Chocolate Peanut Butter

It's a tragedy! It's terrible! It's just about the end of the world!


I ran out of chocolate peanut butter.

"What?" You ask. "What are you talking about? I've never even heard of this 'chocolate peanut butter' before! And really, is it that big of a deal?"

There are several reasons why this is a big deal to me:
1) I am being facetious. There are greater tragedies.
2) It's really good.
3) I can't find it anymore.

Kraft "Peanut Butter with Chocolate" spread on apple slices is the best snack ever. Ever. So good. It's more exciting than plain old peanut butter, even though it's not super chocolate-y. I guess that in theory it's kind of like Nutella, but I much prefer this. It's... more solid. None of that weird taste I notice in Nutella. More comforting. Nor does it have that strong salty taste of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. It's mellow, and happiness-inducing.

I'm not surprised you haven't heard of it. It seems that no one has. (When I search Google Images it only comes up with 2 pictures of peanut-butter-with-chocolate on the whole Google-search-able internet, and both are on obscure Japanese blogs.) Additonally, I haven't seen it in stores in years - so many years that my jar actually expired several years ago. (But it's still good!) I couldn't get rid of it without being able to replace it. But now, alas, the jar is empty. And so is my cupboard, my stomach, and my heart.

I'll miss you, chocolate peanut butter. Eating apples just won't be the same.

Banana Ketchup

The other day we were walking through Sobey's, and we came across banana ketchup!! We went back to buy it today, and it was fantastic.

I guess (according to Wikipedia) that banana ketchup found its debut in the Philippines during WWII when there was a shortage of tomatoes to make regular ketchup. It also seems to be popular in St. Lucia, which is where the stuff I found came from (it's actually a product of St. Lucia - I've never seen anything imported from there before!).

We tried it today as a condiment for our yam fries and chicken fingers. It has a background sort of flavour, like many condiments. It tasted a little vinegar-y and a little sweet and a little ketchup-y. I found it definitely worth trying (although that may be because of the novelty of it more than its intrinsic amazingness).

What's the problem?

The problem is...
...that Katie's grandfather died.
...that Katie's really upset about it.
...that my head was in work fog and I didn't feel like a very available friend to her when I saw her today.
...that Patrick flew in to attend the funeral with her.
...that she told him he didn't have to, but he said that's what a relationship is - it's supporting each other.
...that my grandfather died a few months ago.
...that I wasn't really upset about it.
...that Justin didn't attend the funeral with me.
...that if he did come, it would have caused some hassle (Oma's house was already over-full; I would have constantly had to wonder if he was bored.)
...that I really didn't need him to come; I was okay.
...that Bridget came along with Dad.
...that I wonder if this is a cultural norm, whether I and my relationship are aberrant, and whether that is okay because that's what works for us or if is an indication that we are just fooling ourselves.
...that Patrick is fantastically generous, has so much to give, and is very emotionally available, while Justin is quieter, simpler, and suits me better.
...that I probably could have had Patrick if I really wanted to (and if I was a different person with a different range of experiences), and that there are important reasons why we are not together (one being that I never wanted to be in a relationship with him).
...that it's easy to see the good things other people have, and to feel lacking in the comparison.
...that different things suit different people, that what is great for one person doesn't work for another, and that all is contextual; that every relationship is and needs to be diffrent.
...that it's so hard to know whether that's actually true or if that's just what I tell myself.
...that I am not very good at letting people be there for me.
...that I feel that it is important for me to remain self-contained and not expect significant help for my problems from other people.
...that too much pitying concern saps my strength and makes me unhealthy; that I'm better when I can stand on my own.
...that Patrick defines a relationship as supporting each other, but I don't know how to receive support.

What's the problem? The problem is comparisons, and that I'm not very good at being a person.

Yes Candide

Brief plot summary: Candide is raised in his uncle's castle, and falls in love with his cousin Cundegonde. Unfortunately, he gets caught kissing her and expelled. In the outside world he faces a harsh reality: war, shipwreck, earthquake, the Inquisition, murder, the loss of friends and mentors, and in the end, boredom. His luck turns around at times: he is briefly taken in by a kind Anabaptist, he hopes to reunite with his love Cunegonde, he discovers other friends he thought were dead, he finds the magical world of El Dorado, and he becomes wealthy. However, over the course of the story, the hardships outweigh the joys, and Candide becomes disillusioned.

I recently finished reading Candide (Subtitled Optimism) by Voltaire. I felt pretty smart to be reading such a distinguished author (whose house and tomb I have actually seen, although it didn't matter all that much to me at the time), and Candide was surprisingly readable. It's a satire exploring the Enlightenment idea that this is the best of all possible worlds, told through the story of a boy named Candide who grows up being taught this worldview, but then has it threatened by experience with the world.

The introduction describes the Optimism mocked by Candide as a philosophical position claiming that "in spite of errors and appearances God's creation is as good as it could be," (xi) and "that all that is and happens is for the best." (xii) The endnotes continue, "This world is the best possible world, because God, being all-wise, must know all possible worlds, being all-powerful, must be able to create whatever he chooses, and being all-good, must choose the best." (122) This is the philosophy of Leibniz, represented in the story by Candide's professor Pangloss. It involves a priori reasoning ("arguments from logic rather than experience" [128]) that reminds me of the belief that the earth is the center of the universe: because of who God is and who we are, things must be a certain way; never mind checking to see if the evidence supports such a theory.
Such a philosophy also leads to a belief in cause and effect: everything has contributed to the best of all possible worlds and each contribution is therefore necessary for the perfect conclusion. Pangloss explains, "Things cannot be other than they are: for, since everything is made to serve an end, everything is necessary for the best of ends." (4) Hence, fatalism.

Candide seems to discuss "the world" not just in the sense of the earth and universe, but the book also considers personal worlds, in an arrogant sense: my existence is the best possible existence, my castle is better than anyone else's, et cetera. However, most characters tell "worst of all possible worlds" stories as they elaborate upon their woes. While these tales could reinforce in Candide the idea that despite his hardships his existence was quite privileged, they instead have the opposite effect: Candide becomes discouraged in company with the others who suffer.

An alternative philosophy to Optimism is illustrated in the last half of the book by Candide's companion Martin. Martin's difficult life has led him to not expect good things. Late in the novel, when everyone else is miserable, we are told that "as for Martin, he was firmly persuaded that people are equally miserable wherever they are; he took things as they came." His low expectations for life made him more satisfied than anyone else with unavoidable harsh circumstances. This seems like a pretty good idea to me, but I'm not sure what Voltaire really thinks of it. Later Martin's outlook is referred to as "detestable principles." (91) That's the tricky thing about satires - I'm never sure if this time the author is being serious.

Despite all the suffering it describes, the book has a decidedly cheerful tone. Hardships are described in a matter-of-fact and off-hand way, and stories are told euphemistically. For instance, in punishment for appearing to desert from the army he is conscripted into, Candide is given the choice of running the gauntlet or being shot in the head. He reluctantly chooses the first option, but "as they were lining up for the third run, Candide, who could take no more, politely asked if they would instead be so kind as to cave his head in." (7) For this reason, I have a hard time seeing the characters of Candide as real human people. It seems to me like a cartoon. Of course, I am also swayed by the fantastic cartoon cover of my edition of the book.

There were a couple of lines in Candide that really caught my attention:
- "Stones were formed to be hewn and made into castles, hence his Lordship's beautiful castle." (4) Following Pangloss's explanation of how noses were made to wear glasses and legs were made for pants, this sentence carries the unfortunate idea that everything exists for human consumption and the earth is ours to abuse. I'm sure stones were made for more general reasons than the construction of castles.
- "It is the price we pay for the sugar you eat in Europe." (52) This sentence is spoken to Candide by a slave in South America, who has lost a hand and a leg as punishment for various infractions. It is as powerful to me outside of its context as in it, and it reminds me of my social justice-minded friends.

For nearly the entire story Candide pines after Cundegonde. Over and over he finds her and they become separated again, and the hope of reuniting with her permanently is what fuels his optimism. At the end of the story, he does find and ransom her, but by this time she has become ugly and mean. He no longer wants to marry her, but he does so anyway out of duty and spite. His dream didn't align with reality, and now that it has become reality it is akin to a nightmare. The things that we hope for so often don't turn out to be as good as we expect.

Candide and his friends seem reasonably happy at the end of the story (the very end of the story, not the almost-end), when they devote themselves to simple work. However, I can't decide if they're actually happy. Candide is not as deliriously happy as he expected to be, but neither is he as miserable as he is at the near-end of the story when he has a hard time deciding whether his current boredom is perhaps worse than all the other malfortunes he and his friends have faced. When Pangloss starts spouting his philosophy about how all their hardships were necessary for the agreeable place they ended up (and eating candied citron and pistachios does sound pretty good), Candide responds, "that is well said..." (94) He doesn't deny or challenge the claim that they are satisfactorily happy. (Then again, he never seems to directly argue with Pangloss.) However, by his affirmation Candide may intend to say "I hear you," more than "I completely agree," as he goes on to say, "but we must cultivate our garden." I think he has accustomed himself to a quieter sort of happiness. He may not consider it the best possible existence, but he is satisfied that neither is it the worst. Being relatively free from pain leaves him relatively happy.

I found the philosophical exploration in Candide interesting, but it did not relate directly to my life because I myself do not spend much time wondering about whether or not this is the best of all possible worlds. Personally, I found greater value in the book as a story of Candide growing up (Wikipedia considers Candide to be a classic bildungsroman) and of what happens to the beliefs that he is raised with as they come into conflict with the realities of the world. At the beginning, he is thoroughly convinced of the teaching he receives that this is the best possible world. As he faces hardships, he goes through various stages of doubt: he continues to interpret his new experience in light of his learned philosophy; he wonders what other existences must be like if his is the best and yet so miserable; he wishes his professor were present to explain how his new experiences fit within the philosophy; he imagines he might begin to argue against the philosophy were his professor available; he is swayed by good luck to believe it again; he acknowledges his previous circumstances were greatly lacking but believes that perfect existence had to exist somewhere; he claims he is giving up on Optimism altogether; in good circumstances he still finds himself believing it by default; and then it gradually slips away from him. He goes through a phase of bitter loss, but ends up with a peaceful compromise, believing that his existence is relatively agreeable and that is enough. Loss of belief is not a smooth, straightforward path; it oscillates between doubt and faith, like a pendulum that eventually achieves balance.

Ordinary

I read a review of an author the other day that criticized him for stating what is obvious. But personally, I don't see that as a problem. It seems to me that acknowledging what is usually just assumed is rather valuable, akin to noticing the ordinary. What is obvious to one person is not so to others (I generally find the term "obvious" quite insulting), and mentioning what is basic ensures that everyone is on the same page. Because we are surrounded by small, commonplace factors so often, we begin to take them for granted as we look past them for what is novel. They become hard to notice and identify; they blend into the background. This is a shame. Our small, ordinary habits create the fabric and substance of our lives, and articulating these matters helps us to see our lives more clearly. I want that to be an aspect of my blog: not merely sharing news and thoughts, but illustrating the ordinary. (Unfortunately, those are often the posts I forget to write because there is nothing pressing about them.)

Critique: I intermingle a discussion here about two related but separate matters: stating the obvious and noticing the ordinary. One is a matter of public expression, the other one of personal attentiveness. When I read of one I thought of the other, and they are two boards in the same treehouse, but they can't be used interchangeably.
That's the thing about writing: it has a will of its own, and although I can shape it, it offers some resistance. Sentences progressively lead from one emphasis to another before I've finished my thoughts, while some things just don't seem to fit anywhere.

Choosing a Book

It's a delightful feeling, choosing a new book to read after finishing a previous one. I never plan my reading list in advance because I would find it oppressive and get demotivated. As a result, I am often faced with the pleasant choice of what to read now.

Do I want to read something easy, or challenging? Something new, or something I read once long ago, or maybe an old favorite I've read over and over. Should I continue with a series or take a break? Continue in the same genre or mood, or go for something completely different? Which books have I received as gifts and should thus read promptly so as to not offend the giver?

I put all these questions in the Magic Book Chooser Machine, pull the lever, and my hand reaches for Gourmet Rhapsody by Muriel Barbery.

Reciprocal

Life is a give and take. We aspire to be unselfish, but I can't give unless someone else is willing to take my gift. Similarily, by receiving something graciously, I am allowing the other person the opportunity to give, which is a gift in itself. Generosity requires a recipient, and receiving is as important as giving.

I hate it when I offer someone something ("Can I pick you up anything at Starbucks?") and they decline. I really want to be nice! But I can't if they won't let me. So I try to say yes when someone offers me something. If they didn't want me to accept, they wouldn't offer.

My friendships should be a place where my friends feel cared for and have an opportunity to express their interests, thoughts and feelings - and also a place where they have the opportunity to extend those things to me.

The necessity of both: "Which is more important, breathing in or breathing out?"

Happy New Year!

Goals for 2010:
- read Anne of Green Gables
- read The Lord of the Rings
- change the pictures in the frames in the hall-square
- write Christmas thank you cards
- write five letters
- publish the first year of my blog
- clean out the fridge and cupboards
- cook 12 recipes out of one cookbook, possibly Company's Coming's Table for Two

Review

My goals for 2009 were to read five of the books considered by Penguin to be the Best Books Ever Written, and to buy napkins. I am happy to say that I achieved both of these goals!

I read:
1) The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli
2) The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky
3) Fifth Business by Roberston Davies
4) The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
5) Lady Chatterley's Lover by D H Lawrence

I almost didn't make it: it was mid-December and I hadn't read a fifth book yet. The ones I had on board didn't really appeal to me, and they seemed difficult when I just wanted an easy read. But then Lady Chatterley's Lover arrived in the mail and drew me in, and I was able to finish it in time. Hooray!

I liked having this goal. It encouraged me to read more intelligent literature and to experience for myself a few of the literary classics that culture so often alludes to. At the same time that it provided a suggested reading list, it also encouraged me to deviate from that list and read other classic books.

I also valued how this goal was not restrictive: it didn't define everything I had to read all year. I had time to achieve it and also to read anything else I wanted, whatever that was.

Reading Statistics 2009

Total number of books read: 43

Fiction 27
--- smart fiction 7
--- respectable fiction 10
--- easy/silly fiction 10
Non-Fiction 16
--- food 2
--- politics 3
--- Christian reflections 5
--- relationships 3
--- philosophy 2
--- misc 2
Religious 10 (some fiction, some non)

Annum

It's been a year. A year since I gave up on God. Remembering...

Three weeks ago I went to my ex-choir's mini chapel concert (since I couldn't make it to their real Christmas concerts). During this concert, the choir director talked a little bit about Advent. I hadn't really even thought about Advent yet this year, even though it probably started several weeks before. And the reminder took my memory back to last year.

Last year I attempted to observe Advent by nightly singing "O Come O Come Emmanuel." And it pushed me over the edge. After a few weeks of daily repeating "Come to us, O Lord," I finally started to listen to the rebellion of my soul against that request. I didn't want to keep asking; I didn't want to keep hoping. You can't stay friends with God when you don't want to invite him to be around, and that doesn't end when Advent does.

Since then I've tried to be aware of how I really feel towards God and be true to that, without closing any doors for the future. I gave up, but I didn't say that position was permanent. I still think my best option might be to go back - but it would have to be something true, something genuine, not something I can (or would want to) just make happen on my own. And despite this effort at neutrality, over the last year I've noticed my distance towards God increasing and solidifying. I'm only getting farther away.

It's amazing how much sense Calvinism and predestination make from here. God has chosen his elect, and it turns out I'm not one of them - no matter how much I wanted to be back then. The grace is that it's okay now; it's not as bad as I feared.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The thing is, all I have is a pile of experiences, pressed through a filter of interpretations. I don't have any pure knowledge of anything; all I have are these interpretations of my experiences. Experiences can be interpreted in a variety of ways, and there are different factors affecting how we read an event: reason is one of them, other assertions (ie. Scripture) are another. Christians are told to rely on facts, not feelings, and they learn that the Bible provides a framework for interpreting experiences (and in fact even trumps contradictory experiences). For me, however, it became like pushing a square peg of experience through the round hole of this particular interpretation. I could stretch the hole to make it fit, but it was getting more and more inflexible, and eventually I realized that the square peg fits much better in a square hole. My experiences seemed to indicate the opposite of what the Bible promised.

It's possible that the Bible's promises were true, and all my experiences have simply been interpreted incorrectly. But these experiences are all I have. I can't have an experience that isn't filtered through me. All experiences must yield to interpretation. Eventually I had to believe them, and to believe the most likely interpretation of them. I had to listen to his silence that indicates his lack of concern; I had to acknowledge my sense of abandonment, even though he suggested he'd never do that. I couldn't fight against the most likely answer any longer. I had already been fighting for so long.

Additionally, inner experiences don't come with a label of origin. So how can I possibly know what's God, and what's just me? How do I know if an urge was a push from God or just my own inclination, whether a powerful moment was the touch of God or just a contrived emotional situation? You can look at it through the eyes of faith, but then there is not much left when that faith runs out.

For years already I had been saying that I wanted to give up, I just didn't know how. I found out how, and I did. I ran out of hope. I ran out of faith.

Somehow everything hurts less when it's not supposed to be any better than this. The problem of evil isn't such a problem when you take God out of the equation.

Alberta Countryside

Driving the back roads.
The horses are wearing their jackets.
The ditches are decorated with skidoo tracks.
Some people enjoying a sleigh ride waved at me.

It took me longer to get home going this way, and for that reason I may not do it again, but it was a nice way to go.

Merry Christmas from Larry

I'm a fan.

Today was my last day at work before Christmas, and I have the next four days off. Woo hoo! My schedule this week turned out so much better than Geoff's: he had Mon, Tues and Wed off, he works Christmas Eve, is off Christmas Day, and then works Sat and Sun. He works all the days around Christmas and his days off are split up. I feel kinda bad. But I guess he's just going to stick around here, and I'm going out of town. Tomorrow I'll head to Mom's house, and over the next few days I'll also end up having dinner with the extended family and spending time at Dad's. I'm looking forward to the time off work and I'm anticipating the festivities, but I'm not exactly looking forward to all the travelling, nor do I relish not being home or having any time to myself.

P.S. I made another effort at making fudge, and it turned out well this time. =)

Books Read - Fall 2009

1. The Host by Stephenie Meyer
2. The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery
3. The Guinea Pig Diaries by A. J. Jacobs
4. My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult
5. Plato and a Platypus Walk Into a A Bar by Thomas Cathcart and Daniel Klein
6. We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver
7. Essays in Love by Alain de Botton
8. I Am America (And So Can You) by Stephen Colbert
9. The 100 Simple Secrets of Great Relationships by David Niven
10. My Best Stories by Alice Munro
11. Lady Chatterley's Lover by D. H. Lawrence*


Notes:

- The Host was, in keeping with Stephenie Meyer's other works (the Twilight Series), a fascinating and quick read. In fact, I read it so fast that at points I found myself just skimming, so eager to find out what would happen that I think I missed some things. Maybe that's why I didn't always see the necessity behind certain decisions the characters felt they had to make (but I suspect these were actually stretches in the story). It looks like this could be the beginning of another series, and if it is I will read it. In the meantime, I lent this one to my Mom after I read it.

- The Elegance of the Hedgehog was so, so good. Translated from French, it is a story about a couple of people (a young girl, a concierge) who hide their true selves from the world. It is an intelligent book, with abundant ruminations on philosophy and art. It would be best read in a state of peaceful alertness (which is unfortunately not the mood in which I began the book). This book has placed itself in the category of books I'd highly recommend.

- My Sister's Keeper was highly recommended to me by a friend and by the movie previews. It reminded me of another book I read though - Dana's Valley by Janette Oke. Both books are about a girl who has leukemia, a close sister, a misbehaving older brother, a family fighting through the stress of her illness. This book explored different aspects within that setting than the other one did, but the story didn't seem original to me. Also, I found myself reading the voice and characteristics of Paloma from The Elegance of the Hedgehog into Anna. The main questions of this book really made me think though. And I didn't expect the twist at the very end.

- We Need to Talk About Kevin was really really fascinating: the story of a school shooter, narrated by his mother in a series of letters reflecting back through his entire life (and hers). It's a story of parenthood gone wrong, personhood gone wrong. It inspires questions of nature vs. nurture and the inflexibility of those categories.

- I Am America (And So Can You)... Aah, Sarcasm Colbert. I wonder what he's like in real life, beneath the mocking public exterior. I wonder what he really thinks.

- So I've discovered that I have a hard time appreciating short stories. They can too often be too scattered, bringing in too many characters and leaving too many questions. After I articulated this, however, I was able to get past it and enjoy Alice Munro's Best Stories. It still made me miss English class, though, where in community you take the time to dissect and discuss stories, to search for what isn't seen at first glance. I have a hard time doing that on my own.

I love this commercial

Aw!

Eulogy

At the gravesite, the family stood around the coffin and took a moment to share our reflections of Grandpa.

"He was my protector."

"He was a good father."

"He was a good man. A genuinely good man."

I wouldn't have recognized him from their descriptions. He was none of those things to me. To me, he was... quiet. He never said anything. Reserved. I've heard interpretations suggesting he was the cause of much dysfunctionality in my family, and that's the view I have ended up adopting, especialy since my personal experiences with him offered no evidence to the contrary.

Were we all lying? Or do I just have a very limited view? I'm sure they knew him better than I did, noticing the good and forgiving the bad. But some of the things they said directly contradicted things I remember about him. My cousin's wife spoke about how he never judged and never had a negative thing to say about anyone. But some of the few things I remember my grandfather saying were in judgement, cursing the Indians. My young self was shocked to realize he was racist. Maybe he just stopped talking about anything by the time she came around, so she didn't see that in him.

My Dad was the one who said, "He was a good father." I wonder if, as he said that, he wondered if we would say the same thing about him. I wonder if we would. As for me, I feel like I've never had a protector, and that has hurt.