Canning the Story
Sous Chefs and Tellers
My canned jam and preserves (memories/stories) are mostly late 50s - 70s vintage. A tire swing was the “play set” you were thrilled to have back then (www.diydoctor.org). Wish I could have been a wolf in the woods (so much better than a fly on the wall!) to hear stories our ancestors shared around the campfire (www.stock.adobe.com).
Note: This is a retell of one of my very first posts on 31 December 2023, when I first started Substack. I thought it was timely and worth a re-post since now I have more than 3 readers! :D
It was difficult to edit - essay form requires more thought, efforts to make sense and some semblance of structure that my fictional pieces often ignore…I hope you enjoy it.
Note: This piece evolved from one of
’s prompts that had to do with the perfectly imperfect…or maybe the imperfectly perfect - whichever it was, she is amazing, and you should check her out!TW: I beg your indulgence as I season my essay with all sorts of food/herb/cooking-related idioms (very cliched, even!). If you are one of my regulars, you know I do silly stuff - if you are new, consider yourself warned.
Breaking News: The present is only a flash in the pan and the future is an untried recipe!
I have a bone to pick with gurus who have been telling us for a long time that the quick fix for our spiritual malaise is to LIVE IN THE MOMENT. Their advice is usually accompanied by an implied payoff of finding some sort of inner peace. I posit that attempts to focus on a thing so transient that it cannot be measured even in milli-seconds, is nothing but an exercise in futility. I further posit that it is really our memories that define the trajectory of our life, NOT stupor-like feelings found during attempts to live in the moment.
Why would anyone expect something meaningful from an instance that takes less time to happen than the pop of a bubble in an overheated stew? While I freely admit that even a miniscule moment can have important effects upon a person and/or society - its lasting impact is in how it becomes ensconced in our individual or collective pantry (kept memories). I offer no argument that meditation - which is mostly focused breathing - grants some temporary euphoria and certain physical benefits from all that O2 binging and CO2 purging, but glorious as it is to feel the feels of focusing on the present, one eventually must confront the fact that in so doing, they are merely indulging in a temporary fugue-state similar to a tryptophan overdose.
Only through rehashing (memory) might meaning and connection be found with something deeper within and greater outside us - not through trying to live in some infinitesimal moment. In a nutshell: We mostly live within our little truths (little t’s) which are the sum of all the memories we keep. Any meditative state that attempts to access a big truth (Big T) is only a temporary mind vacation with no more benefit than the pics one takes and stories one tells after going on holiday. I think it is important to say that all the little t(ruths) we find and accept do not negate the fact that there are Big T(ruths) in this world. Occasionally, a little t might coincide with a Big T, but little t is not made less by not being in synch with Big T, neither is Big T ever diminished by lack of corroborating support from little t. Oh criminently - all this metaphysical stuff must be left for another time, lest it curdle the sauce I’m stirring!
So.
It is impossible to glean meaning from any experience until ‘The Internal Censor (IC)’ intervenes and collaborates with reason, passion, guilt, altruism, selfishness, etc. etc., to form our little t(ruths) which are the basic components of memory. Note: the IC is not to be confused with the social nicety (a filter) that evolved to prevent a wholesale slaughter of our easily offended species (having a filter=good; having no filter=bad).
Whatever eventually imbeds in our psyche becomes our reality and our keeper memories can be a reservoir of poison, or a source of nourishment. I have come to see memory as a reinterpreted reality that when preserved artistically, becomes a canned-for-consumption product.
After any moment passes and begins to baste in the juices of The Internal Censor (the sous chef of Memory), the broth of our little t’s gains form and substance. What we ultimately put on our table are either healthy victuals that sustain and nourish or poisonous, parasitical concoctions that drain and destroy.
Enter: The Storyteller (or just Teller if instead of literature or the written word, the medium is paint, charcoal, music, dance, film, stone, clay, etc.).Anyone can be a Teller, but Great Tellers are the ones most adept in finding the purest raw ingredients by delving into the rich loam that lies just beneath the surface of the mind’s day-to-day grit and grime. What is found in these places when shared, becomes art and the best art preserves what is most true to its origins and purpose. Great art becomes both personal stories and collective memories for all who would share the feast.
But.
There is a fly.
In the ointment.
A bug.
In the broth!
Just how powerful and potentially destructive is Memory?
“In place of a Dark Lord, you would have a queen, not dark but beautiful and terrible as the dawn.” (Galadriel, LOTR)
Note: Substitute Dark Lord with reality. Substitute queen with memory.
Yes, my precious, memory is nearly all-powerful since it is the means to construct or deconstruct our little t’s and our shared reality. Memory labors in the kitchen alongside the Internal Censor which is a ruthless and biased editor of everything we experience, think and feel. While the IC’s goodness in is how it can act as a stabilizing agent for our fragile psyches, its badness is in how it can behave pompously by dumping promising batches into the trash or rewriting all-ready wonderful recipes. In its darkest and most foul aspect, this meddler can mis-shape our worldview to fit an unsavory and over-played narrative - a narrative that is often full of empty calories and oblivious to anything other than its own ego.
Yet.
Lurking in the interstices of sacred cow memories are dirty, smelly little things that poke out and do not fit the usual narrative despite the IC’s attempts to toss them into the garbage can of forgetting. The job of a great storyteller is to find and present these often-ignored, grungy fragments while remaining true as possible to the original feelings and thoughts surrounding them. To be able to do this is not easy and this sort of authenticity cannot be faked - creators and consumers lucky enough to sample this fare are not only fully satiated but transported.
Unfortunately, though, the Internal Censor often has its way with us. If we are lucky, we might manage to hold it at bay and preserve the integrity of our precious, raw resources and cook up a wonderful dish. If we are diligent, we might manage to allow the guests at our table along with ourselves to taste the perfectly imperfect.
I have the distinct feeling that my Internal Censor is not happy that I outed it and brought its sly machinations to light…I think it is preparing a highly seasoned, week-old plate of raw pork or is possibly planning to pollute my canned goods with a bout of botulism! Still, I shall not be deterred from finding and preserving my best memories and neither should you…even if it means we must abandon canning and go to freeze-drying.
Pssst! You might want to out your sneaky little Internal Censor too - remind it that it is only the sous chef, after all. The little t's/memories WE DECIDE to keep determine what staples are found in the pantry, not what the Internal Censor tries to foist upon us; it is within our power to limit the IC's distortions and lies so as to prevent our canned products from being adulterated with fecal matter.A few great tellers are able to ferret out and expose the play of light and dark within the seeds, roots, and fruits of memory. In this piece, I originally intended to extol the virtues of sharing such art, likening its preservation to canning and providing nourishment for oneself and others. However, I was waylaid by some spur of the moment recipe edits demanding I address the contributions of the Internal Censor. I had to give the devil its due; truth is, I don’t much like the IC, but I am not sure anyone’s memories could endure and maintain their integrity without the help of this sous chef.
Anyway, back to the main course.
If by chance, one has never sampled the real deal, well-preserved foodstuff can be an incredible culinary experience, and it is the only way to keep our personal memories alive. Another way of saying all this is to liken the ‘here and now” (read Huxley’s Island!) to life allowing us to sample fresh, raw, delectable experiences. After the Internal Censor performs its function, what’s left might be nothing more than a redacted simile, or it might be a culinary delight - every Teller is the one in charge of quality control in their kitchen. Every great Teller decides what is worthy to keep in the pantry and later lay upon their table!
All cultures revere great storytellers - even from the moment that first caveman spun yarns of hunting victories to his peers, a power was invoked that wove a mesmerizing and compelling tale, hungrily consumed by less capable Tellers. And while it cannot be denied that there are always those who are better at something than others, I am certain everyone has within them a fascinating, quirky, unique Teller who is prepped and poised to go!
As for letting the Internal Censor bully you into silent submission…. Well, if you can’t stand the frigging heat, get out of the kitchen! But if you want to cook up something good, tell the IC you aren't taking any shit from some lowly sous chef. Just understand, Martha, that bastard will never let up and neither should you! Our personal and social history consists of the stories we choose to keep - unfortunately, in some cases, also in stories that were quashed or falsely re-told by ourselves or our lore-keepers (historians). Yet, it is in the preserves of theater, film, books, music, dance, and art where we keep a running dialogue with the past, present, and set the trajectory for how our future will play out.
It is the task of all would-be Tellers to not allow their Internal Censor to hoard and store good foodstuff under layers of “I’m not good enough at writing, art, music…creating…”. If we are able to accomplish this task, the aromas and flavors created in our kitchen will be a source of nourishment that evokes pleasure and wonder in all who eat at our table.
When I sample jams and jellies from others, I look for a certain spark…and it resonates best when a teller is not presuming to share some big, objective truth but instead chooses to open a door where all things, perfect and not-so-perfect abide. This is why my favorite canned products are ‘fiction’ - this is where I find the truest little t’s that others are brave enough to keep and share in this weirdly wonderful life.
Did you catch all the food/cooking references? Shoot me a reply at your guess, and I will tell you how many I think I was able to sprinkle into this gruel! :D :D
Ain’t it funny how the little sillinesses of life can be so entertaining? Then again, perhaps I am the main silliness of my life and am only really entertaining myself!? The thought of which makes me guffaw even more, and in a very silly fashion.
Thank you, dear readers, and I wish you the Merriest of Christmases, Hanukkahs, Yule, and the Happiest of New Years! See you next spring.
Great read, Tracy. Fwiw, as of today, I informed my IC it's no longer needed and ended the conversation with "Fuck Off!" The feeling of freedom is exhilarating.
Storytelling is a ritual procedure to be uncovered, I love your storytelling and your golden orb sense of humor, Tracy, you always touch my heart! Love, peace and storytelling, Geraldine