt!  So... the man promoting the soda informed me that since it was sweetened with “organic cane sugar” it was “healthier for you than water.”  Because organic.  The snacks included some bars that the woman promoting assured me were “complete nutritional support” despite being more than 40% sugar and containing 200% of the recommended daily allowance of salt, because they contained whole grains (and 1g of fibre per bar.  I think that they had 1 whole oat grain per package.) Among the convenience foods was a new, “smart alternative” chicken burger under the “heart healthy” label... containing twice the fat and almost double the salt of t

When I was a student in high school, in the assembly Hall there was a balcony area.  When there was a full school assembly (other than for morning roll-call and prayers) the top class, the Sixth Form, had the exclusive right to sit there, out of sight of the teachers. All of the lower school longed for the day when they were in the Sixth and could sit there.  We wanted to do well enough in Fifth form exams to be able to return, and then to exercise our privilege for the balcony.  When my year was finishing the Fourth form, the rule changed under the new principal, allowing all classes above the Third access to the balcony. One of the nuns tried to explain that in fairness to everyone, they were removing this privilege— not everyone, she told us, made it to the Sixth, so it’s only fair that everyone have an opportunity.   We, and the Fifth, complained.  “It’s not fair!  We’ve waited all these years to get there!  If girls want to sit there, they should work hard enough to get into the S

“Do you know how to select a ripe avocado?” I was asked this in the supermarket last week, by a bemused-looking man staring at a pile of them.  I had gone to select one of the smooth-skinned avocados as a treat for myself, instead of the smaller, wrinkled ones that are so popular here.  We struck up a conversation as I showed him how to test for fullness and helped him choose one that would ripen by the next day.  Walking away, I remembered a story told by one of my friends of when her family had first arrived in Canada, and they’d gone shopping.  Their host family had praised broccoli, so my friend bought a head and carefully prepared it, stripping off the “leaves” and peeling the stem... and she wondered why everyone was excited about the pale green, slightly woody, not especially flavoured centre.   For myself, I remember when I was gifted my first zucchini — a monster that probably weighed 5kg — and I brought it home with no idea of what to do with this giant.  (Note:  it is best n

Anyone else concerned about the way discussions are trending these days?  It seems like it’s impossible to have a difference of opinion without it descending into name calling, abuse and insults. My dear friend keeps sending me emails to warn me not to get into threads on social media, because people are just cruel and nasty (and not in a fun way.).  She has to do this because I get involved in trying to share an opinion (and frankly, sometimes to correct misinformation) and we’ve seen what happens to those with different viewpoints. I’ve been horrified by the speed with which people are shamed on social media.  Sometimes the “offender” has made a simple mistake (like the person who typed “pubic relations” instead of “public relations,” on a government website.) It may be funny, but the way that commenters pounce, you’d swear that they had just copied Herod and ordered the death of all babies in the land.  (Incidentally, in the current climate, Herod would probably have a group of su

I spent a lovely day recently going through family albums.  I noticed that many of our photos, especially once photography became more accessible, revolved around meals and family gatherings.  With my friends too, our photos are often taken with food.  Obviously, then, food is an integral part of living.  We share meals with the people that we love, and it binds us together.  Everyone has a special dish that signifies home and comfort and love, everyone has a meal that means celebration.  We have rituals that accompany our meals — setting places; using a favourite plate; telling the story (again) of what Aunt so-and-so did on that dinner... There are people who spend a lot of effort trying to remove the fun from eating.  They don’t do it by simply decrying food; instead they turn food into an enemy.  They “reimagine” traditional foods; they add “twists” and they talk about “improving” items, making them “healthy”.  Because it’s not about really changing eating habits, it’s about buyi

What are your stories?  Our stories are who we are, what we believe, our hopes and dreams.  They are our shared history, and our links with others.  Our stories outlive us, inspire us, comfort us and warn us. I was reflecting on the power of stories this week, and how we use them.  When a friend announced that she was pregnant with her first child, everyone there shared her experiences with childbirth.  At the engagement of another friend, we all talked about our own engagements, weddings and marriages.  And when someone introduced her new partner, we immediately related how we met our partners.  All our shared experiences. We comfort each other with tales of the lives of those we lost, of the difficulties we survived and of where we got inspiration.  When I was first diagnosed, one dear friend shared with me his mother’s case, telling me that she had survived 15 years (at that time) when she was expected to live maybe 4 months.  Another told of his battle with pancreatic cancer, a

I stepped into a time warp recently.  I was cleaning out some closets in my family home, and I uncovered things that I had put away and forgotten about.  I spent a very enjoyable (and dusty) day looking through old letters, cards, newspaper clippings and photos. Among the items was my first diary, started when I was 8 — it was a birthday present from my older sister — and I smiled while reading the entries.  It detailed my 8-year old life for a few months, then I got distracted... I found cards and letters from old friends, who are mostly still in my life.  And there were photos which I shared with some others and we all exclaimed at how young we were, and how life was so much easier.  I also unearthed some of my earlier writings, dating back to my early childhood.  There was a poem that I had written for a competition when I was 9.  I won a copy of Russian Fairy Tales in a beautiful illustrated book, which I reread many times.  (All those Ivans being sent on impossible missions!)

Irony is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?  So many people are walking, breathing, unaware examples! So, what brought this on?  Well, I was listening to people giving me their unwanted advice on my diet.  “You need to eat healthy!” (Because I obviously sit around sucking poison 24/7) and telling me to avoid meat, chocolate, alcohol, ice cream, rice, bread, potatoes, chicken, curry, fish... my interpretation is that they would prefer that I learn to eat by photosynthesis!  Anyway, these same “eat organic, gluten-free, peanut-free, exotic, all-natural, no fried food” pushers will then head off to a restaurant and inhale deep fried organic-free-range-gluten-free whatever. Or let’s take the question of equity.  For those of us privileged enough to form part of the majority, we can turn our backs on others and say things like, “That’s just the way it is.  Some things will never change!”  If we are gain acceptance into a previously closed group, all too often we want to exclude others too.  F

It’s been 19 years since I moved to Canada.  It’s been 19 years of living in a different country, with a different culture, different behaviours.  I’m happy that I moved — don’t misunderstand— and I was considering how I’ve changed in the time.  Growing up in Trinidad, there were several things that were core to me, although I might not always express them overtly. As a country, Trinidad and Tobago was always proud of being multi-ethnic and integrated.  Bishop Desmond Tutu once referred to it as being a “rainbow country.”  The blends of various ethnicities result in people in shades from deep blue-black to creamy white, with even siblings varying in their shades.  I was accustomed to dealing with people at all levels who would be referred to in Canada as “visible minorities.”  It is not, though, free from the evils of discrimination... I remember my grandmother talking about how she was looked down on for being a “dirty Indian” and that my aunts and mother were not accepted into scho

Martin Luther King day approaches for this year, and his famous “I have a dream” speech is played again.  I think that most people know this speech and its key tenets, ending with, “Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, free at last!”  It was over 50 years ago, in 1963, that he delivered this speech in Washington DC, capital of the USA.  And still, there are so many strains of inequality that are entwined in our society, and so many people who are blind to them.  The stereotypes are so deeply ingrained that they’re invisible to most people unless we make a conscious effort to identify and change them. But, I hear you ask, we’re in 2018.  Aren’t we past this whole nonsense?  Aren’t the people who keep on about divisions in society just creating problems?  I don’t see colour, just live and let live. My friend, I’m sad to report that racism — and its attendant ills of xenophobia, homophobia and misogyny— is still alive.  While things are generally better than 50 years ago, t