I just finished reading “Saturday” by Ian McEwan. I always enjoy his writing, and in this case, one part of the novel has resurfaced in my mind several times. Early on in the book, the protagonist, Henry Perowne, goes downstairs with insomnia at 4am, where his teenage son Theo is hanging out before bed. McEwan writes:
“On a recent Sunday evening, Theo came up with an aphorism: the bigger you think, the crappier it looks. Asked to explain he said, ‘When we go on about the big things, the political situation, global warming, world poverty, it all looks really terrible, with nothing getting better, nothing to look forward to. But when I think small, closer in—you know, a girl I’ve just met, or this song we’re going to do with Chas, or snowboarding next month, then it looks great. So this is going to be my motto—think small.”
This aphorism seems to me particularly resonant at this moment in time. There are things about my personal life that are lovely, though the recent national and international news continues to be rather alarming, and makes me concerned for my own and our country’s future. Perhaps more specifics on that to come.
I love Garrison Keillor’s “Ketchup” song, but I have never loved ketchup. Its bloody appearance has turned me off since childhood. When I learned as a young adult that it’s not super-healthy (lots of sugar, but good for you with lycopene!), I used it as an excuse to continue avoiding the stuff. The only time I remember trying it was in Spain ten years ago, in a bizarre side-dish comprised of sticky rice balls topped with ketchup. It did not improve my opinion.
Recently, I tried ketchup for real. In the U.S. On more conventional ketchup vehicles. The impetus came when Nick tried vegetarian sushi and sort of fell in love with it. I felt inspired to also try something new, and he suggested ketchup. It took some cajoling to get me started, but I found it quite pleasant, and was surprised by its slight spiciness, which doesn’t come from paprika or chilis, but another still-unnamed ingredient.
That was a few months ago. Since then I’ve eaten ketchup when I have fries, and they’ve become so much more appealing. The blood-association remains enough that I haven’t dispensed it on my plate yet. I suspect that this aversion makes me seem neurotic, but if I keep eating ketchup, who knows what the future may hold? I could become a normal American consumer.
It reminds me of my epiphany as a teenager, when I finally started putting milk on my cereal.
I used the newly sewn tote bag to walk to the library yesterday. The bag was damn heavy with Chadwick the Very Large Laptop in it. I had to keep shifting it from one shoulder to the other, but it didn’t show any signs of weakness. Those just came from me.
Nobody honked, but maybe someone quietly admired my handiwork.
