Come on over. Be good to see you again.

Pete

Ham in Aspic

Lurking within the high sheen gelatin lie perfect cubes of once-was-ham held in timeless stasis.

But this over-processed Spam Han-Solo is in good company.
Deep within.. ( yet in plain sight ! ) lies a classic mix of fine and complimentary ingredients.

peas
olives
whole boiled eggs
boiled egg yolks…
..and prunes.

Yes. Prunes.

A veritable teflon cocktail of intestinal irrigation.

Note that this card was no rogue exception. Breath was clearly never considered. Herrings, spam, shrimp and sardines all received liberal mention. This stack of cards read like a single man’s guide to advanced hermitry.

The point?

This was once an example of food that people WANTED to eat for reasons other than a dare.
This was food that made people happy.
But today, despite a genetically identical palette to the people of the 70s, I do not see the value of decorative chunks of gelatine, I do not relish the taste sensation of a pea-prune-egg-olive-spam matrix. But back then.. I WOULD have. * shudder *

So what’s changed?
Not us.

We are the same hunks of wobbly carbon that we have always been. Creatures countless years old. We have the same taste buds and instinctual appetites.

It’s the contexts we invest value in. Those have changed.

But we don’t often realise how narrow and context-specific our experiences are, or how much they are shaped by fashion. That’s a shame. If we knew that I think we’d be happier.

Ham in Aspic is a reminder that we’re in our own special world in our heads, and we’ve been there so long we think it’s reality.

If we’re not happy with that then we may have a lot to do with it.

Just been to Ze Frank’s “52 to 48, With Love” photos and they seem to fit well with her post. People posting small bridges to tie the nation back together.

An American friend of mine said that in the weeks after 911 some of her family had become impossible to communicate with. Full of fear and anger. It was hard for me to hear this from our little island in the Pacific where we were all hoping like anything that America’s fear and anger wasn’t going to go and get us all killed.

This process of electoral change seems to have stirred similar passions, similar fears, similar anger.
I like the effort shown in Ze Frank’s pictures to heal the rifts between friends and family that became so pronounced during the campaign.

As we watched the elections from our small corner we had hope too, but the election result is not hope delivered on a plate. There are a million little rifts to heal.

Andrew Churches’ latest blog reflects on the holocaust and makes reference to Darfur, Ethiopia and our own suburbs as places in need of change.

Which of those is the hardest to tackle?

Truly sustainable Hope and courageous action are not drawn through time by the heavy swell and sudden crashing of pack-tides descending on polling booths. They are maintained by the actions of every day, taken by the people of every day.

If I were Ze Frank I’d be asking for the little stories of reconciliation that take place across dining room tables between family and loved ones.

If you have your own, I’d love to hear it.

NB: ( This post wanted to be titled “Pass The Dutche Pon Da Left Wing Side” but changed its mind at the last minute. I add this note for @mumbleboy, my personal Babel Fish who works tirelessly to connect my thoughts into real sentences. )