Am I crazy or is it just you?
Posted 5/17/16 (Tue)
What A Joke
By John Bayer
Sometimes I wonder if I’m crazy. The therapist that I Skype with three times a month says I’m not, and I guess he should know.
Sanity is hard to be certain of when you live in a region where everyone thinks differently than you on most of the important issues. You ask yourself: am I a sane person surrounded by crazy people, or is everyone else normal and I’m the crazy one?
I love North Dakotans but I disagree with them on the most important issue of the day. I’m referring of course to rhubarb.
I don’t like rhubarb, but everyone around here is crazy for it. (There’s that word “crazy” again.)
People are always trying to convince me how great rhubarb tastes in all kinds of desserts – pie, ice cream, bars. Give me a break! Anything is edible if you add enough sugar to it; you’d love my pig snout sorbet.
The real test of whether a food is good or not is whether you’re willing to eat it on its own. My mother tells me I often ate raw rhubarb as a very young child. I assume this is true. I have no memory of it. (They say the mind blocks out particularly traumatic experiences.)
On the other hand, it may be a complete fabrication on my mother’s part. I mean, where did she even get her hands on the stuff? They don’t grow rhubarb in southern Arizona. Most people in Tucson don’t even know what it is.
And think about it. If your mother got her hands on it, she wouldn’t just hand over a stalk of a tough, fibrous plant for her toddler to chew on.
Your mother wouldn’t, but mine might. This is the same woman who, when moving into a new apartment, sent her 40-year-old son a care package containing three pairs of underwear. (No wonder my therapist can afford that second vacation home.)
While doing research for another writing project, I read a book about poisons. Guess what? There was a section about rhubarb. Yep, it can kill you.
Why would you put a poisonous plant into a pie tin and call it dessert? That would be as ridiculous as soaking a piece of fish for days in poisonous lye and then serving it up as a Norwegian delicacy. Who would be that crazy?
Or maybe that’s just me. I’ll ask my therapist; we have a Skype session in a few minutes.