Hope revisited

To be thought a hopeless romantic is one of my secret sources of pride...well, maybe not so secret now for the 12 people reading this blog o' mine. But I don't believe it is hopeless, I don't believe in hopelessness...I choose hope because in the end that's what keeps us moving forward. Be it affairs of the heart or state affairs, hope matters.

As I read what Barack Obama said at Shimon Peres' funeral today I was struck by the simple elegance in the way he conveyed what should matter to all of good heart....

“In many ways he reminded me of some other giants of the 20th century I’ve had the honour to meet—men like Nelson Mandela, women like Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth -- leaders who’ve seen so much, whose lives span such momentous epochs that they find no need to posture or traffic in what’s popular in the moment. People who speak with depth and knowledge, not in sound bites. They find no interest in polls or fads, and like these leaders, Shimon could be true to his convictions even if they cut against the grain of current opinion. He knew better than the cynic that if you look out over the arc of history, human beings should be filled not with fear, but with hope.”

...that tomorrow will be better because we strive to make possible that hope. Our need to climb the mountain so we can see what's on the other side will always push us forward and thus our guaranteed growth in humanity. You may scoff at me for that but, in general and real terms, things are getting better. And for proof of that just look who I am quoting above...a black president of the United States. 44 years after Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act Obama took office...that is monumental. Is it perfect? Not even close. Our work as humans will never end but everyday we should be striving to make a better tomorrow and always remember the words "those who cannot remember the past are doomed to repeat it".

Absolutely the state of the world is perilous but I would argue that it has always been that way...who knows what powder keg will have its fuse lit tomorrow but in very real terms we are still better off than say the time between the two world wars. This is little comfort to those living hell on earth, like in Aleppo, and our hearts weep for them as they would have wept for the Jews during the holocaust, it doesn't change that we have made steps in the direction of hope. Is racism still an issue? Of course it is, along with sexism and greed, not to mention the biggest threat to us all, the ruining of our environment but the very thing that allows us to know about and understand these issues is what will help us to continue to work towards solving those issues...our connected world.

Shimon Peres knew that social media and the ability to almost instantly know something will be the key to realizing our hopes as a people. That big huge spotlight created by bringing issues to the front can and will make a difference...you see, Facebook can be used for something other than cat videos. We have to resist the urge to make snap judgements and declare that the world is getting worse because we happen to see more of it now...everything can have the light shone on it now which means it seems like it's getting worse. Facts and stats will tell you otherwise, which means anyone espousing to the contrary as a means of getting your support is using fear as motivation and ignorance as fuel to feed the fire. Not hope...but fear and everything that fear brings.

Rest in peace Mr. Peres...thank you for dedication and heart, for showing that even in your tumultuous world, hope is a better answer.

Ciao
D

Let slip the dogs of war

Long gone are the days of my time spent on the line, that magical area beyond the pass full of heat, flame and profanity. Where raw ingredients get turned into beautiful and edible food with the application of heat, flavour and love...or as often is the case, begrudging acquiescence. Men and women alike in a tortured tango dancing around each other trying to bring together all the components of a dish at the same time, lest the dish be ruined because Steve over there forgot his beurre blanc sauce...great job ass hole!!!

Working the line, as I may have said previously, is a young persons game. Long hours on your feet, the physical abuse your body takes as you bend over into the low boy fridge, reach around each other for food, pans and so on, the constant back and forth as your hands become extensions of your nervous system...reacting more than thinking about your next move. The life takes it's toll. I do however miss it sometimes, there is a camaraderie to being immersed in that life. Truly, a well oiled crew working a busy night is a beautiful thing to behold. The constant barrage of double entendres slipped between time checks and questions of how many beef all day do I have, the sizzle as a piece of meat hits the hot pan, the constant shaking of pans over the cast iron grates and the shuffling of smelly feet. We tend to have quite well muscled calves by the way, if that's your thing.

The kitchens I have been a part of all seem to flow in the same manner, the same things are said and the same things are bitched about. That commonalty makes it quite easy to flow from one kitchen to another...it is a small community after all so we have all probably walked in the same place at one point or another. First there is music...a beat up radio stolen from a hotel room or "borrowed" from the last sous chef that happened to walk out one night in a fit of frustration. Antenna covered in foil or connected to a coat hanger somehow and you just know that the Cd player or tape deck are inoperable...and the whole thing has been thoroughly coated in kitchen grease and flying debris. These days we have iPods or Pads or Pids or whatever the thing is called so you can play your vaunted kitchen mix. When I was younger and I managed to wrestle control of the radio I would put it on whatever rock station played classic rock...I'm old school. These days I have to listen to, at varying times, country music, rap and hip hop as well as pop music....kill me now my ears are bleeding. Music is the life blood of the kitchen along with coffee...it's mandatory, it is what separates us from you office dwellers. Well, one of the things. Easy access to booze and food, a patois that would make a trucker blush, no real rules other than don't be an ass hole and hold up your end of the line and a slightly warped way of looking at the world...see, not so different after all.

And we have the dogs of war themselves, the mish mash motley crew that prepares your food every night for meager wages and little gratitude. We have such diversity of both character and nationality within the confines of that line that I sometimes wonder if maybe this truly represents the multicultural life that we, as Canadians, espouse. Running the gamut from disturbed but hard working sous chefs to hiding from something 3rd cooks, brilliant but lazy first cooks to under appreciated work horse chef de parties. To look at some of them you would think that the door to intelligence was locked when they were lining up for god given attributes, but you would be wrong to make assumptions. Sure, we have our fair share of mental midgets but we also have some very deeply intelligent people that can wax poetic about many, many topics and speak passionately with logic and vigour about others. And for some reason, too many conspiracy theory nuts...just saying. We have OCD poster kids, slobs and sloths, recovering addicts and in situ junkie wannabes along side mercenary cooks, artistes and lifers that just wanna get their time in. Usually it's not who you think cooking your food in a restaurant and certainly not in a hotel...having worked our way through the machine, we sit back and worry about food cost and labour cost, playing hall monitor and absentee mom for all. This business is about people...as legendary Elwood Blues would have said "you, me, them everybody, everybody." You the customer, me, all the cooks, chefs and workers in the biz...everybody. We may sell you a tenderloin topped with a lovely decadent Stilton crust but we're in the people business....and as always, business is war. Cooking the line is war.

Where there is war there is carnage. There be blood, some expected and some not. Not one of us has avoided the "shit" moment when we went too deep with the boning knife on that expensive tenderloin and nicked a minor artery. I've seen guys take the tops of fingers off from knives and meat slicers. I once lopped off part of my thumb in the middle of getting ready for a wedding....off to the hospital to get stitched up and raced back for service with throbbing digits. It's what we do....despite how much we hate you we still do everything in our power to serve you. Our own well being be damned. Case in point...back in college we were prepping for the nights service in the college dining room when a fire alarm went off. We promptly ignored it as chef hadn't come back to tell us anything, so in the absence of contrary orders...we kept working. At some point a security guard told us to get out, we promptly ignored him and possibly threw carrot chunks at him as he left the kitchen. A short while later he came back to remind us to get out...same response. A few minutes later he barged in and said there was a bomb threat and we had to go...fine, bombs trump our prep. We never went back to class after the all clear a few hours later...we dragged our instructor to a classmates apartment next to the college and got loaded. Good times.

This may give you some more insight into my world and my brain....and I'm sorry in advance. Actually I'm not...what ever. If you want an even more in depth picture that will surely scare you...read Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential, a pretty accurate snap shot of the business. He details debauchery in all its forms and shines a light on the people that slip in and out of my world. He did a great job of writing about my experience without knowing me...I'm sure I wasn't the only one.

But really all the stories and moments are part of that tapestry that has grown around my life...I couldn't imagine not being in the trenches to some extent. If I find myself with an opportunity to live in Greece or Italy or Spain, preferably over a bakery or a tapas bar, I'd work part time for spare cash just so I could keep a toe stuck in that room beyond the swinging doors. In there is comfort and many stories to explore.

Ciao
D

Can't look away

Now that I have a day to digest and consequently throw up I feel I can, hopefully, in an eloquent and meaningful way, put down my thoughts on the debate between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump the other night, I feel the level of discourse needs to match the level of discourse displayed. So, now this...

This scum sucking bag of donkey shit is what 40% of the country feels would be an excellent representative of the American way both at home and abroad? Speaking in sentence fragments and with an uncanny way of opening his mouth without the bile flying out he has quite clearly shown the rest of the world the worse of what America has to offer up. Say what you will of Hilary, and there is a lot that can be said, by any standard that should matter she is the better candidate and infinitely more qualified to run the country as compared to this weave wearing orangutan with the manners and temperament of a five year old bully that lost his dinkie car...my apologies to five year olds and orangutans of course. He is poooo. Correction, he is the poooo that when you scrape it off your shoe to fling into the woods that stinks even more vile and looks more disgusting than you originally thought when you first stepped into it....and that is going to be Americas reaction if he gets elected.

Now, I really don't think he will win, but that won't stop me for saying my peace. It's up to all of us to stand up and say what needs to be said, and all the apologists, GOP lackeys and dimwits too stupid to read a book or look past the first few posts of whatever racist woman hating Facebook page they are following currently can go fuck themselves. Yep, I might swear a bit...shocking as that is. Sure, you're entitled to your opinion and you can justify it anyway you wish...be it god speaking directly to you, the bible readings after the Budweiser ride on lawn mower races or because your pappy told you so. I'm OK with that in the same way I'm OK with vegans and paleo dieters. As long as they are not bothering me I will keep my thoughts to myself....but when they do affect me, directly or indirectly and if I think they are going to be bad for the world...I have to say something.

So, vegans and paleo diet followers...get real man. Eat anything in moderation or stop going out to restaurants if your diet should consist of a bowl of grass with a side of ice cubes, excuse me, organic grass and spring fed ice cubes. Now, the rest of you....open your minds a tiny fraction to understand that the hyperbole and venom spewed by Drumph is just simply evil. He doesn't give a shit about you...this is for him and him alone. He's a power hungry megalomaniac that lives in a world where it's OK to literally have gilded walls and not pay his share of taxes. He thinks it makes him smart to avoid taxes, what it should say to us all is that he feels like he shouldn't have to pay taxes because if you aren't smart enough, hard working enough, man enough or white enough to find and use the same loopholes as he does, then you're too stupid to live anyway and why should his taxes go to support you. That's Drumph saying fuck you with his money. Side bar here, if the debate had gone on for another 20 minutes he would have dropped an F bomb...you could just see it,,,like Jack Nicholson in A Few Good Men, he wanted to say it, he needed to say it...you can't handle the truth!!! And the worst part of this sad tale is that it would not make a wit of difference to his supporters...they'd be yelling at their TV's..."yeah, curse that bitch out Donald" Fuck me!

And his allusion to Bill Clintons affairs and how he stopped himself from saying anything about it are supposed to make us go, oh, what a nice guy...maybe he will be a good president after all. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Bill screwed around, not Hilary...and she stayed for her own reasons. You orange man, you fucked around...are you so stupid to think that people can't look that up on Google the same that they can look up any number of your false claims and denials of things you have said and done. You never said China was responsible for the hoax of global warming...it's cold in LA today so global warming is a hoax. Or Rosie O'Donnell is a fat pig and no one was offended by what you said about her...go fuck yourself you sack of shit. You, your followers, your gutless apologists that simply want to cling to power and those that don't care enough to stand up...all of you, go fuck yourselves.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, that felt good.

Ciao
D

Grace Too

Looking back, the decision to leave the church a few years ago was a long time coming for me. Much like my marriage, staying in it was about other people, my kids and my ex specifically. The desire to project "normal" and avoid the black sheep label that I probably had anyway plus the fear of hurting those that I cared about kept me going...halfheartedly.

I grew up going to Catholic schools, both elementary and high school, the whole uniform, prayers to start the day, religion classes that only dealt with one religion (go figure) and so on...everything a budding mind needs to be controlled with. It really didn't work obviously as I sit here thinking about attending church yesterday with my kids. Work schedule conflict found me bringing the kids to mass and sitting in with them to keep them company.

And my observations from this slightly uncomfortable hour? Things haven't changed much for me and my way of looking at church...and to be clear, any church. I do not have any desire to return to the flock, not missing it in any way and yesterday, like previous times I have gone, confirmed that for me. I'm more than OK the way I am now and the argument for attending church and following one religion over another holds no sway with me.

If you've read some of my posts you should have seen that I really don't give a crap what you want to believe in or subject yourself to. I subscribe to a "you do you and I'll do me" kind of mantra. Don't use your beliefs to look down upon me and don't try and convert me..to anything. And this goes for atheists as well, who can be just as fervent in their belief that you should follow them in following nothing....who would have thought that atheism could be a religion unto itself? After that, do as you wish...if you want to discuss and talk intelligently, debate even...great, I love that...otherwise, find a new topic of discussion with me. You won't like my response else ways.

There is a certain regularity that I have found in masses that I have attended...similar traits and mannerisms of people that show up that run the gamut from devout true believers to the tag along spouses and kids. They are pretty easy to pick out. Funnily enough, the people in the middle are the ones that bother me the most...but more on them later. First, this...

I may not agree with the beliefs of the truly devout but I can respect their freedom to believe in what they believe in. Who am I to say they are lesser than because of their faith in things unseen? If it brings them comfort and joy fill your boots I say. Enjoy the ride. The devout that use their faith as a way of lifting themselves above others (those middle dwellers)...well, you have another thing coming. If there is a god one can't imagine that he/she or it would want you to step on others to be closer to the supreme deity..it just doesn't make sense. A god of good and love would be a god for all people, not just those that follow one sect or another or those that don't believe at all...god is all loving, so the holy scribes will tell you. And I know...before you pull out the man is imperfect argument on me let me respond thusly...fuck that shit. Man is man, sorry humans are humans and your argument goes out the window the second the humans being made in gods image clause gets invoked. See where I am going with this....god damn hypocrisy!!! That is one of my biggest issues with religion in general...speak out of both sides of your mouth much. It makes me crazy and in the end is what was the final straw in leaving the church all together (look up bishop Lahey), though one can argue that god already knew that I wasn't devout so no big loss for him/her or it.

The other middle dwellers are the ones that come for show. To be seen and to see, often only for special occasions, perched close to the front taking up real estate where the vicar can see them and church elders can make the proper notations. I'm not saying they are inherently bad people, some are very good people actually, but their use of this supposedly sacred gathering for swelled egos and status is a tad askew if you ask me. When I was younger my parents would, once a month and on special occasions, drag me to a Croatian church in the downtown area. This church going venture I hated more than regular church for here, on full display, were the Croatian peacocks of the area. Best suits, best dresses and funny hats with all the bling you could wear. It was ridiculous beyond reckoning...the Croatian flag fluttering up front as doors were opened and closed, the Croatian national anthem being sung...WTF. I imagine it's like that in all churches that have a strong ethnic population but it would seem to be a tad limiting to people of other nations looking for a place to weather the storm...segregated flocks. And I do get it, I'm dumb but not that dumb, if you share some commonality with a group of people you might want to worship with them,,,hear the language and remember. Hell, if church was a chance to get together with old friends from high school and reminisce about our weekend shenanigans, I might consider going...just leave out the preaching.

The other thing that I seemed to pick up more of yesterday was how shitty the church seems to want to make you feel about yourself. It may be the domain of the Catholics but holy hell batman, I know I'm not perfect but to call me a sinner and shameful, tell me I'm not worthy and the kingdom of heaven will be denied to me....but I love you sooooo much. It's a wonder I didn't run away when I was younger. Probably a testament to the fact that I wasn't really paying attention to the words and their meaning in the first place. Seems an odd way to promote the loving god but as I sat there not praying I could see that in the end it's all about control. In one way or another religion is about two things...trying to explain the unexplainable to those that need something to believe in and then controlling those people afterwards. Schlepping through the middle ages, priests would wander from town to town absolving sins and collecting silver and gold. Since they were the few that could read they could tell those that couldn't whatever they wanted. "You slept with your goat, I see it says here in this fat book you owe 10 gold pieces..go forth and sin no more". Sure padre.

And in the end what does it mean? Nothing really, not even a hill of beans. I'm happy the way things are unfolding for me now and if it doesn't fit in with a preconceived notion of how I should or shouldn't be...too bad. And to those that might wish to use their beliefs as a reason for a holy high ground over me or anyone else, have fun with that, you may find later in life or at your death, that god didn't really appreciate the fact that you used his/her or its name in that way....I believe that's called Karma.

Ciao
D

Dear Bernie,

Has anyone ever told you that you sound like Larry David, or he like you, such as it is? I think had you won the nomination a whole new revenue stream would have been created for Larry which in turn could have been funnelled into the education system for your plan to fund college tuition for Americans....think about it. But alas...you came up short, or really were screwed over by the establishment. It's OK, I can say that since A, nobody reads this and B, I'm allowed to say whatever I want on here...sort of like Drumph but without the lies and "isms" that he is using to inch his way closer to the White House.

And here is the reason for my letter good sir. Were you offered a spot on the ticket as vice president? If you were, why did you turn it down? Seriously, would we even be discussing Drumph except to say how far back in the polls he was and ask what moronic thing did he say today? You would have been the final nail in his coffin, instead we have him essentially tied with Hilary...we're all scared man. He's a lying narcissist dimwit that can't be trusted with your locker combination to an empty locker much less the nuclear codes and state secrets. I'm not saying it's your fault, far from it, really it's him and the deplorable fuck heads that follow him blindly and the even more dangerous people that actually think he would be good for the country and hence the world. But you could have silenced him by simply tagging along.

The added bonus is that you would have kept Hilary honest...the moral compass for the country when it is needed most. Two more months of primaries and I have no doubt that you would have won the nomination and convinced those super delegates to switch sides, but alas...it was not meant to be. But you still would have had an impact, a very real one by joining her. You wouldn't be the one that could be ignored, she's too smart to do that and you're too popular to not say your peace. Not only could the revolution have continued but I firmly believe that the course of your country would have been changed for the better.

At the risk of sound like a gushing teenager you really do have the betterment of the American people at heart, your 'revolution' being marked by a desire to bridge the gap between the have and the have nots, the ridiculously wealthy with the people that can't take another step, so mired in poverty that no way out can be seen. To bring a modicum of common sense and compassion back to the front where it belongs...and to beat back the xenophobia, the racism, the misogyny and ultra conservative far right religious zealots. You could have led that battle, not only from your office but within the halls of the Senate and Congress...for certainly you could have helped win back the legislative end of the power sharing arrangement in your country. Transformative comes to mind.

I can understand why Hilary didn't offer you the spot, too much fire on the bottom of the ticket of course. Who wants their presidency marred by the eternal question...why wasn't it Bernie? I get that but I can't help but think that those issues could have been managed, mitigated even to play to your strengths and to hers. I suppose everyone has a role to play and often best intentions are waylaid by politics and power...maybe it wasn't meant to be.

Tell me Bernie, how do you feel right now? Are you pissed? Resigned? Matter of fact? Fearful? All of the above would be my answer. I loved your ideas and your passion...it would have been fun to watch you lead the country. Not in the anarchist way we are going to watch if Drumph gets elected but in the way it would be fun to feel like you were ours and ours alone...our boy making good and doing the right thing.

Keep fighting the good fight sir...the world needs it.

Respectively yours
D

CFA's and more

CFA? Canadian Federation of Ass-holes? Nope. Canadian Fungicide Association? Nope...nice try though. And it's not the Chartered Financial Analyst that's running off with your money to Tortuga either. In this case we are talking about an almost provincial term directed at, well...come from aways. Those that aren't from here, the here being here in Nova Scotia and I can assume the Maritime's in general. I'm a CFA, having grown up in Toronto but living here since 1994. When someone asks me where I am from and I say I grew up in Toronto, often I will  get the slightly derogatory sounding...oh, Upper Canada eh?

I have to be honest and call it like I see it. I do see that attitude from time to time in what are supposed to be the nicest people around. To deny it would be sweeping the issue under the rug...it is fact. And it runs the gamut from veiled disdain to outright animosity, whether shown through acts of vandalism or simply some people standing in your way when you want to do something.

I don't want to say that this is the case with all people and all communities, I'm not painting everyone with the same brush, as Mr Harper would have. I've met many people that are more than eager to help and support new comers, wonderful, warm and welcoming. And then there were the others....you know them or people like them. Living in Halifax I don't see it all, but I did see it when I lived in Lunenburg. It happened to me and it happened even more insidiously to people I knew...sadly. For me personally, it never detracted from my experience or my desire to make a life here...more of an annoyance really in the long run. But can you imagine how a couple of guys I got to know would have felt when someone cut the line on their propane tank? This gay couple were simply fabulous guys, incredibly nice, hard working and worldly. And someone thought they shouldn't be allowed to set up shop in town. Be it that they were gay or because they didn't like the cut of their jib some local yokels thought it was a good idea to endanger the whole town...wood burns I hear.

That would be the most visible aspect of this CFA reaction that I have seen. And while in and of itself it is a bad enough phenomenon it points to a deeper issue which I can't see us of ever being rid of...sadly I think we as a species are simply not capable of getting our heads out of our asses when it comes to acceptance. The train wreck of a country to the south of me is a shining example of this intolerance and racism, brought completely out of the shadows by the Drumph and his ilk. We're no better here or anywhere else really, it just seems more prevalent because of the internet and the size of the audience in the States. It seems that for every good thing done by humans it gets undone or over shadowed by monumentally stupid people that feel compelled to spew their particular brand of hatred. It's tiring...it's simply sad.

"Why can't we just get along" and "am I my brothers keeper" are not working the way they should, we're hoping that we can erase ingrained biases by feel good slogans but we don't teach it or live it as a society. When the confederate flag still flies in the south and in 2016 we still have battles over LGBTQ rights we must come to the conclusion that we have to work harder to push the hatred out...and open our hearts more. Tearing down the walls that separate us, distance us from our brothers and sisters, be it religion, skin colour or a line on a map...we would do well to keep tearing down. Progress has come and change has happened, but too slowly it moves.

See, start with an acronym and end up with pontification....sometimes I can't help myself.

Hug your loved ones
D

Tough guy Tony

There is a certain, how shall we say it, vein of stupid running through most young men. An almost inexplicable desire to do stupid, in every form imaginable and often preceded by, hey...hold my beer for a second. I have been a living embodiment of this phenomenon on a few occasions so I am a bit of a recognized expert in the field. Often this affliction manifests itself in false machismo and the belief that being a strong man means being the dominant man, the bully. These traits are thankfully not so much a part of my repertoire. Out of the lover and the fighter, I'm definitely the former..just saying. Which brings me to the fighter...or wannabe fighter, Mr Tony...of the sore balls Tony for being a douche bag previously written about.

On the street of dreams that we lived on until the end of grade 12, along with "marry me now Paula", "Mike, I was Metal before there was Metal, Gajdemsky" there was an East Indian fellow named Dil. He was older than me, I think the same age as Paula's brother, Humberto "I'm leaving the band" Machado and he was the new favourite amongst the girls on the street. The girls we knew all had a thing for him when he moved in...and why not, he was good looking and slightly exotic...go ahead, fill your boots girls. He was a cool dude so I had no issues with him, we hung out sometimes, the three of us...playing hockey or listening to music. Now, on this magical street we had a family that lived between us that truly embodied the whole "I'm going to need a lot of therapy later in life" mantra. The father was an angry alcoholic, I mean really angry...you know what I mean. The kids lived in fear of this man who also probably suffered from short man syndrome...he would think nothing of smacking his kids or wife around in public..simply vile. So it was really no surprise that his kids were a tad messed up socially. I won't belabour all the issues as only one is pertinent to this story. The oldest daughter played a part in this comedy...she was to put it simply, a purveyor of drama when it came to boys. She was attractive and always had guys chasing after her..for whatever reason she would, on those rare occasions of not "seeing" someone, she would play guys against each other and watch the carnage unfold...crazy I know.

On one such occasion that included Dil and another gentleman of the Italian persuasion named Rob, I happened to become involved as a secondary story. It seems that Dil and this girl we're seeing each other off and on and they were on an off time on this day when Rob arrived in his company issued black Camaro with a few of his friends, one of them being Tony. In the world of machismo I am way down low on the scale so I find it rather amusing to watch other guys do their peacock imitation for an audience full of their own kind...all five of them.

Senor Rob confronts gentleman Dil over the fair maiden...I'm sure some veiled threats were made and honour was being defended between the gladiators as Tony and his ilk stood around trying to look tough for Humberto and myself. It wasn't the Soc's and the Greaser's, more like the Gino's and the Slightly Amusing Dudes with Mullets. I do recall Dil saying that we needed to have his back when the car pulled up so being stupid boys we of course were getting ready to "rumble". How the fuck do you rumble anyway? After a few minutes of this strutting Rob and Dil walked away to settle this like men...they were going to go to a field and duke it out, but we were to stay put. Uhm sure...the two of us will stay with these four guys and make sure all was good. I really didn't think a fight would ensue because there was no real reason for it...shit, we didn't even have any oil reserves for them to covet. But sure enough, Tony being Tony wanted to start something. This tool had a tool...a little billy bat and he was smacking his hand with it and glaring at me. I ignored it but I was getting a tad nervous...despite my aversion to fighting I was certain I could take Tony...that standing up to a bully thing I think, and truth be told I did have a desire to smash his face with my fist just once...he brought it out in me. I wasn't sure how I would have fared against the others, four on two are crappy odds and Humberto did have a reputation of fleeing the scene....side bar here.....Humberto and I were mugged once by a couple of guys and while I was being dragged into a stand of bushes by a guy while his friend was pulling a giant knife out of his pants, Humberto had bolted...thanks man. Anyway, back to Tony and crew. Tony started taunting me and I did my best to simply ignore things....no Tony, I don't want to fight you and your friends, or your bat for that matter. No Tony, I don't think it's a good idea to rumble, the cops drive by here regularly. No Tony, I don't wear girls panties...oy vey.

After a few minutes of this Rob and Dil came back, walking along as if nothing had happened...and guess what? Nothing did happen. As Rob and crew drove away Dil told us that Rob backed down and wanted to pretend that they had traded a few punches and that was that. Of course. These two go off to fake fight and I have to endure idiot Tony with his false bravado while he ridicules my panties....errrrrrr I mean, his taunts were annoying me. I think this was the breaking point for the fair maiden in distress though...she needed to find new combatants for her honour as these two guys had realized that they were being played, all in the name of some basement fooling around. Maybe they didn't know how crazy the dad was, because I never even looked at her for fear that father may lose his shit with me.

Moral of the story kids is always stand up to a bully, unless he his carrying a small blunt object and surrounded by squido minions...then, delay, obfuscate and deflect until the situation resolves itself. Be careful out there.

Ciao
D

Joy Cometh in the Morning

No, I have not folded back into the church despite that tid bit from Psalm 30...I simply like the sentiment that it evokes. Religious white washing aside, and let us be clear, all of the "faiths" have multiple skeletons in and out of closets to deal with, doesn't mean I have to throw out the baby with the bathwater to glean something positive or inspirational from 'the word of god'. Those of free mind and will will take what they want from teachings and scripture and I really don't see anything wrong with that, atheists don't have the market cornered on intelligence do they? So allow me to be uplifted by hymns such as Amazing Grace and Be Not Afraid or taking inspiration from said Psalm above...got it? Good.

A dear friend related a quote she thought I would appreciate, being a lover of quotes and trying to live my life in the light as opposed to commiserating with the soul sucking negative Nelly's in this world, "comparison is the thief of joy" Google tells me that this quote is attributed to Theodore Roosevelt...bravo sir. I'm sure his face wasn't carved into Mt Rushmore for this quote, you know he was a president and all, it is none the less a great theme for the day. And not just the day but for life in general really...and one that I subscribe to of course.

I may have related this story previously but since it really dovetails nicely with my thoughts for today it bears repeating. A few years back while working as Supreme Leader of the Culinary Division of Oak Island Resort I happened to be in one of my best friends office chit chatting as I was known to do from time to time. Side bar here - my staff knew if I wasn't in the main kitchen I was probably down in her office. I guess I was sitting there bitching about one thing or another, going on about what ever may have been pissing me off at the time. After a few minutes of this she got up, walked her ABBA loving ass to her door, slammed it shut and simply reamed me...verbally. In essence she kicked my ass for being in such a negative mood over the past few months that she couldn't handle it anymore. How this wasn't me and I needed to get my act together but quick. Errrrrr.....you're right of course, it wasn't me and thankfully hasn't been me since then. You see, I had let someone else and their negativity drag me down to their level...I was falling into the old trap of letting the darkness rule the day. Her butt kicking snapped me out of it and thank you for very much for that, your ABBA Greatest Hits CD is in the mail by the way my friend. Thank you.

We have a choice. What kind of day will you have today? Will it be happy or not? Simple really and for me it has to do with knowing that tomorrow will be a better day. And the day after better still...joy cometh in the morning, unless of course you're in negative town doing all those things that keep you stuck there. Be it comparing yourself to others, looking for someone to blame for your lot in life or any of the myriad of actions and reactions that keep us in the dark. Shortly after said butt kicking this song came to the rescue for me, specifically these lyrics from Closer to Fine by the Indigo Girls

"The best thing you've ever done for me

Is to help me take my life less seriously, it's only life after all

Well darkness has a hunger that's insatiable

And lightness has a call that's hard to hear"

I won't be joining you in that cesspool of bitching and yearning for the greener grass, it's not greener grass it's just a different shade of green. If you want my help or simply need someone to talk to...I'm your man, but I won't be joining you down there save to help you out if you so wish.

For my friends going through things tough, seen or unseen, remember that joy will come. It'll be a matter of time and effort, it won't always be easy or just, but it will come..if you decide that you want it to come. Choose to be happy. I do and despite the crap ass crap that sometimes happens I am a happier person today than yesterday...will you join me?

Ciao
D

Harvest Moon

Slowly the summer is slipping away as we soon start my favourite time of the year, the fall. Soon the air will be crisper and nature will do it's yearly explosion of colours that I really do adore. Gone will be the hated humidity and high temperatures of July and August...I'm just not a fan of anything over 22 degrees and downright hateful when the word humidex works its way into the forecast...I prefer the mid teens to be honest when it comes to being comfortable. And that's as much as you're going to hear from me on the weather....remember. 

I was driving home late Friday night and the full moon, hanging in the sky, popping out between cloud streaks was really nice to behold. After getting back to my apartment I stood out on my balcony for a few minutes just watching the sky. Letting that everyday ordinary miracle entertain me if you will...at the risk of sounding sappy I find these moments in my life are truly moving to me. They come and go both expected and unexpectedly...driving into work early one morning and the palette of colours in the sky from that sunrise are simply too beautiful to describe, I simply smile and soak it in as long as I can. Or taking a walk through the woods and having a deer bound out in front of me, seemingly out of nowhere as if the show was for me and for me alone...the grace and beauty simply stunning me into gaping jaw wonder. Ordinary miracles indeed.

Self help gurus and Facebook posters talk about living in the moment, I imagine those moments would be examples of that very thing. Taking pleasure in those tiny everyday taken for granted kind of things...the moon rising, the sun setting, nature in all it's glory and my cat being my cat. I love that...it requires nothing of you save for simply allowing the moment to fill you up. The other living in the moment experiences I think require some buy in, some skin in the game...it's hard to turn your mind off sometimes when what you should really be doing is focusing on the person or event in front of you. I'm as guilty as the next person, and more than a few I imagine, of having "too much" on my mind at any given time. It's the way my mind works and to be honest I don't think it's much of a handicap for me but I do wonder if maybe I am missing something by not being fully present. Maybe that amazing kiss will be that much more exceptional....no scratch that, I am fully in when kissing. Hmmmmmmmm, maybe I am more in the moment than I realize in some aspects of my life.

I think the ordinary and everyday is where I can work on being more in the moment. The drive to work with my kids as an example....the music is playing or CBC is on and I'm straining to hear what is being said while my daughter talks about her coming day or what she did on the weekend...mostly I do well but I can always do better. Working to be in that moment more...fully appreciate that rising moon on the horizon. Those are the moments that will be missed as the kids get older and do the flying the coop routine...the everyday mircacles, the everyday interactions that give me a measure of the good people that my kids are turning into.

The other day I noticed some leaves turning and a smile came across my face at the thought of the coming cornucopia of colours and scents. Soon I'll find myself wanting to dive into leaves and immerse myself in the fall foliage....leaf peeping so to speak. Seasons change and I get nostalgic I guess as well as looking forward to what life has to throw at me next. While not yet over 2016 has been a wild ride...full of highs and lows that seemed so much more personal, directly linked to me as opposed to others. As people are fond of saying, it is what it is and of course they are right..I would notdispute them or the notion, just tagging along for the ride and seeing what will be.

Enjoy the show

D

A thousand words...

I could go on about his birther back track, his ham handed medical disclosure, his neo nazi uprising of cammo wearing, lawn tractor riding, wife beaters...but I think I will let this picture do the talking today.

Enjoy your day
D

Tonight we sing

Guess what I did? Go on...guess. You'll never guess....are you sure you give up? OK...let me tell you.

I went to a choir practice. Oh, sorry, did you hit your head when you fell off your chair? Somewhat shocking I know, but let me explain.

This wasn't a church choir thing, although the practice was at a church. It's a community choir open to all, tone deaf or not. A while back I wrote about my interest in a choir from Toronto called Choir! Choir! Choir! I came across them on YouTube when they did Space Oddity after David Bowie died. An impressive 500 person tribute to the man. Since then I have loved watching their videos of everything from Africa by Toto, Bridge over Troubled Waters by Simon and Garfunkel and so on...their version of Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen and Rufus Wainwright on lead was amazing, truly. They look like they're having so much fun simply singing. I'm enamoured with them.

I can sing plenty well in the shower or driving along, and I'm absolutely awesome after a few drinks singing TV theme songs....Fish don't fry in the kitchen, beans don't burn on the grill.... yeah baby. But to step out of my comfort zone in a small intimate session with people I didn't know...well, let's just say I was much more comfortable on bent knee singing up to that girl in grade three. My kids had a hoot about the whole thing when I told them.

And how in the hell did I end up there on that night? My big mouth unsurprisingly. I had told a friend of mine, well, we were in the beginning days of a relationship at the time, but now friends, that I was in love with Choir! Choir! Choir! and she had told me she was involved with this other community choir. Cool. Didn't think much of it at the time because really, what are the chances I'm going to go sing out loud? Well, fast forward a month or so and she's texting me about eating sushi and going to choir. "You know, I can bring a guest to this if you're interested". My response was sure, sounds like it could be fun...thinking that when the time came I would blow it off. "Excellent, what time do you want to meet at the church?" What? Tonight? Uhm....fuck it. Comfort schmfort...OK meet you soon. What the hell right?

And there I am in this grand old Anglican church sitting beside my friend really unsure of what to do or how to do it. Nervous yes, hopefully not showing it to her though...got be tough right. The leader of the choir is the energizer bunny period. Her attitude is infectious if not borderline crazy, but in a good way.  She truly loves what she does and it made it easier to loosen up and my friend was very supportive as well...thankfully, but not without a few well placed jabs at my less than perfect pitch. The vocal exercises were a little wonky and I may have been in the wrong section...should have sat with the other few men in the bass section but I sat with her in the tenor area. All good I think.

I didn't stay long as I was doing a daddy taxi stint but I must say I enjoyed it. It really was a non judgemental place to try some vocal chops. Will I go back? Not sure yet, partly the $175 or so to sing and partly because I have a work schedule that sometimes gets in the way. And then there is the do I want to do it attitude...I'm not sure yet. I'll think about it is the best I can say but I'm very glad I accepted the invitation.

Told you that you would never guess.

Ciao
D

There must be a better way

"And the men who hold high places, must be the ones to start"

Thank you Peter Talbot and Neil Peart for your words in that classic tune from Rush. A little ditty about being closer to the heart....whatever that may mean to you and I. You can figure that I'm going to be talking about what it means to me and what I think it means for us.

Maybe it's the impending US election, or rapture, depending on who wins, or maybe it's just time for me to go off the liberal deep end for a bit, but I feel like playing out some ideas and observations on the state of us. "How did things ever get so far?" asks Don Corleone and now, me as well. We have, over time, allowed politicians to lie, cheat, obfuscate, pander and be bought all the while pretending to act as if they have our best interests at heart. Sadly, we know all too well that this is simply not the case. There are good and honourable politicians without a doubt but taken as a whole we seem to have less than desirable actions and outcomes, the win at all costs mentality has replaced service to the common good as our end game. Case in point would be eight years of obstructionist, libellous and downright treasonous behaviour directed at Barack Obama from the tea baggers, the Christian right, the NRA and every politician that has taken a dollar from anyone against Obama's policies and skin colour. Sent to Washington to govern they instead chose to throw up barriers because of ideology and demagoguery...shameful partisanship and simple ass hole like behaviour. While I think our country does a better job and is less divisive we are far from without issues of the same ilk. And I would venture the Utopian societies that Michael Moore advocates for invasion have their issues as well, despite how they are painted...they are painted really well though, aren't they? More on that later...

I can't help but think that we would be so much better off if we took the money out of the game. All elections should be publicly funded by a set formula where everyone is on the same playing field. You can lend your campaign a certain amount of money buy you can't accept anything else. At the same time remove from the equation the "free speech" pretending super pacs. Money shouldn't equal free speech because by definition that means the people that really need a voice can't afford it. Figure out a new non monetary way of lobbying for issues...perhaps referendums through the primary season that help shape the debate while engaging the voters and politicians directly and not through expensive advertising designed to make you feel like you need a shower every time you turn on the TV. The key is engagement and the end goal should be an informed and passionate electorate. Once you have that, you can start building the roads towards a better tomorrow.

I once attended a town council meeting in Lunenburg around the creation of a new tourism entity to help promote the town. 60 or 70 people crowded into council chambers essentially trying to have their voices heard over their neighbour....the town down the road is kicking our ass in promotion, we should do what they do. How much should the levy be for marketing the town? Why should I pay the levy...I'm doing fine without it? And so on...until finally the smartest person in the room that night stood up and said, we're arguing the how without knowing the why and what...we need a plan, an end goal and then we can figure out how to pay for and implement it. She shut that room up pretty quick...ask the real questions, from there you can get the rest of the way if you want. Lunenburg needed a vision, our country needs a vision and for sure our world needs a vision...that's where the men and women in high places come in. I swear people want to be inspired, to be moved to action and to believe in a greater tomorrow for us all, but they are weary from the lies, the sniping and the broken promises.

How do we get there? I don't know my friends. For every seemingly good point I might make someone can come up with eight reasons to oppose it...and maybe they are right, who am I to say. But surely there is a way...we have to start somewhere. Maybe closer to the heart...make it real and personal for people. Watch the Michael Moore documentary about invading other countries and stealing their ideas for a better society....because for sure it seems like they have a better grip on what's important. Intuitively it feels right and proper to ensure human dignity and approach problems from a healing and loving perspective as opposed to being considered a number, a burden, a commodity. Is it easy? Not on your life but once again, the alternative is more of the same and worse. Decide on the goal and the path will become clearer.

The mob mentality that you see at political rallies seems like a poor breeding ground for positive change ideas...being that they are populated by sycophants. Technology being what it is now, we have the ability to connect with just about everyone in the country through their phones and tablets and computers...figure out a way to get more people to tune in and have politicians and stakeholders speak directly to the people. If Trump isn't playing to the masses at his rallies maybe he starts to sound more dangerous without the cheering in the background every time he calls Hilary crooked. Of course most politicians live for that fake love as addictive as crack, so it would be a hard sell to change the status quo...but we need to. Hilary et al are going to spend one billion dollars on this election...WTF...in attempt to tear down Trump and Trump will do the same. And in the end, what have you got left? A polarised electorate and still the same problems to deal with and a winner unable to deal with them because of the system that has been built up. Tear down this wall Mr Gorbachev!!!

I fully believe that Barack Obama and Justin Trudeau, have the common good in their hearts, a desire to simply do what is right, knowing that there needs to be a better way to bring forward our countries into a more open, accepting and therefore progressive society, one where the rights of individuals outweigh those of corporations and by extension the almighty dollar. While we will have Mr Trudeau for the next few years to push the agenda in Canada, Clinton will face an uphill battle if she wins and Trump will burn the country down to build a new hotel...I'm not optimistic.

We subsidise oil companies, pharmaceutical companies, large agri-farms and all manner of large corporate bodies to the tune of billions of dollars. The argument is that these businesses provide jobs, drive the economy and pay taxes so that we can have roads and shiny tanks, not to mention a health system and an education system that is essentially free. I get it, although I don't really agree with it. I've had businesses and I didn't get a subsidy of any sort, on the contrary, putting out a shingle was like a reason to tax me to death and burden me with regulation and red tape. And this isn't about taxes as I think the services and resources we use in society are important, it's the lack of a level playing field to start but more to the point the messed up priorities. Those companies are not going to go away if you start charging them the taxes they should pay and slashing the corporate welfare that they have come to rely on. The CEO of JAL makes $90,000 a year...he took a pay cut because they had asked employees to do the same for the betterment of the company. This is simply a part of the bigger picture but it's a pretty clear picture from where I sit. The conversation needs to be about everyone moving forward as a whole...fuck trickle down economics, that's a lie to be told to keep people quiet when they are being robbed blind by Gordon Gecco and his ilk.

Earlier this week we had the 15th anniversary of 9/11. One of those "where were you when" moments that forever changed the world. Good ole George Bush, metal midget that he is, left us with a mess beyond comprehension. Regardless of what Drumph says, Bush was the founder of ISIS as opposed to Obama. Invading Iraq broke the county into a thousand pieces with tribal mentality taking over from the former dictatorship of Spider Hole Saddam. Not having an understanding or an appreciation of the culture and politics of the region has led to the quagmire we now have. Save for Drumph I couldn't imagine a worse person to be on the ground at that critical time then Bush. Yes....respond in strength when needed but not for nothing, the Arab world has very real and legitimate beefs with the rest of the world. Maybe beginning to address them and I don't know, losing the closet colonial attitude might be a good place to start. The clenched fist of god could be replaced by an open hand in greeting, in understanding, in talking. Try talking.

The enormity of changing the course of our future, of changing the dialogue, of getting more people involved for the right reasons is huge to be sure....but what are we going to be leaving for our children's children if we don't start somewhere. On so many fronts we need to act.

Ciao
D

All the world's a stage

Today seems like a lighthearted day to me, the humidity has dissipated somewhat, so much so that the other night when it finally broke I found myself in a life and death struggle with my cat over the comforter...I was actually shivering if you can believe it and there was my cat at the end of the bed just staring at me with an almost sardonic look on his face. I keep telling people he is my doppelganger....maybe he really is. Good thing he's cute...just saying. In any event, for some odd reason a memory popped into my head this morning and I thought I would share it. Not that it's odd for a memory or just about anything to pop into my head, just that there really was no trigger that I can think of to drudge up something that happened 30 years ago just like that...go figure. This memory triggered a bunch of other memories and what I found interesting was the common thread linking them all together, how if you were to look at a time line of those few years you can trace the ridiculous line from point A to point B

I told you about some of my exploits when I was younger revolving around me making a fool of myself with regards to the perpetual matters of the heart, also known as chasing girls. The memory that started this thread had nothing to do with chasing girls although it did involve a girl and her bra...more on that later. How I ended up in that place at that time did have to do with chasing girls...let's see if this dot connecting exercise works.

Back in grade 11, my friend Humberto, an older brother of Paula...the I want to get engaged at 15 Paula I wrote about in Piri Piri, desperately wanted to be in a band. He was an amazing self taught drummer with no one to play with. I'm a music aficionado in my own way but couldn't read music or play any instruments, and my few attempts at lessons were halfhearted at best and never lasted longer then a few months. And then one day in moves a new kid on the block, Mike was his name and he was in so many ways one of the weirdest guys I have ever met, and that folks is saying something. He was Mr Heavy Metal before metal was passably cool. In the heat of the summer he had on cowboy boots, a leather jacket and obligatory white t shirt, long stringy blonde hair and a way about him that made you wonder who drew him for what comic book. While his back ground was Polish he was pure mangiacake, as the Italians would say, and he probably would have faded out of our collective had he not opened his garage door to play some guitar with his amp on 15. Like the guy that wants to get a ball hockey game going by standing in front of his house shooting tennis balls at the garage door, Mike wanted to see if there were any 'musicians' in the area...so instead of smoke signals he played Smoke on the Water, literally.

Of course we needed to see where this noise was coming from so we strolled over to say hi. I may not be a musician but I did know he played like shit. But he had a guitar and leather jacket so he was going to get attention. In what seemed like record time, Humberto had Mike over and they were jamming. It was fun to watch in Humberto's cramped bedroom, actually, when I come to think of it there is a picture of me somewhere holding Mike's guitar pretending to play and me with a cheesy moustache...I'll need to find that. Bit by bit they started to pester me to join the "band"...a band? Really? "Chicks man" was Mike's reply. I think I had a bass guitar within the week...all guys want to be in a band for the glamour, for the art and for the girls. Period. And this is the beginning of the journey to the incident with the bra.

Purchasing that bass, that I knew not how to play, was the starting point for eventually being in a band with Danny, Dom and various drummers and singers over the next few years. We would jam at my place a lot, Danny and Dom helping me with my bass lines as we covered songs by Van Halen, The Cars, Genesis, Marillion and Huey Lewis and the News and others I am sure. We played live three times in our lives...two battle of the bands at our school and the last party of the summer at a friends house before his parents got back from Italy. That party will get it's own post eventually...what a messed up night. Humberto had left the band to get married, he was older if you recall, and Mike had faded away on his own at some point. So we had a collection of school friends playing together. It was a lot of fun and eventually it led to Danny and I joining the school musical band. We were part of Chalk Board Grease, a few teachers and a few students playing variety shows and the yearly school musical. I still didn't know what the hell I was doing but I was having fun not getting chicks...nobody loves the bass player. To be quite honest I have no idea how we ended up in the production...it didn't seem like us but I'm sure somewhere along the way it had to do with a girl or two, I just don't recall it.

So now I was playing in two bands and still couldn't read any music, or it would seem tune my bass very well either....one of the variety shows we played I mangled Heart Break Hotel with an out of tune guitar. Although that may have been someone screwing around with my instrument beforehand...I learned after that it was common practice to mess around with guitars and keyboards left in the open. Which led to a somewhat disgusting episode of Dom and I walking around the school, guitars in hand to prevent de-tuning before our performance in Battle of the Bands 2.0, looking for an open bathroom to use. We found one, but the damn lights were off....so we did what any 17 year old would do...we peed on the floor. Gross.

Along the way, our band had won the second battle, which was pretty freaking cool actually. What a great night for us and our crew of friends to celebrate. I guess ageing musicians need a fall back so Danny and I had joined the back stage crew for some productions as well. Somehow I got to be a stage manager for variety shows and talent shows while also playing as a member of Chalk Board Grease. Danny worked up in the sound and lighting booth while I took turns shepherding people to their proper places and looking for ways to shock and amuse my friends and myself. A guy like me can get into all kinds of trouble back stage...a back stage that served as the alter for mass celebrations once a month mind you. Remember, Catholic high school. While I may have pretended to pray to an upside down cross for the amusement and shock of the 15 or so members of one troop that were going to be running through back stage left while Danny was yelling in my ear set that the barn doors had blown...go away son, you're bothering me and what the fuck are barn doors anyway? I did not insert the Playboy centre fold pictures in the diary that our hobo main character read during the final night of our production of "Dear Diary" It was pretty funny to watch Melissa hold it together while having to stare at a spread eagle blonde pasted over her lines...she was a trooper, which leads me to that memory in the first place. You see, Melissa is Melissa DiMarco of "Out There with Melissa DiMarco" fame. She was a year younger than me as I recall and she was always involved with school productions...a very gregarious and well, out there personality. Now I know where that memory came from, her face is plastered all over my Facebook because of TIFF.

In one of my stints as stage manager, probably my last actually, I was having a grand old time directing traffic, helping people get to where they needed to be and generally making a nuisance of myself, much like my cat would. Striking up a conversation with a girl that looked like she wanted to hurl from fear as she was about to go on stage, talking about the Leafs or the last beer blast we had...the look she gave me was pure malice before she went on stage but you know what, she found me after to say thanks for taking her mind off of screwing up her number. I wasn't doing this for altruistic reasons just to be clear, but hey I'll take the credit. In any event, I was forever looking for people to be standing in the places they needed to be standing in and letting the stage hands know what was going on...and I needed to find Melissa pronto. I knew she had just gotten off stage and I needed to get her to her next spot. I knew she had to be off stage left somewhere because my powers of deduction lead me to believe that since she exited stage left she should be in the vicinity of stage left. She was not, she was stage right...and as I threw open the door to a small room and got a nice view of her in her bra while changing, I remembered that her next entrance was from stage right....uhm...sorry about that Melissa. She was a pro, she could care less...completely shrugged it off. And that was the memory.

I don't think I would have gotten involved with stage management if I hadn't been playing in Chalk Board Grease. And Chalk Board Grease wouldn't have been on my to do list had it not been for being in Battle of the Bands 1.0...which was a direct result of joining the original band in the hopes of meeting girls. Point A....Point B. Within those two points are hundreds of stories and anecdotes, many strands woven into the tapestry of my life...there's that word again. When I take the time to actually think about how my life as evolved and contemplate how a series of choices and events have played out it is quite fascinating...at least to me it is. Life is grand.

Ciao
D

Just the way it is

“Life is a tragedy when seen in close-up, but a comedy in long-shot. To truly laugh, you must be able to take your pain, and play with it!”

From the Great Dictator himself, Charlie Chaplin. That to me encapsulates my response to just about everything 'painful' I have gone through. It drives my mom over the edge when I joke about, well...just about everything really, but especially when it comes to my own well being. From kidney stones and cancer to my divorce and my future...I ridicule it all, I play with it and turn it up on it's head to make more fun of it...all of it.

This response of mind inherently brings up issues around what is OK to say and not, lest someone not understand my way of thinking and dealing with an issue. You already know that the concept of filters is fading and fading quickly from my repertoire of responses, I simply cannot be bothered to care if you or anyone else takes offence with something I might say. I don't go out of my way to be offensive but I will speak my mind, hence this blog, and if you should find cause to be offended by something I say, post, think, divine or give a look for, I in turn will be offended that you're offended (thanks Scott). This really comes down to this for me...I'll not try and convert you to my way of thinking, acting and being and you leave me the fuck alone as well. Which reminds me of a story...I was twice asked to go to sales meetings as a fresh voice on sales ideas. The first time when asked how we could drive more revenue to the resort I suggested converting part of the hotel to a brothel. The second time was when I was asked, as a father, what would be a good weekend get away that they could promote as part of a package...what did I want for Father's day? To be left the fuck alone was my response. There was no third time...mission accomplished.

A phrase that may have been heard coming out of my mouth from time to time is "I hate people" or some version of it, such as "there is literally no one that I don't hate at the moment" or "I can understand homicide now"...I'm sure you get the picture. To let you in on a little secret, I don't actually hate people...I love certain people and I am continually reminded of the awesomeness of people, but it's people as a species that I have an issue with along with those individuals that can't get their heads out of their collective asses. A sardonic look, a sarcastic response or a caustic flurry are my usual responses to things gone askew. Case in point, I was having an issue with one of my suppliers bringing in fresh chicken for me on a regular basis. They ended up missing three deliveries in a row, so when I asked them about the missing bird the response was that the labour day holiday messed up their delivery schedule....here was my response via email.

Good morning,

Today marks the third delivery in a row that I have not received my fresh chicken…last week the reasoning was that there was a holiday, which is kind of surprising since that holiday has been happening for quite a long time. It’s not like it was a surprise holiday that popped up all of a sudden. Which leads me to wonder if there has been a new holiday declared for today to explain why I don’t have that chicken today.

The idea, as I understand it, of a standing order is to ensure that there is product here on a regular basis...except it’s not so regular is it? I must have had a premonition and I ordered a few cases of breasts, thankfully. Otherwise this email would have been a little less sarcastic and much more caustic.

I’ve explained previously it’s the knuckle head stuff that makes me crazy, the simple things that don’t get done or are done poorly, like deliveries that don’t have the food I am hoping to have on it or a load out that looks like my first attempt at cubism art when I was 8 years old. What makes this worse is that there was no communication to let me know that I wouldn’t be getting chicken so I could make other arrangements as needed.

I’m going to go now and cross the road in hopes of finding some bird. 

I'm told they loved the email in the office but I swear if my chicken doesn't get here on my next delivery I may be forced to punch someone in the throat.

And while that email may sound a tad harsh I will refer you to my friend Scott, for he once had an issue with the Hudson Bay Company that required a letter of protest...it started with Dear Pelt Seller...I rest my case.

And there you have it my friends...an example of my tangential brain going off in a few directions and loosely tying it together within the theme of the post...I hope. I wonder if I frustrate the crap out of people when I do that...I find it amusing and endearing when I meet people with the same affliction to be honest.

Well, that will be all for today.

Ciao
D

Scott and Fifi

If you've spent anytime reading previous posts you know that I started writing this blog in response to my own cancer diagnosis in December of 2015, nice way to end the year...Fuck Cancer by the way. This isn't my first brush with this terrible and indiscriminate disease, my best friend Scott and his wife Fiona lost their son Simon to leukaemia in January of 2014 after a year long battle. A brave, funny and unique boy that left us too soon...I still have trouble talking about this being a parent. So like most people I cannot imagine going through it...it is literally the worst thing possible and we're left casting about trying to say the right things and understand. Burying a child is something that nobody should go through...ever. Period.

What I would have never guessed or expected from this terrible time is how the Steele family dealt with and reacted to Simon's journey and how it affected me. For me, grace under pressure is really the easiest way of encapsulating it all. All of them, in the few fleeting moments I got to spend with them at the hospital, were at times ridiculous, graceful, angry, zany and resilient. There was a rubber horse head in the hospital room that Simon would put on from time to time, walking the halls dragging his IV tree along with him....that's really all I need to say on it.

Everyone will deal with this kind of horrible news in their own way...what I took away is that it was OK to make fun of it all. I thought I was alone in my thinking when say my grandfather passed away. It was sad to be sure, he was a wonderful man, but at the time of his death he wasn't the same man I knew. Disease is bad enough in of itself, but when it robs you of the essence of the person...strips away what makes them who they are...that is truly insidious. So while outwardly I tried to project to my family a stoic sombre facade inside I was laughing at the ridiculousness of the casket not being ornate enough, according to some, or how girls seemed to be more attractive dressed in black. Why can't you make a joke? Scott and his brood showed it was OK. Not to trivialize the pain and suffering but in the end all that is going to be left is the memory of that person, so they chose to make them funny, poignant and happy memories.

I have to tell you, while I was dreading Simon's funeral I found it both cathartic and uplifting. My three children and one of my close friends came with me and even then there were some funny moments...like when she leaned over and asked if I knew who was sitting across from her in the next pew over. I didn't, which isn't saying much because I am horrible with names and faces, so I asked why. "I can hear them whispering saying, that's not his wife"...small towns...hahaha But back to catharsis and all...Simon's siblings spoke and it was of courage and silliness. Fiona spoke and it was of fighting back...in the shadow of pure hell they were finding their way to deal with it by fighting back, shaking their fists at cancer but also choosing to do something and imploring us all to do the same...more on that later. Bob Marley was played and tears flowed. Surprisingly I didn't blubber on like an idiot...I was inspired by their courage and their strength. They made it easy for me. Probably many more people there that day as well.

Without a doubt there were dark days for them all. Many moments of anger and despair, doubt and hopelessness and a desire to blame someone or something. But always, they would come back to the place they knew to be right...a loving memory of their beautiful son, a strengthened bond with their other kids and each other. In the face of hell they spit back and did what Simon would have done...made a totally inappropriate joke, gave hell the finger and cranked up Billy Talent.

So, how do you fight back? Last year Fiona partook in the Sears National Kids Cancer Ride. She rode in the RV's making meals and helping out. This year Scott joined her...a three week road trip being part of something bigger. Raising awareness and money to be sure, but also bonding with survivors, care givers and family members that have been touched in one way or another by this scourge. That they would give of themselves in this way is no surprise if you know them, Scott and Fiona, while both a little off kilter have hearts of gold for the things that matter. So while they are crossing the country in support of a painful cause, RV's doing 140 km/h according to Scott, I will throw this post out there in the hopes that you will look them up on Facebook and support them if you can. You can link directly to Scott here Sear National Kids Cancer Ride

Hug your kids
D

CCC

Some of the best learning experiences I had while in college were the ones where we volunteered to be a part of some event or other. I carved beef at the Juno's once rubbing shoulders with Erica Ehm and Rod Stewart...OK fine, not rubbing shoulders as much as say, handing over bits of mangled beef, I helped cater more dinners than I care to count and managed to land a job for two days making Grand Marnier crepes at a food show. We were a favourite booth which we parlayed into free booze from neighbouring booths...$15 an hour and a buzz for the afternoon. Good times my friends.

One such event though had a lot of prestige and responsibility to go with it. Our school was chosen to host the very first CCC practical exam. The Certified Chef de Cuisine designation was the industries attempt to set standards and by extension more legitimacy all around. I think it's a good idea but I also think it makes not a wick of difference as to the qualities that a person may have to be chef, but that's for another day. As I was saying, our school was hosting the first eight chefs who were attempting to get their CCC designation. They would have all passed their theoretical and written modules, all that was left was an eight hour day preparing a three course meal and shepherding a young apprentice through the day. That's where I come in, along with seven classmates. What an opportunity to see master chefs at work and being a part of something important in our world.

First, let me say that it was a privilege to participate. After that, what a shit show. We were all less than impressed with the organization and the menu that had to be prepared. I know it was the very first one and growing pains are to be expected, but really...Chicken Mikado as an entree? What the fuck. As luck would have it I was randomly selected to be the apprentice for Chef Bobby...yes, that chef, "Chef I'll rip your fuckin arms off" Bobby. I don't recall all the other chefs there but I do recall one guy ended up failing...and that was my fear going in, don't be the reason that Chef Bobby screws up. Which under normal circumstances wouldn't have been a thing....but as you might guess, this wasn't normal and it was all of our faults. We got loaded the night before...all the students hanging out somewhere and drinking our faces off. Not the smartest move but par for the course in this thing of ours.

We were all rather unsteady and the practised eye of Chef Bobby saw it right away with me...in his Irish lilt I can still hear him "Did you go and get yourself pissed last night?" "Yes chef" "Jesus Christ...all of you right?" "Yes chef" "Jesus Christ make sure you don't fall down and don't breathe on the open flames" I was about to reply that I could handle what ever kind of hangover I might have had and still perform well, hell, I'd been doing that for a few years at the Good Ole Golden Griddle anyway but instead..."yes chef" So let the day begin....it seemed to me that Chef Bobby either had bad recipes or he was beyond nervous in what was going on. Everything he touched seemed to require extra effort to succeed...and a little cheating. He got me to sneak in some cornstarch to thicken a pastry cream he had made that was kind of runny, and we all know that you can't have runny pastry cream in your cornofuckingcopia...yep, old school. So I was an accomplice to cheating but I figured he was the one doing it and who am I to question the chef in the middle of a competition...hell, I still had classes with this guy.

As we worked away we could see the other chefs and apprentices doing the same, nervous looks and head scratches were followed by staring at recipe sheets which was followed by scurrying. Much scurrying...I'm not a fan of scurrying, I stroll and or saunter, scurrying seems wrong to me. I'm not sure why but the day seemed to drag on until the last hour or so when time sped up at seemingly twice the pace...crunch time was upon us, would the pastry cream hold? Did the Mikado have enough or too much soy sauce? Was our almond cake up to snuff? Tick, tick, tick...did they capture me on closed circuit TV sneaking the cornstarch into the hands of Chef?

As it turned out, all was good. Chef Bobby passed and was part of the first ever graduates of the CCC program. I was glad I didn't cause him to fail in humiliation and I was glad I could go home to sleep...by the way, this sleep deprivation caused either by over work or over indulgence will be a running theme for many years...I fell asleep on a toilet once, forewarned. But wait, what was that you say? We're going out for a drink to celebrate...OK, I guess...giddy up!

Ciao
D

Maybe it's the humidity

Two months to the US election and I'm getting closer and closer to heading down there and punching someone in the fucking throat...I don't know, maybe this humidity is making me crazy, or maybe that country is simply crazy.

By saying nothing of substance and spewing vitriolic half truths and out and out lies, espousing hatred, racism and misogyny and having not one clue as to the meaning of gravitas and how perhaps it might matter in being, oh I don't know, the most powerful man in the world....argh....Donald Drumph is in the fight for the white house. Why is he standing there? How is this so? America, take a long look at this situation that you have allowed to develop and start throat punching. I know there are good people down there...so stand up and kick the crap out of him, make it embarrassing...make him a footnote in history. And while you're at it....take down the tea baggers and Christian right.

I told you I wouldn't stop...I can't, he is repugnant as a human being and he shouldn't be allowed to go any further. We can laugh about it later if the country makes the right decision...remember when Donald Drumph ran for president? Crazy eh? Can you imagine...haha, what's on TV tonight?

Today I am going to take aim at the media. Collectively they have failed to do their job with impartiality. Agendas, ideology and ratings are what drive the conversation instead of reporting the news, sticking to fact and providing context. Edward Murrow brought down McCarthy and Cronkite helped end Vietnam...what do we have today...fuck all is what we have. When you can tune in Fox or CNN and have "commentators" screaming at each other for air time and the loudest and most ridiculous wins the battle. How else is Ann Coulter even allowed to be heard...it's the Gordon Ramsay approach to being a celebrity chef. Yell, ridicule, and generally be a douche bag. Which is sad, because the man can cook. I guess also the fact that he's doing entertainment and not running for president.

Clinton gets grilled, deservedly so, over her emails, and she has a trust problem. Drumph out and out lies and contradicts himself everyday and he's the more trust worthy candidate...are you fucking high? Call bullshit when you see it...don't let yourself get taken for a ride by these clowns...damn humidity is forcing me to swear a little, fuck the fucking fuckers!!!!! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Have I ever mentioned that I don't like people that don't swear? I don't trust them...I feel like they are hiding something...but that's a different day.

Soooooo, what have we learned today? That Drumph is not to be trusted with his own locker combination, certainly not the welfare of the country/ That the media needs to do their job properly...please get out there and report the news, engage us, challenge us and help us to stay informed. And lastly, drop the "F" bomb every now and then...I might like you a bit more and punch you in the throat a little less.

All together now.....fuck you Drumph!!!!

Still I am blurry

Perhaps an update on the reason this whole blog thing started in the first place.

I saw my Russian super villain ophthalmologist yesterday. After being shuttled around a few different examination rooms and having a very young Doogie Howser like doctor in training deal with me....seriously man, wheres the real doctor? I was told my tumour is not growing, which is good and according to his measurements it is the same size as when he measured it. More than slightly puzzled since when I was last in the big smoke my tumour had shrunk significantly..I think I'll take their measurements over his. He chalked it up to different machines and different people doing the measurements...sure doc.

Nothing else to worry about as of now so I fall into monitoring mode. The only issue is the blurry vision out of my affected eye. Think trying to see through a dirty window with globs of blood being swung across your field of vision on a regular basis and you have my view. I suspect it won't come back so my new reality is this impairment. The alternative is being dead so I guess I'm OK with that. I'm still a little pissed that spidey powers have not been realized as of yet...sigh

So, a moment to reflect I suppose. Boy, a lot has happened in the past eight months since that diagnosis. The fear and uncertainty that accompanied this not so great news, not just for myself but for family and friends, has been a bit of a kick to the gut. The support I have received and continue to receive has been nothing short of amazing. I think my response was made easier knowing I had plenty of people beside me. This blog has become the most visible manifestation of my response to this whole fuck up...FUCK CANCER!!! Part therapy and part soap box I have come to enjoy this exercise in spilling my brain to you....hello China and the Philippines by the way.

And to show that I'm not a one trick pony, here's what else has happened since December 28, 2015.

A shit load of meals have been prepared for my job...I don't think I want to know how many people I have cooked for over the years, it might be depressing...hahaha I've been back and forth to Toronto a few times and one of them was for actual vacation with my two youngest. I went to New York and had the best time ever...it's New York ya'll!!! Awesome time.

Saw some movies, some live music, ate a lot of sushi, drank a lot of bad coffee all in the pursuit of love, or as we call dating in the digital age. It never fails to amaze me, this whole process of dating. I've met some amazing women and then there were others...that's the way it's done now so I suppose I'm par for the course.

The kidney stones and accompanying gravel after the treatment I went through....holy hell, two weeks of pain that I am glad are behind me. Save for the blurry vision I actually feel pretty darn good. The aches I was feeling for much of the year since I had a small tear in my meniscus and the damage done when I fell at work last year are pretty much gone. I credit my recuperating powers and turmeric...just saying. OK, the physio helped I'm sure.

The kids have progressed on to their next levels, and in the case of my son, university time for him. So weird to think that two of my kids are at Dal now. Such a wonderful time for them...at least I hope so. They are really growing up to be great people...their own people. I like that they are not cookie cutter kids.

I've participated in the most ludicrous exercise that I have been involved with...the annulment process through the church is, as the kids these days put it, ridonkulous. Once a decision comes down I think I will write about it...it's quite the thing really.

I didn't win the lottery to be able to live in Europe for long stretches of time. Nor to go to university just for the hell of it. I didn't get a motorcycle or bungee jump off of a bridge. I never did that high speed chase I've been aching to do and contrary to what you may think I haven't actually punched anyone in the throat.

Hmmmmmm...those seem to be the "big" things I think. I won't bother you with the cliche of growing as a person and discovering more of myself...I have and I continue to do so, but if you've read any of this blog you already know that. I am more aware, happier and sillier than ever...blurry vision or not.

Thanks for reading

Ciao
D

Under the influence

We all know how music can have an effect on your mood and bring memories flooding back, the power of music as far as I'm concerned. Where the Streets Have No Name by U2 brings me back to my last year of high school, soon to graduate and whether it was realized or not, change was everywhere. That Joshua Tree album and specifically that song was the soundtrack of my life at that time, and even now, nearly 320 years later, I still find it fresh and new sounding...rock music but not really rock music. I wore out my record playing it so much.

I drive a little faster, and that's saying something, when Tom Petty's Runnin' Down a Dream or She Sells Sanctuary by The Cult comes on...turn up the volume and enjoy the music, let it move through you and into the car...machine do my bidding. Twist and Shout takes me to that scene in Ferris Bueller's Day Off, every time. ABBA on the radio and I am reaching for my phone to bug a dear friend with the music playing in her ear or on her answering machine...she proclaims to hate ABBA.

So many songs so many memories, emotions and reactions. In turns I can become a drug waste, a rebel with a cause, an anarchist and a thoughtful romantic depending on what song is playing. Link Wrays Rumble and I'm John Travolta strolling through Jack Rabbit Slims with Uma Thurman, high as a kite and drinking $5 shakes. I hear Sunday Bloody Sunday in my head when I'm thinking about injustice in the world. Air drumming to Run to the Hills or anything by Rush...usually while driving and Jesus of Suburbia gets my teenage angst up even though I am coming up on 49 years old. Music Baby!!!!

That is why music is so important, like poetry, it moves us, inspires us and fills us. It has the power to take us to new heights and soothe us when we need it most. The sound track that has played in my life stretches back to Elvis on 8 track that my mom had all the way through to Mumford and Sons today. While I still enjoy the oldies I do have some appreciation for some new music...on that subject, freak boy Gene Simmons from Kiss gave the best reason I've heard on why I still like the music I like. When asked why Kiss was still popular he turned to the audience and asked a guy what he listened to when he was 12 and 13 years old? He replied, almost pandering, that it it was Kiss, see...the music you listen to in those formative years is what will almost always stay with you.

Side bar here....this is stricltyy me speaking here, I have five guys that I feel you can call them the 'man'. In no particular order, Elvis, Johnny Cash, Bob Marley, Neil Young and of course Leonard Cohen. Who's on your list?

And while music has had the most influence in my life for mood and behaviour, there have been other media as well. Case in point, I watched a few episodes of Breaking Bad the other day and soon afterwards, as I walked through WalMart getting cut off by moronic morons, I wanted to Walter White their asses..I'm certain I was even snearing like he would have, with a cold hatred and a plan to dispose of the bodies...if people only knew. My daughter texted me to let me know she was out of work early and my reply was "I'll be there shortly, a few homicides first" Watching The Walking Dead and I'm debating which weapon would be best when shit got real...I have to go with the sword.

Of course, not all movies and shows propel me to murder; other and more meaningful emotions and reactions come from watching...oh I don't know, just about anything....think The Shawshank Redemption, Seven Pounds, Apollo 13, The Blues Brothers, Cloud Atlas....and on and on. You get the idea don't you? And just to show that I have a sensitive side, Serendipity and Love Actually, The First and Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel movies....I'm cereal. Oh, speaking of which, MASH and West Wing, my two favourite shows ever...humanity, humour and ideals. Throw in Seinfeld and I am the master of my domain.

So put down that Cheech and Chong inspired fatty, stop tapping your toes to Uptight as we prepare for Chariots of Fire running on the beach and a Rocky style workout punching the crap out of some beef carcass....see, I could do this all day.

Ciao
D

Culinary 102

I recall sitting in a nondescript classroom on my first day of college, an orientation sort of thing with 30 odd young adults and a few funny looking guys in white jackets and chef hats with some very uncomfortable looking neckerchiefs. Since I never stepped foot in that class again I assumed we were brought to a nicer class to welcome us to the world of chefdom....and there was cheese and fruit and wine, well this was a fine way to begin a new direction in life.

What came next, I realized many years later, was a small dose of the coming reality we were all about to immerse ourselves in. At the front of the room stood Chef Klaus, Chef Bobby, Chef Frank and Chef Gisbert along with the dean of the program, John Walker...also a chef but rarely in his whites. Class schedules were handed out and I was seriously considering dropping out at the thought of an eight hour class...WTF man? Turns out it was the Humber Room, the on campus dining room....oh, OK, I can handle that. And then the barrage began....dropping hints, anecdotes and stories designed to scare you and prepare you. One of the chefs asked how many of us ate our steaks well done. Almost all of us put our hands up..."by the end of your first semester you'll be eating them medium rare" he said. And he was right, and now I like my steak medium rare and I view anyone that wants their steak well done as someone not worthy of that meal I just prepared...eat a damn pot roast you twit if you want something well done.

Another chef asked us a more personal question, "how many of you have a lot of friends that you are close with from high school?" All of us put our hands up...of course, my buddies were everything to me well..."start saying goodbye to them, most of them won't be in your lives within a year" was his reply...while he stared out over us I'm sure he was looking for signs of defiance or disbelief. Again, he turned out to be right, unfortunately. You see, like anything that you want to do well at and to succeed in, being a chef requires hard work and commitment, and to go a little further, not unlike a doctor, it requires an almost total sacrifice to become good. And I'm not comparing chefs to doctors in any way, I'm just saying that the level of personal commitment is very similar...who do you think is cooking that nice Valentine's Day dinner you just over paid for? Meaning that gaggle of cooks are not out with their own beloved celebrating that made up event. Why do you think we change jobs every six months? Well, for some it's because they can't keep a job or there is something wrong with them, but for many it's because we want to learn more and experience everything. With a few exceptions, most of my friends drifted off...now maybe that would have happened regardless but being in the trenches did not help the cause at all. When you work 90 hours some weeks it leaves little time for a social life, well...maybe a different social life. Joining the other fluorescent lit cooks and servers, sitting on buckets and milk crates, sharing stories and meals, attending after hours parties and learning the ins and outs of the world viewed through our particular shade of glasses.

One of the chefs was trying to articulate the importance of butchery and he talked about the king of beef cuts, the tender tenderloin. Slowly pulling us into his little trap, you all know what a tenderloin looks like and you know where the tenderest part of a tenderloin is right? No? Really? Here, let me show you. The man drew a giant dick on the board...it was a tenderloin but all who know also know that a tenderloin looks dick like...he wanted us to giggle and be uncomfortable and it succeeded. It was the first salvo in what would become and continues to be the way of all chefs and cooks...relate anything and everything to body parts and sex. Quentin Tarantino in Reservoir Dogs..."dick, dick, dick, dick dick"...it really is that simple.

The talk was done let the food and wine begin. Right away the education began, "do you like wine" I was asked by Chef Frank in a small gathering of people. "I don't really know, I haven't drunk it much"...or ever at that point. "Take a sip"...OK, "Now, eat a grape and take a sip" Wow. "Now eat some cheese and take a sip" OK then...let the games begin. I now love wine by the way. The mentoring process was started with vigour on day one, it was a casual and warm embrace in joining the brotherhood. Tomorrow the real work and the reality of the business would begin. Results, expectations and consequences were rushing headlong towards us as we sipped our chardonnay and wondered if we really had to wear those stupid fucking hats.

I have no doubt they were comparing notes on us all afterwards, the system demands sacrifice and hard work and no one wants to waste their time on lost causes. Of the thirty kids that started, we were down to fourteen after the first year. At the end of it all, there were about eleven, and only three of us actually graduated as some people didn't show up for their electives. I have no doubt those chefs knew to a letter who would succeed and who would not...I think you just kind of know when you've been in the business long enough. I generally have a good idea of the type of person that will move on and be successful and the person that will remain a worker bee. And I'm not disparaging those people at all...I need them. I need the lifer breakfast cook, because I don't want to do it nor can I do it as well as they can at this stage of my life. It would be like watching a penguin trying to make breakfast for 30 people...funny and not so much with the graceful.

Chef Bobby had a small group of people around him as he was doing what the Irish do best, no not drinking his face off, telling stories. He told good stories but there always seemed to be an element of "look, I may be short but I can do this" to it...short mans syndrome maybe? But he was always threatening to rip our arms off and beat us with it and liked to brag that he was well endowed..."think of a wee boys arm with a fist"...seriously, what the hell man?

These were some of the men, and yes they were all men back then, that would help shape and form me into what I would become, and if you know what that is please let me know. Nearly thirty years later I remember so many of the things they had said and done that helped to teach me...I use some of their own mannerisms and sayings when I do my part in the business. In fact, regardless of who I am trying to mimic in an accent, be it British, Irish, or Japanese, I give all my voices a bad German accent to this day. When I or someone else sneezes I say "bless you, wipe the floor". When I am showing a classroom of eager moms how to hold a knife and how to guide food with their free hand, I always give them the middle finger as way of showing them proper hand placement. There are others...

Hard work? You betcha. But an incredible amount of knowledge, experience and laughs were shared in those two years. I still have my arms of course and a lifetime full of stories to tell that stem from those early steps in the world of things culinary.

Ciao
D