Skip to main content

Singing Sensations & Shriveled Stems

All my life, I have been an ardent raisin nay-sayer. There is no dish improved by their presence and I have never desired to eat a box of them plain (shudder).

When I first watched Benny and Joon, and Joon explains her distaste for raisins because they "are dried-up, humiliated grapes," I said a hearty, "Amen, sister!"

But over time, I have come to tolerate their presence in my life, and don't shy from them as I once did.

And then, last month, I discovered Sultanas. Or at least, what I'm told are Sultanas. I think of them as "white raisins." they are larger, softer, juicier than their darker siblings. More than palatable in a trail mix; almost enjoyable on their own. I am contemplating seeking them out for regular snacking consumption. I am no longer a raisin hater, it seems.

I am happy to have found another dried fruit I enjoy (cranberries and apricots are the other winners), Yet I had a frightening thought regarding my raisin colour preferences:

Am I now a Raisin Racist? Have I become a Sultana Supremacist?

(What would the California Raisins think??)

Comments

  1. I enjoy the Sultanas too! Please tell me you like dried mango though. It is the ultimate dried fruit.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Simone Weil: On "Forms of the Implicit Love of God"

Simone Weil time again! One of the essays in Waiting for God  is entitled "Forms of the Implicit Love of God." Her main argument is that before a soul has "direct contact" with God, there are three types of love that are implicitly  the love of God, though they seem to have a different explicit  object. That is, in loving X, you are really loving Y. (in this case, Y = God). As for the X of the equation, she lists: Love of neighbor  Love of the beauty of the world  Love of religious practices  and a special sidebar to Friendship “Each has the virtue of a sacrament,” she writes. Each of these loves is something to be respected, honoured, and understood both symbolically and concretely. On each page of this essay, I found myself underlining profound, challenging, and thought-provoking words. There's so much to consider that I've gone back several times, mulling it over and wondering how my life would look if I truly believed even half of these thi...

The ROM, The Earth & Procreation

Disclaimer: This post is intended to generate discussion and a sharing of many opinions. It is NOT intended to judge or condemn anyone's life choices. I had an unexpected moment at the ROM last month. C and I were listening to a presentation for kids on wildlife conservation (or rather, I was listening, and C was eagerly anticipating what live animal would come out next), when a statement caught my attention and still hasn't let go. For most of history, the earth could provide enough resources for the earth's human population. But today, our population is growing rapidly, increasing by 250 000 people every day... Forty years from now, it will require 2 Earths to provide sustainably for our survival as a human species. But we only have 1 Earth. 250 000 people. Every day. That is roughly twice the size of my hometown. In one day. So I did a little math. (First, I rounded down to 200 000, just in case the figures were inflated or failed to account for some sort o...

Esse - Czeslaw Milosz

I'm on a bit of a poetry binge this week, and Monday afternoon found me lying on the luxurious shag rug of a friend's tiny apartment, re-reading some of my favourite poets (ee cummings, William Carlos Williams, Czeslaw Milosz). It is an adventure to re-open a collection and wonder what will pop out, knowing something you've read before will strike you afresh, or you will be reminded of a particularly moving line that you had somehow forgotten. Like this piece from Milosz, which floors me. Every. damn.* time. The first time I read it, I lay in a park with a friend (this same friend who offered me her rug as my reading burrow) and demanded that I share it with her. I spoke it carefully, and then, into the post-reading silence, I slammed the book shut, and dropped it as loudly as I could onto the grass. "I'm never reading anything again," I declared, "What else is there to say?" Esse I looked at that face, dumbfounded. The lights of métro st...