Anthony Courseault (Snr) |
Grapes make me think of Eduardo Galeano’s Book of Embraces which is full of thought provoking reflections on everyday things.
This:
'On his deathbed, a man of the vineyards spoke into Marcela’s ear. Before dying, he revealed his secret: “The grape,” he whispered, “is made of wine.” Marcela Perez-Silva told me this, and I thought: If the grape is made of wine, then perhaps we are the words that tell who we are.’
Years later, I too extrapolated: ‘if the grape is made of wine then I am made of you [‘The Sunday Island' of January 4, 2004].’ Later that year, watching the mother of a friend from Türkiye prepare dolma, I asked, ‘what is that leaf?’ She struggled a bit to get the English name and finally said, ‘wine leaves.’ She meant ‘grape leaves.’
Our words tell who we are and this is a story about words and grapes.
A few days ago I met an old friend I hadn’t seen in 28 years. Anthony ‘Tony’ Courseault (Jr) and I were students in the same masters program, way back when. We both dropped out. We both stepped into lives that made us feel we were alive. We corresponded. And among the many things we talked about was the politics of the healthcare industry and especially the lies about food.
Tony told me how his mother Vivienne had been diagnosed with lung cancer in 2017. After her lower right lobe was surgically removed, her diagnosis had been upgraded from stage two to stage four. That’s when Tony had placed her on a raw vegan diet consisting of recipes from just vegetables, fruit, seeds and nuts. She was cleared of cancer five months later.
Vivienne |
‘Ok, I won’t beat a dead horse, but a good grape fast would go a long way in solving some of the issues we’ve talked about that you are chronically dealing with. I promise I won’t bring it up again.’
Grape fast. That’s the term. This was on September 28, 2023. Exactly 80 days ago. He just ate grapes throughout the day, whenever he was hungry. On a side note, a few years ago, following Tony Junior’ss advice, I went on an all-fruit diet. I managed to get through one week. I felt good, but it wasn’t easy. But eighty days? Unfathomable!
And today, Tony (Sr) had written the following to Tony (Jr):
‘Finally, FINALLY!!! I see concrete changes in my body due to my grape fast. No more headache. My nails are definitely stronger. Usually I am not aware of my nails, but it was so obvious I could not help but notice! I have not experienced any pain from my arthritis in weeks! Usually in the morning and in the evening when I scrape my tongue of mucus (or whatever) it takes between 7 to 15 scrapes, but now only 2 to 4. I experienced a sharp pain in my calf and an “ankle like sprain pain” on the TOP of my foot — I never ever experienced a pain like that in that location (the pain is gone now). Additionally, the fungus in my toes has decreased. However, I have been soaking them in baking soda, epsom salt, vinegar etc.; additionally I apply a deep cleansing pad at night.’
Tony (Sr), who worked as a Store Keeper Master Chief, was in the US Navy and is now a Josephite Catholic Missionary based in Washington DC is clearly a determined man. He has essentially abandoned or at least shelved a lifestyle he’s been used to for more than seven decades. Food habits are extremely hard to change, but he’s done it. He tells his son that he’s extremely weak with very little energy, but adds that he knows this is part of the process.
Tony (Jr) |
Grapes are gifts from a son to a father who turned them into words which he could then gift his son.
And that’s the story of grapes I have to tell.
['The Morning Inspection' is the title of a column I wrote for the Daily News from 2009 to 2011, one article a day, Monday through Saturday. This is the 295th article in the new series that began in December 2022. Links to previous articles are given below]
malindadocs@gmail.com
Other articles in this series:
Sarath Karunaratne can't stop teaching
In the delirium of my insomnia
Herculaneum of the 21st Century
Gauze-kites in intemperate skies
Semitism: unclothed, unadulterated and unvarnished
The residences of Refaat Al Areer
Pity the all-knowing and naive as they stutter grandiose alibis!
Love-residue on park benches that have disappeared
Reflections on things left unfinished
The virtues of an empty canvas
Autumn days and nights thirteen centuries apart
Texts are ancient, transcription error-ridden
The word as a sword held to the throat of truth
Residents of and residency in heart and mind
Merit, integrity and seniority in the superior courts
Hunters and 'victims' of immemorial light
The unbearable lightness of pause
Seasons bookeneded by leaves on park benches
The world shall not be emptied of poetry
Reclaiming the everyday with solidarities of tender fury
An Aussie broke a SLan heart in Ind for Afg
Writing magical pieces about something beautiful when time permits
The scattered archives of art and protest
Friendship that keep friends permanently at 16
Amherst: silent, rural, poetic and serendipitous
The virtues of unemployability
A breathless hush at the close
Ahmed Issa, fearless and audacious in Gaza
Let us take a deep breath now...
How Grolier Poetry writes 'Harvard Square'
Following children and their smiles
Let's plant words in cracks and craters
When the earth closes upon us...
Let us now march to the battleground of words
The most pernicious human shield
Who bombed Frankfurter Buchmesse
Love's austere and lonely offices
The mysteriously enjoined in the middle of nowhere
Reflections on the unimaginable
Jackson Anthony is a book and will be read
A village called Narberth Bookshop
'Irvin' and other one-word poems
Earth pieces Kerala and Sri Lanka
In the land of insomnial poets
When you don't need an invitation, it's home
When the Canadian House of Commons applauded a Nazi...
The importance of not skipping steps
No free passes to the Land of Integrity
Hector Kobbekaduwa is not a building, statue, street or stamp
Rajagala and the Parable of the Panner
Let's show love to Starbucks employees!
Octavio Paz and Arthur C Clarke in the stratosphere
9/11 and the calm metal instrument of Salvador Allende's voice
Whitman, Neruda and things that wait in all things
Thilina Kaluthotage's eyes keep watch
Profit: the peragamankaru of major wars
In loving memory of Carrie Lee (1956-2020)
Mobsters on and off the screen
We're here because we're here because we're here
Sha'Carri Richardson versus and with Sha'Carri Richardson
A stroll with Pragg and Arjun along a boulevard in Baku
Daya Sahabandu ran out of partners but must have smiled to the end
Sapan and voices that erase borders
Problem elephants and problem humans
The 'inhuman' elephant in a human zoo
Ivan Art: Ivanthi Fernando's efforts to align meaning
Let's help Jagana Krishnakumar rebuild our ancestral home
Do you have a friend in Pennsylvania (or anywhere?)
A gateway to illumination in West Virginia
Through strange fissures into magical orchards
There's sea glass love few will see
Re-residencing Lakdasa Wikkramasinha
Poisoning poets and shredding books of verse
The responsible will not be broken
Ownership and tenuriality of the Wissahickon
Did you notice the 'tiny, tiny wayside flowers'?
Gifts, gifting and their rubbishing
Journalism inadvertently learned
Reflections on the young poetic heart
Wordaholic, trynasty and other portmanteaus
The 'Loku Aiya' of all 'Paththara Mallis'
Subverting the indecency of the mind
Character theft and the perennial question 'who am I?'
Saji Coomaraswamy and rewards that matter
Seeing, unseeing and seeing again
Alex Carey and the (small) matter of legacy
The insomnial dreams of Kapila Kumara Kalinga
The clothes we wear and the clothes that wear us (down)
Every mountain, every rock, is sacred
Manufacturing passivity and obedience
Sanjeew Lonliyes: rawness unplugged, unlimited
In praise of courage, determination and insanity
The relative values of life and death
Poetry and poets will not be buried
Reunion Peradeniya (1980-1990)
Sorrowing and delighting the world
Encounters with Liyanage Amarakeerthi
Letters that cut and heal the heart
A forgotten dawn song from Embilipitiya
The soft rain of neighbourliness
Reflections on waves and markings
Respond to insults in line with the Akkosa Sutra
The right time, the right person
The silent equivalent of a thousand words
Crazy cousins are besties for life
The lost lyrics of Premakeerthi de Alwis
Consolation prizes in competitions no one ever wins
Blackness, whiteness and black-whiteness
Inscriptions: stubborn and erasable
Deveni: a priceless one-word koan
Recovering run-on lines and lost punctuation
'Wetness' is not the preserve of the Dry Zone
On sweeping close to one's feet
Kumkum Fernando installs Sri Lanka in Coachella, California
To be an island like the Roberts...
Debts that can never be repaid in full
An island which no flood can overwhelm
A melody faint and yet not beyond hearing
Heart dances that cannot be choreographed
Remembering to forget and forgetting to remember
Authors are assassinated, readers are immortal
It is good to be conscious of nudities
Saturday slides in after Monday and Sunday somersaults into Friday
There's a one in a million and a one in ten
Kumkum Fernando installs Sri Lanka in Coachella, California
Hemantha Gunawardena's signature
Architectures of the demolished
The exotic lunacy of parting gifts
Who the heck do you think I am?
Those fascinating 'Chitra Katha'
So how are things in Sri Lanka?
The sweetest three-letter poem
Teams, team-thinking, team-spirit and leadership
The songs we could sing in lifeboats when we are shipwrecked
Jekhan Aruliah set a ball rolling in Jaffna
Awaiting arrivals unlike any other
Teachers and students sometimes reverse roles
Colombo, Colombo, Colombo and so forth
The slowest road to Kumarigama, Ampara
Some play music, others listen
Mind and hearts, loquacious and taciturn
I am at Jaga Food, where are you?
On separating the missing from the disappeared
And intangible republics will save the day (as they always have)
The circuitous logic of Tony Muller
Rohana Kalyanaratne, an unforgettable 'Loku Aiya'
Mowgli, the Greatest Archaeologist
Figures and disfigurement, rocks and roses
Sujith Rathnayake and incarcerations imposed and embraced
Some stories are written on the covers themselves
A poetic enclave in the Republic of Literature
Landcapes of gone-time and going-time
The best insurance against the loud and repeated lie
So what if the best flutes will not go to the best flautists?
There's dust and words awaiting us at crossroads and crosswords
A song of terraced paddy fields
Of ants, bridges and possibilities
From A through Aardvark to Zyzzyva
Words, their potency, appropriation and abuse
Who did not listen, who's not listening still?
If you remember Kobe, visit GOAT Mountain
The world is made for re-colouring
No 27, Dickman's Road, Colombo 5
Visual cartographers and cartography
Ithaca from a long ago and right now
Lessons written in invisible ink
The amazing quality of 'equal-kindness'
The interchangeability of light and darkness
Sisterhood: moments, just moments
Chess is my life and perhaps your too
Reflections on ownership and belonging
The integrity of Nadeesha Rajapaksha
Signatures in the seasons of love
To Maceo Martinet as he flies over rainbows
Fragrances that will not be bottled
Colours and textures of living heritage
Countries of the past, present and future
Books launched and not-yet-launched
The sunrise as viewed from sacred mountains
Isaiah 58: 12-16 and the true meaning of grace
The age of Frederick Algernon Trotteville
Live and tell the tale as you will
Between struggle and cooperation
Neruda, Sekara and literary dimensions
Paul Christopher's heart of many chambers
Calmness gracefully cascades in the Dumbara Hills
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