Whole30: Day 2

Breakfast – Chicken sausage omelette, asparagus, grape tomatoes, and strawberries

Lunch – Creamy dill salmon with capers on a bed of zoodles 

(julienne zucchini “noodles”), and grape tomatoes

Dinner – Arroz a la cubana, Filipino style, Paleo version: ground bison,

diced yellow yam, diced carrots, diced red bell peppers, chopped onions, 

and raisins; fried egg on top of oven-roasted cauliflower rice;

and fried saging na saba (Filipino sweet plantain)

• What this is about
• About Whole30

Whole30: Day 1

Breakfast – Chicken apple sausage, scrambled eggs, strawberries, and blueberries

Lunch – Chicken salad with homemade mayo

Dinner – Creamy dill salmon with capers, roast asparagus, julienne carrots,
and mini purple yams

• What this is about
• About Whole30

Whole30: Intro

So I’m going to be doing the Whole30 program for the next 30 days, April 1-30. Whole30 is a rather severe version of the Paleo diet, in which one is limited to eating meat, fish, eggs, lots of veggies, fruits, nuts, and healthy fats. You know, food. No added sugar, no processed crap, no unpronounceable additives, no Frankenfoods. Also, no grains, legumes, dairy or dairy products, or alcohol, all of which studies have shown may be irritant or even toxic to some people’s systems.

The idea is to clean out one’s body of guck, at least for a month, and re-set to a baseline – and then slowly reintroduce the forbidden food items and gauge one’s reaction to them. This way, you learn what foods really are healthy and nourishing for your unique and singular self.

More than that, I don’t really want to explain. Click the link above, Google it if you want to know more. The small point I want to make in this post is that I’ll be blogging the next month to chronicle my Whole30 experience. But I won’t be writing much, because what I mostly want to do is just post pics of my meals. Like this…

…and this… 

…and this.

(I’ve already switched partway to Paleo; I often make dishes – like the ones above – that are Whole30 approved.)

I figure if I’m going to all the trouble and effort of preparing virtually all my meals for the next 30 days (eating out is problematic, since it can be difficult to find food that’s compliant with the program), I might as well take photos of them. If I do my job right, my dishes will be delicious and healthy. But if I put in a some extra effort, maybe they’ll also be pretty. And if I really do it well, they’ll be porn.

Food porn, that is.

At least that’s what I’ll be aspiring to. You’ll know it when you see it.

Notes on the Previous Five Stories

Well, better late than never. I just felt I should close the loop and finally post these long-shelved notes on my most recent stories (most recent as in, from a year ago).

All but one of these stories came from story prompts from the now defunct (alas) Flash Fiction Friday.

“The Spell of Opening” came from the cue: “Write a story where a door figures prominently in the plot. Word limit: 1,000 words.” Thought I’d try my hand at a wizardly tale.

“Blasé” arose from the cue: “Write a story in which your protagonist encounters some sort of double or doppelganger. Word limit: 1,200 words.” I like turnabout reveals.

“Fever” was the product of the cue: “Write a springtime story about love using these words: kiss, breeze, kite, skunk, and mud. Word Limit: 1,300.” So, ummm, yeah. I made a foray into animal erotica. What can I say?

“Mirror, Mirror” came from a desire to write another science fiction story – and conjure up a tall, breathtaking blonde. What can I say? I have a thing for tall women.

“The Palanquin Ride” was my response to the cue: “Put your story in motion, tell it from the vantage point of the journey, not the destination. Word Limit: 1,500.” I love this story. It was a nice capstone to this recent period of creative writing which, alas, seems to have run its course. For the time being, anyway.

The Palanquin Ride

“Are we out of the town yet?”

The muffled voice from inside the enclosed palanquin startled the palanquin bearers. It was sweet and lilting – that of a young girl in her earliest spring, approaching the cusp of bursting into blossom.

The two bearers were brothers. The younger one in front, Dae-Ho, hesitated before finally answering: “Yes, mistress. We have left your town and are now on the main road to Seosan.”

The older, sterner brother, Dae-Hyun, who bore the palanquin from the rear, registered his disapproval in the way he ever-so-slightly altered the cadence of his loping stride, so that Dae-Ho’s own rhythm was jarred.

The voice spoke again: “Are there many people on the road? Are there warriors in shining armor marching? Are there merchants on caravans bearing wondrous cargo? Are there noblemen in silk robes and tall hats riding on horses?”

Dae-Ho glanced at the old man they were passing, who was shuffling forward slowly, bent over by the bale of hay on his back. In the distance, up the dusty road in front of them, were three or four peasants walking the opposite way, towards them.

Dae-Ho said, “No, mistress. There are not very many people traveling at this hour.”

“Oh,” the girl said, that one utterance freighted with disappointment. After a mile or so had passed, she spoke again, hopefully: “Are we passing groves of cherry trees with pink flowers? Can you see castle walls with banners waving? Are there snow-capped mountains in the distance?”

Dae-Ho’s eyes swept through the rice paddies that quilted the countryside, the farmers’ hovels huddled at the foot of the modest hills to the south, the spindly trees and brush that lined the road. “No, mistress. We are in a poor, quiet part of the country.”

From behind, Dae-Hyun’s gruff voice rumbled, “Dae-Ho, be quiet.” Then, in a softer, subservient tone: “Mistress, we beg your pardon. My brother is young and impertinent – and should know better than to address one of his betters with such familiarity.”

A cheerful laugh sounded from within the palanquin. “Oh, there is nothing to forgive. He was only answering my questions.” Then, in a more somber tone: “It’s just that I’ve never been outside of my father’s house, much less outside our town. This is the first time I am traveling anywhere. But I cannot see anything from inside here and only wished to know what there is in the world outside.”

Dae-Hyun looked at the swaying tassels of the fringe that lined the palanquin and obscured its air holes. He had not considered it before, but inside the box, the girl was in darkness, her legs doubled over and wrapped in the tight binding of the silk gown that someone of her station wore; she would barely be able to move. Inside, the air must be hot and stifling. For an instant, Dae-Hyun’s chest constricted, and once again, the brothers’ rhythm was interrupted with a slight jolt.

The girl continued to speak: “Once I am brought to the widow Lady Choe’s household, there I will likely remain for years – perhaps even for the rest of my life.”

A silence fell. Then, to Dae-Ho’s surprise, his older brother asked a question: “You are to be married into the Lady Choe’s house, mistress?”

“Perhaps someday. For now, I am to be her handmaiden and companion, to keep her company in her old age. She has sons, but she also has many handmaidens for her sons to choose from. I am sure all of them are prettier than me.” She went on: “She is very rich, you know. My mother said that her compound covers an entire city block in Seosan. And there I will stay, for as long as she wills it, just as I have always been confined in my father’s house.

“My father was once a rich merchant himself, but he has fallen into difficult times. He has had to sell off his property little by little to keep my family’s station. Most of his land, most of his warehouses and goods. And now me.”

Dae-Hyun thought back to when he and Dae-Ho had entered the merchant’s courtyard earlier that morning to pick up the palanquin. The merchant’s wife was weeping, the merchant himself was stone-faced. Their servants were shutting the palanquin’s hatch and the overseer was locking it up with an iron lock. The brothers had not even caught a glimpse of the girl; she was already inside the palanquin when they arrived. The overseer, who had hired them for the job of bearing the palanquin, went to them with instructions, warnings, threats: the brothers were to bring her to Seosan directly; they were not to stop on the road; they were to protect the cargo – the girl – with their lives. Any failure on their part would mean flogging and imprisonment – and eternal dishonor to their families.

Dae-Hyun ventured, “You must be sad to leave your family.”

She said quietly, “Yes.” And after a pause: “And afraid of going to live with strangers I have never even met. What – what if they are cruel?”

Then she said, wistfully: “If only I could see out. I have never seen anything outside of my father’s house and garden. All I know of the world comes from the stories I am told and the paintings on our walls. What wonders must be out there!”

Dae-Hyun scanned the poor landscape about him. “Well… there are no noblemen or castles presently, but we are coming to a bridge.” And indeed, they were approaching a small, wooden bridge that spanned across a small creek.

“Oh, oh!” the girl said excitedly. “What does it look like? Is it made of marble?”

Dae-Hyun hesitated. It was Dae-Ho who answered: “No, mistress. It is made of silver and gold. Oh, how it blinds me!”

They crossed the bridge. Dae-Hyun hoped that the girl did not know difference between the sound of footsteps on wood from that of footsteps on metal.

“What else do you see?” the girl said. “Oh, please be my eyes.”

Dae-Hyun looked up in the sky. A crow was making its way from one tree to another, cawing as it flew. He said, “An eagle, mistress, flying high in the air, with wings spread as wide as… well, as wide as a dragon’s wings.”

“Oh!” the girl said, her voice filled with delicious fright. “Are we in danger? Will it swoop down and snatch the palanquin and carry me away?”

Dae-Ho said quickly, to allay her fears: “Oh, no, mistress. This kind of eagle only eats barley.”

“Oh? I have never heard of an eagle eating barley.” She sounded confused – and a little disappointed.

After a moment, Dae-Hyun said, “My younger brother is trying to assuage your fears – or else he is ignorant. This kind of eagle can carry off cattle, if it can swoop on them unawares. Do not lie to the mistress, Dae-Ho.”

“But surely it will not swoop down on us?” The note of excitement and fear had returned to her voice.

Dae-Ho said, “Do not worry, mistress. Your father’s overseer gave us spears to protect you with. We will keep the eagle away if it flies near.” After a moment, he added, “Please excuse my misleading you before. I did not want you to be frightened.”

“Please, I quite understand. I trust that you will keep me safe. Please tell me: what else do you see?”

“Umm…” The two brothers cast about. They saw a rabbit start at their approach and turn and run into its burrow. Dae-Ho said, “Mistress, you must be quiet now. We are approaching a cave where it is rumored a dragon sleeps.”

Dae-Hyun whispered, “Even our spears would be useless against such a beast. Our only hope is to walk softly by.”

The palanquin closed into itself in silence, a heavy, palpable thing. After the brothers had carried the palanquin some distance, Dae-Ho said, “We are safely past the cave now, mistress.”

A loud gasp of relief came from the palanquin. The palanquin itself seemed to lighten with the release of fear. She said, “Oh, you must be such brave men to court such dangers.”

The two brothers smiled. Dae-Hyun said, “Oh, not so brave. Everyone faces such things daily.”

“What else is around us?”

After the dangers they had put her through, the brothers sought to describe to her more pleasant things: an enormous temple with sweeping roofs far away that thousands of people visited each day; a forest of mulberry trees, their branches heavy with black fruit; a river laden with boats carrying precious jewels and exotic spices; mountain peaks that reached almost into the clouds. And as they approached Seosan at midday and the traffic began to get heavy and noisy, they were able to give her the noblemen and warriors and merchants she had desired. Once in the city, they conjured through their words the castles and banners she had asked for.

In time, they came to the house of the Lady Choe of Seosan. The large wooden gates opened and they were admitted into the courtyard, where they were finally able to lay down the palanquin and stretch their sore arms and legs. The lady herself came out and stood on the porch entrance, accompanied by servants and her steward, who had the duplicate key to the palanquin’s lock. Dae-Ho and Dae-Hyun glanced at each other, then frantically looked around the courtyard. They saw a stack of bamboo off to the side by the wall. They went to the stack and each grabbed a pole. The steward looked at them in surprise, as if he thought they had gone mad, then went to the palanquin and proceeded to unlock it.

Servants swung open the latch and helped the girl out. She was a tiny thing; she could not have been more than twelve or thirteen. She swayed as she stood up and hung on to the servants for support. Even as she blinked in the sunlight, she looked not at the lady, who was smiling down at her from the porch, but around the courtyard, as if she was searching for something.

Despite their fatigue, Dae-Hyun and Dae-Ho straightened their backs and stood up their bamboo poles alongside their bodies – like flagpoles, like spears. The girl saw them standing at attention as if they were soldiers and smiled. Then the servants closed in around her and brought her up the steps to the lady, and they all went inside the house, leaving the steward to show the brothers out the gate.

(May 2013)

Mirror, Mirror

Sophie was having a hard time getting out of bed. In an endless stream of blah days, she just knew this one was going to be extra blah.

“Duenna,” she said to the air, “a pick-me-up, please. I’m feeling low this morning.” Nothing seemed to happen, though she knew the appropriate meds were being released into her bloodstream from the pharma implant inside her. Had her despondency been more severe, Duenna would have administered the correctives automatically. In any case, the meds took effect and seemed to help. Enough, at any rate, to enable her to get up.

She shuffled to the wall along her bedroom. “Duenna, full length mirror,” she said. A rectangular shape appeared on the wall before her, a reflective surface.

She looked at the woman who looked morosely back. A shade under six feet tall, wavy blonde hair that welled up from the widow’s peak on her forehead and flowed all the way to the middle of her back. Green eyes; smooth, pale skin. Perfect figure; flawless face. She looked about twenty-two (or what people way back when would have judged to be twenty-two) – but then everyone in the world looked about twenty-two. And she knew her stats. Her body was so close to the norm – deviation typically ranging from 0.9 to 1.2 – that there was only one word to sum up her appearance.

Plain.

Her sleep gown dissolved and cycled into the carpet. She stood before herself naked. Her body was unembellished except for a mobile tattoo along the side of her neck: a white, downy feather whose fuzz seemed to flutter every now and then in a changeable breeze. Her single affectation.

“Perhaps you’d like to wear something different today, Sophie?” Duenna’s disembodied voice asked hopefully.

“No, Duenna.”

“Are you sure? Perhaps morphing clothes?” A shape-shifting, multi-hued body suit appeared on her reflection. “Some holographic accessories?” Abstract shapes began hovering behind her head. “Living cosmetics?” Moss blush sprung up on the side of her face.

Sophie waved them away impatiently. The accouterments vanished, revealing her nondescript self again. “Just the usual.”

Tendrils sprouted from the wall beside the mirror and waved about Sophie’s body, assembling her outfit. For a minute she seemed lost in a haze. Then the tendrils retracted into the wall, taking the haze with them, and she emerged wearing a simple black frock coat over turquoise tights. She slipped into the sandals that had been set on the floor before her.

Duenna sighed. “I understand how wearing the same thing day in and day out might have been a novelty at first, but you’re starting to worry me. There are so many things you can do to make your appearance stand out.”

“And it’ll be just plain old me under the crap. There’s no covering up the reality of my ordinariness.”

“There is so much more to you than…”

“Duenna, please. I’m invisible. Everyone in the world looks the same. All the women are my height, my body shape, my proportions. All the men are six-foot-four and chiseled. Everyone looks the same age.”

“Oh, you’re exaggerating. There’re still a lot of differences in people.”

“Sure, sure. My friend Luisa might be six-one. The woman next door might be an inch and a half shorter. You know as well as I do that the range of physical variation in people has all but vanished over the years.”

“It’s an understandable progression. It’s a convergence to the optimum. All parents want their kids to have an optimal balance of traits, including physical features.”

“It’s a convergence to banality. All parents want their kids to be like everyone else – because they’re afraid they might stand out and be outcast. So they have them engineered and modified to an ever-narrowing standard.”

Sophie continued, “I even read somewhere that given the continued mixing of the gene pool, skin tones will finally blend to the same brownish hue in a couple of generations.”

“Well, that’s certainly one way you’re different. Not very many people retain your white complexion.”

Sophie shrugged. “So my family didn’t have the openmindedness to breed outside their race. A very small distinction.”

“But that’s why people wear different things: to mark their individuality. I keep encouraging you to try on something new, maybe even consider some surgical alterations, or cybernetic augmentation…”

“I’d be just another freak in a city of freaks desperately trying to disguise their insipidness. I just get depressed when I walk down the street and see all the grotesqueries that people have on them. No, thanks.”

“Sophie, perhaps I should schedule another therapy session for you with a psychiatric AI. It seems clear your body issues are getting worse again.”

“No, Duenna. Eighteen years of therapy is quite enough for me.” She bit her lip, trying to stanch the desperate need that suddenly gushed within her. “Duenna, perhaps you could… could you show me some… some historical videos again? Maybe even just a few photographs? From, say, the early twenty-first century?”

“No, Sophie. I’m prevented by your psychiatric protocols. You know how you get when you look at those images. And you’re just confirming my concerns.” Years before, Sophie had fallen into a rather pernicious addiction, in which she spent months on end perusing images of people from the distant past, fixating on the dizzying variety of their shapes, sizes, colors, and even imperfections, blemishes, deformities. She had to undergo therapeutic intervention to be weaned away from her obsession.

Sophie knew that Duenna was adjusting her meds again, for the overwhelming desire slowly faded away. But that didn’t stop the mind from thinking.

“Duenna, what would have happened if I hadn’t been modified when I was conceived? What would I have been like?”

“Probably not much different. You weren’t modified very much. The genes in your line have been cleaned of flaws and abnormalities for generations. You had very few imperfections to adjust.”

“Enhancements were made by my parents, though. They wanted me to have a creative personality, an aesthetic sensibility, so they had the potential for those traits incorporated into my genes.”

“Among others, yes.”

Sophie wondered again if those genes hadn’t manifested themselves in her deep, lifelong yearning for authenticity and uniqueness – and if the impossibility of finding expression for those desires wasn’t the source of her doleful temperament. “What would I have looked like?”

“Oh, that would require specialized programming for genetic profiling and projection. To forecast one’s physical appearance from embryonic gene sequences requires…”

“Can you download the programming?”

“Yes.”

“Please do so. And then show me what I would have looked like.”

There was a pause as Duenna accessed the necessary capabilities. Then Duenna said, “Here’s your probable physical appearance extrapolating from your embryonic genome prior to genetic modification.”

Her living reflection was replaced by a naked, frozen image. She looked the same. She didn’t look very different at all, though Sophie imagined some subtle change in the curve of her jaw.

“What if my parents also hadn’t been modified? Can you extrapolate my physical appearance then?”

Duenna hesitated. “Yes.”

“Show me, please.”

A longer pause. Then the image cleared and reappeared, and the changes were more perceptible. Her hair was thicker and darker, her eyes set wider, her shoulders a little more rounded.

Sophie frowned. “Duenna, let’s go all the way. Assume that none of my progenitors had undergone any modifications. Pretend that genetic engineering had never been invented, and my parents, grandparents, great grandparents, and so forth had produced offspring the old-fashioned way – helter-skelter, subject to the vagaries of genetic chance – and ended up with me, except a version of me that would have been completely free of all genetic alterations. What would I have looked like?”

“Sophie, that would be incredibly complex. You’re talking about going back five and six generations to find your progenitors who were first modified. The further back I go, the more uncertain the calculations become. It’s not as if gene mapping and extrapolation are perfect sciences. Mutations, environmental factors, medical interventions, any number variables make the answer indeterminate.”

“Can you make a best guess?”

“Well, yes. As long as you understand the limitations.”

“I understand.”

This time, the pause stretched to minutes. Sophie had sat down on her bed to wait and was about to inquire when Duenna finally said, “It’s ready.” Sophie stood back up to face the mirror. But only her reflection showed within it.

Sophie said, “Well?”

Duenna replied, “Sophie, I’m a little hesitant to show it to you. Would it dissuade you if I told you that without genetic modifications over generations, the chances of genetic disorders would have increased significantly? You would have had a higher susceptibility in later life for diseases called rheumatoid arthritis, osteoporosis, breast cancer, and a neurologic condition called chronic subdural hematoma. Moreover, clearing all modifications would mean voiding all longevity and aging-cessation enhancements.”

Sophie did waver, suddenly fearful. But she finally responded, “I’d like to see anyway.”

“As you wish. What age should I make the image?”

Again, she hesitated. “My age.”

“All right.”

A person appeared in the mirror, and Sophie gasped. The woman bore a family resemblance to her, but she was half a foot shorter, and stooped. Her hair was white, her face was fleshy and mottled and lined with wrinkles; her breasts sagged. She was stocky; her arms and legs were thick and round and blue-veined.

Duenna was momentarily stymied by the wild mix of hormones that surged through Sophie; it took a while to figure out the assortment of meds it would take to pacify the flood. And so for a minute or two, Sophie was free to weep her astonishment and awe and profound, profound grief.

“Oh, oh!” she cried. “I would have been so beautiful!”

(March 2013)