Freedom

      “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.”

    We are created equal.  Much controversy is centered on this unsuspectingly-incendiary opening statement of of Declaration of Independence, specifically the word, “equal”, and much argument has ensued in the past over its’ meaning. In order to fully understand this ‘equality’ we should evaluate the word in its context. Equal is not the final word,  this statement is clarified further (hence the comma) and not absolutified with a period. We are created equal,  THAT we are endowed with certain inalienable rights. Meaning, we are not equal beings as most people misinterpret, but rather we are equal entities; in that we are created to have the same, unrepealable rights of livelihood in our earthy citizenry. Case in point, few were created equal to the physical fortitude of say, Jesse Owen or Greta Waitz, or the intellectual capacity of Rosalind Franklin or Albert Einstein, not to speak of the charismatic prowess of Elvis and Marylyn Monroe; and to think we were would be absurd. We were created physically and mentally unique, equality lies in our spirit. It is through our liberty and pursuits that we exercise these rights and stand enabled to be equal with each other; sojourners pursuing happiness.        

Rights do not equate to capacity or ability, only availability. Just because one has the right to do something does not mean one has the ability to do it or the faculty to choose to. Inalienable rights means they are for everyone. The corollary of an individual’s pursuits can be compared to a carrot on the end of a stick,  ideally aligning with the pursuits of others for a common good. Occasionally one’s ideas of pursuing  happiness do not align with others’, so we need laws. Carrot or stick, we are free to choose our means, and consequently, our resultant ends. Living under this intrinsic law structure allows those uniquely created individuals to be equal. Are we then able to do whatever everyone else does?  No, but we are free to try, and free to succeed or fail within the confines of the aforementioned rules, both as individuals and collectively as a nation. Pursuit is not attainment; there is no guarantee of achievement, but as members of this citizenry we are endowed with the inalienable right to try. How you approach it, ready yourself for it, and ultimately fetch or forfeit it falls squarely on you. Again, to test this, one need look no farther than the grand equalizer of the kitchen.

It was a typical night in the kitchen. Hours had been spent preparing for the service and the tickets were pouring in.

“Order one gill, order fire one saute, pick up on one roast, pick up on one Risotto”, and so on. Things were going as expected and the plates were flying out.

A good way into service, but nowhere near close enough to the end to make the next conversation acceptable;

“Chef, 86 sauted chicken!”, my saute cook cried.

“86 Chicken ?...seriously?”, I queried, I wasn’t keeping a close tab on the counts, but I was pretty sure we shouldn’t be OUT of a dish this early on.

“Yes Chef.” The cook's voice almost dripped relief as he became aware that I was aware of his situation.

I thumbed through the spent dupes. It didn’t add up. Sure we were busy, but not “run out before the end of service” busy.

“86...chicken...you’re sure?”, I mean maybe I had an aneurism, and did not witness the some two dozen or so chickens missing from my queue and mental inventory leave the kitchen, but as I was not currently suffering from a sharp debilitating retinal headache or blurred and/or double vision, I concluded my mental acuity was functioning normally.  Soooo, where’d the chickens go? My questions became more pointed as my cook’s affirming nods waned, suggesting deepening doubt of his situation.

“We are in fact OUT of chicken. Is that what you are saying? NO chicken…”.

“Uhhhhhhhh”, he moaned sensing the encircling doom. “Well, we're not out of chicken.”

“So if we’re not out of chicken...why are we 86ing the dish!?!”.  By now I figured it out, and I was really leaning into him, figuratively and literally; as most of you know (or at least suspect by now), I have no concept of personal space or polite boundaries in the kitchen.

“WELL ?! We have chicken...why can’t I sell this dish !?!”’

Chirp...chirp...chirp...the kitchen fell silent. The cook’s elevated sweat level, his darting eyes, his little gasps for breath; this was shaping up to be a good response….and here it came.

“But Chef...I’m out of carrots.”, carrots in this instance being the side dish that completed the sauteed chicken dish, thus making it ready for service and sale to the guest.

“OHHHHHH, you’re out of carrots. Well that makes perfect sense.” By the way he began to shrink away from this engagement he might have sensed my sarcasm.

“I mean why would you want to walk all the way over to the cooler to fetch 40 cents worth of vegetable so I can sell my 20 dollar entree when you can just 86 it and get paid to sit on your hands?”.

Again, nothing, his eyes just grew wider.

“AND, that’s not even beginning to mention the fact that you didn’t account for all your mise and set up your station properly.”

“Would you like to call it a day? Pack it up? Punch out...go home? Is that what you want? Would that make you happy?”

“Maybe I could go over and get them for you, cut them and get them ready for the next few dozen plates were gonna sell?” You might have guessed by now I was laying it on a bit thick.

“Or maybe, just maybe, if you thought real hard, believed in yourself and tossed your magic beads and had them land just so, carrots might mystically appear out your bum and onto my plates and save you?”.

“Should I make some more carrots then, Chef?”

“I think that would be best.”

So on this day of great historical disencumberment, take some time and recognize all the blessings you have in the free life you live. You live and are free; free to come and go as you please, speak your mind, worship the God you choose or eschew, perform the work that pleases you, provides best for you (or both), and spend the profits on that which you choose. The choices you make with this life, and liberties, one would hope would bring you happiness or at least point you in that direction. Perhaps it would be well for me to pull a few quotes to remind us of our blessings of such  a diligent and sacred pursuit from the final phrases in each verse of the Bates’ classic “America the Beautiful”. Resultant of the great favor of American citizenry, resides in extending our natural affection of kin to all, so as to “crown thy good with brotherhood” for the benefit of all the country, “from sea to shining sea”. Objectified benefits of national moral fortitude, our freedom through law abiding,  expressed ”confirm thy soul in self-control, thy liberty in law.” Culminating in the graciously granted success of a righteous and fire tested culture, “may God thy gold refine, til all success be nobleness, and every gain divine.” Our life, our liberty, our pursuit of happiness, divine gifts we were created to enjoy. Enjoy, that is, as sought. Please remember, pursuit is a verb; what you seek after, you will find. Happiness will not land in your lap, happiness is not a right waiting for you, but your availability to pursue it is.  Ready yourself, make a plan, and pursue your happiness. And don’t be upset if happiness hasn’t found you, rather, be upset with yourself for not having tracked it down. Happy Birthday America, “God shed His grace on thee, and crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea.” Amen to that, now if we could just manage to live like we meant it.

Our Father

As a Chef, my whole life is filled with discipline, or at least I like to think so. The advanced knowledge of preparations, ordering, receiving, preparing, executing and even the breaking down and cleaning up of every single day embeds itself upon a person. Rising early and remaining late until all the dots and tittles are checked, I am a man of discipline and authority; I say.. they do. Stop, they stop. Speed up, slow down, and so on. This disciplined life of unrelenting regimen brings about accomplishment, and with accomplishment respect. It’s a way of life. Admittedly, I haven’t always been this way; I was a typical selfish, impetuous youth, reluctant to acknowledge anyone else’s world view or governing rules. Fortunate for me though, we have Fathers; and through loving patient discipline I managed to shed the ignorant destructive boy, and become a man. By definition a Father makes children, not just biological production (any animal is capable of that), but a child's emotional, spiritual and ethical development should lie at the heart of a Father’s responsibility of child rearing. Unfortunately our society has moved away from traditional family structure, and with it social stability. And the numbers don’t lie, Fatherless homes statistically increase chances of;  infant mortality, lower birth weights, adolescent pregnancies, attempted suicides, gun possession, drug dealing, lower educational successes, high school dropout rates, lower income levels, poverty, social disorders, obesity, chemical abuse, and finally sadly, increased chances of unsuccessful marriage themselves, all are the horrible casualties of the fatherless pandemic. Things that we may move towards resolving as a culture, if a Father just committed to doing their jobs.

Saturday was chore day. Regardless of my sports schedules or things I wanted to go out and do, Saturday was first and foremost devoted to tending to our family’s house, my Father saw to that. It wasn’t a sleep in day, or day of relaxing; it could be, but only after you did what was needed. Inside, cleaning common rooms, taking out trash and compost were typical; and depending on the season there were outside tasks as well: chopping and stacking wood, raking leaves, turning the garden and compost pile, shoveling the driveway….you know, chores. After these were done, we could go do what we want; sports, play, etc. Even though my Father spent his week up before the sun, heading off to work and providing for our family, he never presumed his responsibilities stopped there; Fathering was full time, even on his day off.

Amidst the choring, my Father was right alongside me, training me up, showing me the dutiful responsibility of his role. We worked, we talked, he knew what his son was up to, I got to know what kind of man he was . Not that these conversations were confined to our Saturdays, but they were intensified amidst our work on Saturdays. And while we did so, he made breakfast. It wasn’t much really, he wasn’t a trained cook, he was a Navy man, so he knew how to cook that one thing, Chipped Beef. For those of you not familiar with chipped beef, sometimes referred to more colorfully as $**t on a shingle or S.O.S, it is air dried beef in a milk sauce(bechamel) and served over toast (the shingle).

As we worked our way through the list, I could smell the feast unfolding. First the melting of butter in the cast iron skillet, then that salty meat savour, followed by warm flour turning nutty in the butter and beef renderings. And when I heard the milk hitting the pan, the scent of a nearly complete breakfast was soon coming, the capstone, the toast; once I smelled that, it was time to start sitting down. And although my Father kept it simple this is easily one of the most recognizable and enjoyable taste memories I have.

What continues to amaze me though is how much that simple meal means to me now; with all my culinary training, it’s still my favorite. Analogous to Fathering itself,  good technique trumps fancy ingredients; and care, showiness. Much more than physical nourishment; emotional and spiritual closeness taught me values and built my morals. I didn’t see it then, but who does; what a shame.

It is miraculous how a Father molds a child. “Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it.” Proverbs 22:6, True that Solomon. Now as a Father, reflecting back, it has all come full circle. A Father’s duty of disciplining isn’t just about correcting the wrong, it's about training you up right to avoid doing the wrong thing in the first place. The only thing that hurts worse than disciplining your child is watching what happens to them because you didn’t do it properly; either allowing them to violate your statutes or worse letting them blindly meandering through life unequipped without them. What's worse, is we see it manifesting in our society as we speak, it's the new norm, Father's remiss in their responsibilities and children being raised without proper discipline. (This is not to say to all you single Moms out there that you aren't disciplining your kids properly, but which one of you wouldn't truly enjoy the help in doing so that would come from a helpful Father). Lack of discipline isn't nice, it’s downright cruel. And if you think you're helping anyone by prematurely removing their bridle you are an idiot. To avoid training up your offspring isn’t love, disciplining a child properly is perhaps the greatest sign you love them. If someone is heading down a road with a bridge out you warn them, if you love them, you do whatever it takes to stop them. Not just say “oh that road...they'll figure it out...I did”. Nice parenting skills Mr. Torrence, all play and no work makes a screwed up kid.. Tell them the bridge is out and if they don’t listen, stop them. Fathering is not a one shot deal, it’s an ongoing responsibility. Just because you are someone's Father genetically doesn’t make you a Father, it’s not the title, it’s the performance review. So to all the Fathers out there who take their role seriously, Happy Father’s Day, you may be one of the last things holding this country together.

Unconditional

I can think of no better way to celebrate this day than to speak about respect. Respect,  a deep feeling of admiration based on someone’s qualities and/or abilities. There aren’t many people in my world who have won my respect, but the ones that have are monumental. I often wonder why so many people miss the mark. To me, culture has been defamiliarizing and dismantling traditional family values to the point where society has disrespected the very thing that serves as our primary socialization agent, and center for respect itself, the family; more specifically Motherhood. No wonder; fleeting feelings of any true admiration exist, motherly duties denigrated and parental authority questioned, as families come under fire, and media flaunting the care-free consequent-less loose living and idiotic parenting adds still more fuel. When culturally respect is hatched falsely in popularized idols, and celebrity-ism running rampant. This tidal movement of veneered icons waxing and waning from popularity as quick as it takes to boil an egg, beat and scramble the very strands which attempts to hold us all together, the family. A cultural framework of collapsing foam which is easily supplanted by the next coruscation, social sciences have yet to replace the efficacy of the nuclear family with anything close nor acceptable. It is no wonder we have a hard time gaining any real respect for anyone, or for any prolonged period of time. Yet, there is one entity that throughout time does deserve unwavering respect, Mom.

If one wishes to witness the microcosm of the health of a civilization, one needs look no further than the health and respect given to its mothers, and conversely the capacity towards which a mother is enabled to complete her sacred obligations of progenitor nurturing. Cultural decay and lax moral codes throughout history have lent credence to the falls of powerful civilizations; Babylon, Rome,  Greece, Han Dynasty, The Third Reich, Russia have succumbed from the initialization of de-emphasising traditional family codes, morality, self-control and maternal importance, leading to an infirmed society and its extinction.

You want a great civilization, you need to start of on a great foundation; and that foundation is great families, and the foundation of that is a great mom.

I love eggs. As a Chef I can’t think of a more versatile, essential, cost efficient, complete protein source, delicately durable, ever humbling, litmus test to skill and finesse, food than EGGS. I love ‘em. But my mom...not so much. Growing up I ate dozens a week; fried, sunny side, omelets, poached, frittatas, you name it...I loved it. And unbenounced to me for many a year, my mom hated, I mean HATED cooking them. The sight of a raw egg would turn her stomach. It might have something to do with my grandmother prescribing a diet of raw eggs for my mother at an early age. Yet, there they were, faithfully every day on my breakfast plate, the food I loved, eggs. Never a complaint, never a poor execution; I never knew her dismay only her devotion.

Great comes not in great deeds but in deeds done great. Sure they were just eggs, but how they were accomplished selflessly was greatness incarnate. Analogous to motherhood itself, ironically found in an egg prepared faithfully for a young child. A mom ungrudgingly accepts all these badges attached to her commission, the pains, veins, marks, bites, arguing, eventual separation and an empty nest, and yes, nurturing even when it makes her ill. What does she expect in return? Most often, nothing. What does she deserve in return? Respect. Someone who literally created you and brought you into existence, nurtured you, disciplined you and loved you enough to let you go and be your own being. The cornerstone of the family, the foundation of society, the primary socializer, the one who teaches us of nourishing love, how to honor authority, Moms success incubates acceptable executors of sound moral culture. Of all things that demand respect in our existence, it is this figure. So to all the Mom’s out there, Happy Mother’s day.

With respect,

A son

All we have to fear...

Whether you like it or not, fear drives you. A most basic human emotional instinct, fear can be both an obstacle and road signage as we navigate through life. Some fears are programmed into us and quite naturally elicit a biochemical response, these are fairly universal. These are things that kick in our “fight or flight” instincts. Accompanied by increasing heart rates, sweating and an adrenaline rush, commonly associated with imminent danger, our bodies respond to the call for our immediate attention in a life-threatening situation. Emotional responses are more unnatural in that they are self fabricated; these are individualized and based on our personal biases and experiences. These can be somewhat rational (actually endangering things feared in less-likely arenas, like common fears of snakes or spiders) or irrational (like phobias of which we perceive control over less-likely harms as life threatening, like germs or strangers). Typically, though, the physiological manifestations are the same…increased heart rate, sweating and adrenaline surges. Such stimulation can also lead to certain personality types rushing headlong into fear-filled situations, craving the rush; we call those people adrenaline junkies. Conversely, those with phobias (twisting of the fear response into something negative in and of itself) and anxiety (fear of fear and/or fear of the fear response) all corrupt the natural healthy benefits of fear into a debilitating (if not paralyzing) condition. No matter what you fear and what your relationship with it; heights, dogs, snakes, strangers, spiders, germs, death, most of us have probably been closer to our fears more often than we think, yet never had them actualized until we got close enough to realize the conditions we fear were there. Once let into our world, the reality of their causality brings forth its fruit. So long as we don't know they are there...is there any reason to be afraid?

I must admit, I’m not a naturally fearful person. I’ve been exposed to a lot; been in burning kitchens, minor explosions, had a gun pointed at my face and a knife to my throat...I’ve been in many a near miss with cars, power equipment and forces of nature that put me closer to eternity with my maker than I had ever thought comfortable. I don’t even fear death so much as I fear not doing it well. That being said, there was a time when regardless of my stance on fear, natural instinct kicked in, and one night I came face to face and knew fear, and as you guessed it, it was in the kitchen (kind of).

It was after a long Friday night shift in the Poconos. Part of my closing duties as a young cook was to break down the kitchen and lug out the trash. Accompanied by my friend, Joe the bartender, our trash run was a benchmark moment that denoted a closing-in on the end of the day (and moving on to after hours festivities). We dragged the 50 gallon barrels from the back of the restaurant towards the giant steel dumpster.

About halfway from the door to the bin Joe stopped dead in his tracks, which halted his share of the cargo we were pulling, which stopped me too.

“C’mon...let’s get this done. I wanna go home.” I rebelled.

“Get back inside.” He whispered, his eyes fixed on the dumpster.

“Seriously Joe, I want to get home and get a drink.”

“Now!” He released the cans as he backed quickly towards the rear entrance to the kitchen.

“Phhhwahhh.” I blurted in disgust. “I’ll do it myself.” I shouted at him as I re-began jerking the cumbersome load towards its nightly resting place.

Well, that’s when it happened.

As I turned, now but a yard or two from the dumpster, I heard a noise. Not the typical vermin, squirrel or raccoon noise that so frequently enlivened our trips there; those were small isolated rustlings in the huge steel box. No, this was….bigger. This noise wasn’t scurrying about some corner of the dumpster, it filled it. And with that, “KABANG!”, the huge steel lid flipped open like a trebochet, and that which caused its flinging stood.

Now, I’m not sure how close you have ever been to a big bear, but when a bear stands before you with a 50 gallon garbage bag hanging from its jaws, and that beast is so big the bag resembles a preschooler's lunch sack, pretty much anywhere is too close, especially when you're within arms' distance and there’s a bunch of overfilled trash cans in between you and safety.

Fear is good, it’s healthy. Contrary to what FDR said, we need not fear fear, we need to fear dangerous things. But what are they? Things that cause fear and rightfully so. Although fear itself cannot hurt you it does remain a valid trail marker along the way. Letting you know when a dangerous situation presents itself, rational or not. The only thing we have to fear is fear itself? OK FDR, I get where you're coming from now...Don't go through life living in fear. Understand fear and rationally let it into your life to guide you through those situations. So in doing so, you are not controlled by it and get through it maturely. Oh, and by the way, understand what can really be waiting for you and don't be surprised when you meet it face to face.

Stress Blinders

It never ceases to amaze me when someone is incapable of seeing something. Not in terms of medical or legal blindness, but rather intellectual blindness, whereas the cerebral machine of perception is not functioning properly. The complexity of human vision and consequent perception, is an incredible process that goes beyond mere data transmission of light's imagery conveyed along neural circuitry to the brain to be deciphered. This overstated simplicity is erroneous. Even before we see (in our brains) what we see, we have decided whether it is important for us to see it in the first place. As a matter of fact 90% of collected light data never even makes it to the brain (Richard Gregory 1970). What's equally as fascinating is that for all the impulses that go to the brain an equal amount are sent back to the eye! It's not just a receptor, its part of the processor. The eye's not solely a collector, but a processor in the hypothesis generator that defines our perceptions. Rules, conceptual knowledge, and environs play a major role in what your brain lets you see.

“Our perceptions not any objective reality govern our emotional response and resulting behavior. Perceptions are based on beliefs, assumptions, values and conditioning.” (Dr. Valeri O’Hara PHD)

Our focus in a given environment is the attended stimulus, typically familiar things and/or novel things; things that we want to see. And what about all those things we don’t want to see? Well, that’s where stress kicks in, but suffice to say 85% of the things we worry about never even happen anyway, but that doesn’t mean we're not capable of not seeing it if we think it’s a threat. As Saul McLeod stated in 2008, “Perceptual processes are not direct”, it’s a psychological exchange.

It was one of those days in the kitchen. The typical bustle of food prep was going on, accompanied by the sights, sounds, and smells of the day's menu. However, a moment arose when my senses perceived that something might be going wrong. Lingering in the air was the aroma of very hot fryer fat...real hot...too hot. Accompanied by the sound of a cook's knife cutting potato batons for the french fries the oil was heating for. Without getting into too much culinary terminology, it should suffice to say that the oil was overheated for the intended task and was now at the point of being dangerous.

In an attempt to forego the looming disaster I made my way towards the smoldering station. The chopping stopped.

“CRACKLE, CRACKLE, CRACKLE !”, too late, the cook dropped the fries into the overheated fat before I could get there. And then it stopped.

As I approached the station the cook came darting out and headed towards the back of the kitchen. I changed my direction to follow. What I heard caused me much concern.

“Shrunch, shrunch, shrunch…”, the sound of someone digging into the ice bin.

“My God, this was going to be bad.”, I thought as I envisioned the burn that oil at that temp might inflict. Again the sound stopped and the cook emerged… carrying the aforementioned ice in two secured ziplock bags. I would expect as much if someone received a burn, but the way they were carrying them did not imply they were being applied to a wound, but rather for transport.

“Are you ok?”, I questioned the cook.

“Yes Chef.”

“Then what is the ice for?”, I continued.

Silence.

I glanced at the bags and at the cook. I glanced at the bags and then at their station. I glanced again at the cook, then the bags, then the station, and back to the cook again.

“You’re not going to cool off that fryer with a ziplock bag of ice...are you?”, I could barely believe I formed those words together into a serious inquiry of one of my cooks.

Again, silence.

By now I was a little perturbed that something so seriously dangerous was even being considered, but more so by the tacit response.

“Do you know what going to happen when you drop ice into a smoking pot of fat?”, My voice a little elevated.

“That thing is going to erupt...throwing scalding hot fat straight up into your face...YOU’D BE DEAD!”

Again silence while the cook finally began the finally arrived-at contemplation.

And I must say, the response was well worth the wait...Here it comes….wait for it…

“But Chef,” they began….”That’s why it’s in the bag.”

Perception is our personal relationship between our mind's conceptualization and the attenuation of the physical world around us. It is formed by our beliefs (pessimism, optimism, feeling of control, and ability to handle stress). Perception does not solely lie in the information present in the stimulus, but rather our expectations of where we feel we are within it. So every once in awhile, you might find it worthwhile (and life preserving) to take a step back, be consciously aware of where you are and what you are doing, and gain some needed perspective.

Time to Reflect

There are points in life when we seem to reflect on time’s passing; a birth, a death, a change of season, a change of life. Although “time passing” is a concept I find humorous, as we (the temporal) attempt to define or pigeonhole time (the eternal), it is nonetheless a standard of regulation in our lives, and one that traditionally outlines our place in the grand scheme. So, periodically given ‘time’ to reflect (that is to say is that an opportune moment, give or take 90 seconds), to gauge present with the past and consequent effects on the future has arrived. An opportunity in that past and future are far enough apart where the gap allows me sufficient “time” to reflect, something most of us lack. Time, some say, is our most precious resource, in that there is not enough of it. I argue time is our most abundant resource, all around us and inescapable...eternal. It allows all other things to be realized, comparatively. When it comes right down to it, we have all the time we need;  we are awash in it.

Subjectively, however, time is thought to be elusive and predatory. French Philosopher Gaston Bachelor spoke  to this common notion when he said, “ If our heart was large enough to love life in all its detail, we would see that every instant is at once a giver and a plunderer.” Time flies and time drags on. Relatively speaking, pun intended, a moving clock is a slower keeper of time, dilating our perception of this commodity. The faster you move the longer you have, scientists theorize...this coincides with psychological conceptualizations that the more we recall, the longer our life appears, while when recollection fails us, we perceive a shortness or rapidity of time's movement through our lives; and we tend to recall the exciting stuff, elongating that continuum of our lives. Oppositely, when we anticipate or painfully await something, it seems to slow time, or make it take longer; studies show prolonged waiting actually lessens satisfaction. Often referred to as temporal discounting, this reality shows us how a year from now seems further away than a year ago. I’ve learned much working in this industry and if I can say anything remotely anecdotal it would be this, you cannot escape the now, it’s already happened. Depends on your perception and temporal distortions.

It was another day in the kitchen and we were bustling getting ready for service. Time was flying as we ticked off the list and assembled the mise en place for the upcoming service. It was going well. Keyword, going. In a shake things changed, a toppled bain marie of cooking fat, in this case clarified butter, spilled onto a hot cooking surface and erupted into an inferno. Not good. Aside from the disruption of the time needed to prepare, this situation warranted the evacuation of the kitchen. Most people run out of a kitchen on fire (ok all people). It is not the kind of place anyone wants to be, especially when it's filling with smoke and flames. I must admit there's something anomalous about a Chef; a quality of temporal distortion whose calm and composure can actually slow time. It was rather bizarre walking down the line with the fire extinguisher in hand, slow motion, kitchen personnel flowing by as I made my way in.  The flames looked almost standstill. I wasn’t moving fast, but I was moving. And in an instant, with the pull of the trigger, “WHOOOOSH”, it was over.

“Chef! Are you OK?!? That was crazy!” The cooks began to comment as they re-entered.

“Sure, fine, let’s clean this up and get back to business."

"That was crazy! It was so quick and surreal. Weren't you scared?"

And with that the clock resumed.

"Quit your worries, clean this up...we got customers coming soon."

Measuring time is like weighing a pig to make it fatter. As if by measuring it, we could possibly control it.  Like marking trees on a trail we know we will never pass by again, time is best judged when aligning it with motion; clocking the movement of the sun’s shadow, the ticking hand of a clock, the rapid change of a digital chronometer. Those measurements only reveal the tick of the device itself, and (as much as we would like to think that device tells us of where we are in the Block Universe of eternity) only screams out the reality of “Now, now, now”. Can we change it? I think so.  Wanna slow it down? Stay calm and keep from exciting the temporal strings.  Wanna   speed it up?  Add some excitement. But all in all realize it is all still part of the same eternal block of space time that always existed. You're just changing you and your now in it.

So to get to that one thing I've learned, no matter how hard I try or how fast I hurry I am always exactly where I am. Time a predator...or elusive? I say, "No". Not so, Gerard.  If our hearts were large enough to love life in all its detail, we would see time for what it truly is, eternal; and we are therefore compelled to leave our whispers echoing through its vastness.

The Perfect Woman

I figure it’s a good day for a love story, more specifically, how I met the perfect woman. I know what you’re thinking, there is no perfect person. Statistically though it could be argued that finding the perfect person aligns itself with seeking out someone with thoughtful, synchronous life values; translation, something in common. When studies examine successful marriages lasting over twenty years there appear some telling signs, success can be leveraged by thoughtful shared values. Starting with 40% having common friends, shared social values. 40-50% having gone to highschool together while 65-80% having attended college together; increased intellectual values increasing success rates. These numbers proceed with 60% from colleges of religious instruction and 70% from colleges with technical instruction displaying increasing success rates with vocational life values. So while you may argue the perfect person may not exist, the odds are the perfect person exists for you somewhere where you share common ground.

I too was presented with an opportunity to embrace a perfect person in my world, and my position that humanity and all it’s mortal participants are imperfect was turned on its head; as one would imagine when love is at the center. To experience a moment of transcendence whence our person brushes up against the inimitable. When our spatio-temporal existential mind gets blown by the realization of something capable of breaking through the veil of our proud blindness to illuminate our citizenry amidst eternal perfection. Such moments are mind altering. Realization of perfection, movement towards the ideal, realization of your place in it all despite your own imperfections. Ahhhh, Love. Mankind's closest thing to the eternal nonpareil.

Perfect woman? Can such a person exist? Indeed, especially once you understand the nature of perfection. Exactly what is needed. This person completed me, challenged me, blessed me and drove me towards the perfection I know exists in the universe. The notion that perfection cannot be achieved is not only sadistic, but wholly unrealistic. Such a notion would not only cause us to give up the search, but hope eternal as well. That is indeed what I thought, it is indeed what I had been told, a truth I readily accepted and lived with until faced with this paragon. Perfect isn’t the person, it’s the relationship...It’s not how you feel or react emotionally, but how you willfully act purposefully, who they cause you to be. Haven’t found it yet? Here’s a clue...it’s you, not them. Sure there isn’t “perfect” by universal standards, but universal standards aren’t personal now are they?  Perfection is finding someone who causes you to act like they are perfect. Perfect ? Sure it exists, keep looking.  Happy Valentine’s Day to all, I hope you find your perfect mate. Step one; start looking in the right spot.