Hiatus

I am taking a break. Hitting the pause button.

I don't know how long I'll take off. And yes, I say take off because I actually do spend a decent portion of my day thinking about writing. But nothing has really come together as of late. It could be 2 weeks. It could be much longer. Who knows? I just don't want to feel like I owe everyone a blog post, because that's when they start to deteriorate in quality. Not that you're dying by any means to hear me rant, curse and use big words to sound smart.

I apologize if this seems overly emo so to speak. No, I'm not having some kind of life crisis that demands my immediate attention. No, I'm not heartbroken or reflective, or waxing philosophical about my life choices and decisions. Nearly everything is the same, except I don't want to write right now. And as should be self-evident from this blog, if I don't feel completely committed or passionate about something, I can't and won't do it.

Stubborn, very much so. Petulant, definitely, a questionable strategy at best. And it's the very reason I didn't do well in school. I just didn't want to do it, you couldn't make me. But perhaps we, as humans, need to learn that our own nature is our problem, and that our only hope lies in exceeding the limits of our primitive minds. So maybe I need to learn that lesson. Maybe I need to learn how to push myself through to the other side, despite obstacles, personal and external.

I will leave you with something beautiful I heard recently.

Shelly and Carol are an older, Jewish, married couple. Shelly is an optometrist, and Carol is his wife; a stay-at-home mother, the benevolent matriarch of PTAs everywhere, and a very talented domestic baker. All four of their kids went to Northwestern undergrad, and all of them went on to become very successful people. If people think that Asian-Americans are model minorities, I think we would have very hard-pressed competition from the Jewish people. I know most people don't think of Jewish-Americans as minorities, but something about their culture in the spectrum of academic rigor and success is fascinating.

He still works, she still busies herself with many things. Charity, taking care of her 94-year old mother, the dogs, the cats, the home, the baking, etc. They are a wonderful couple, compassionate and kind, but genuinely so, unlike the smile-through-your-teeth obsequiousness we see so much of on Long Island. They have personality, they make mistakes, say stupid things occasionally, but yet remain graceful and vibrant. She carries a small LED flashlight, because ironically enough, Shelly has very bad vision. And she always tries to shine it on his menu while he's struggling to read, but he always waves her away. It's a completely endearing sight, seeing a couple married for 45 years still have these childish tiffs.

They are regular customers, but I got to know them better when they invited us to a wine tasting dinner. Shelly's passion is wine, he has collected over 30,000 bottles, spent a great deal of his fortune on the study and appreciation of it. But they rarely drink it, only opening a bottle for special occasions, or many bottles for such a dinner as this. So they are clearly starting to get a little drunk throughout this 5-course meal.

Me, my liver was hardened in the fires of 912 Hamlin. My mother takes dainty sips of everything just to try the pairing, but otherwise passes me a full glass to finish for her. I can drink 4-5 glasses of wine and be just fine, but I will get a bit more talkative.

Tony is across the table from me. He is so obviously Sicilian with his gesticulation, dark sun-kissed skin, and crow's feet. He even says "Fuggedaboutit!" like any bad extra with a speaking line in any number of mob films. He was a contractor, and did a lot of work for Shelly in the past. They remain good friends, and he tells me about the gardenia tree.

In Shelly's house, there exists a room. A huge, canopied, vaulted room to house a tree. A gardenia tree. I have to say, I know almost nothing about flowers, but I have never forgotten the smell of gardenia flowers. They're sweet, but not cloying, and delicately fragrant. They are also notoriously difficult to keep alive, as they prefer quite tropical climates. The only way to keep one alive and blooming here in New York, would be to build exactly such a room.

Tony knows, because he built the room. It was originally only partially housed in a sort of patio. But Shelly's daughter was coming home to intensively focus on her dissertation. She was going to need a war room to assault her Ph.D. The tree was taking up the room she wanted, someone was going to have to move.

Shelly, unable to decide between his daughter and his beloved arboreal companion, did what any good man would do; give them both what they want.

He had Tony build a room and painstakingly move the tree.

As Tony is telling me this part of the story he very loudly exclaims, "He built a ROOM! A fuckin' ROOM for this tree!"

And it is quite a room. Automated greenhouse windows, sprinkler systems, an array of UV lights with sophisticated controls, precise climate control. It is a nursing home for a tree.

During the winter months, which we are currently experiencing, the tree does not bloom. It is during this stage for which it is most difficult to keep alive. Very often, even with careful control, the tree will simply not spring back to life. So Shelly, every morning, at 5 AM will begin to tend to it. Checking its vital signs (as all doctors would), watering, carefully snipping and grooming.

It has remained alive for many decades now, and comes back to bloom every spring. And when it does, every morning he will bring his wife, Carol, a gardenia blossom. For however many months until autumn shuts down the tree's natural cycles, Shelly will bring his wife a flower in bed, and she will wear it in her hair for the day. Every year since the tree has bloomed.

Okay, so I suppose I lied earlier when I said I wasn't feeling philosophical. But it's hard not to see the merits of passion, focus and dedication in anything. Even if all you end up with is an ephemeral flower, there is something beautiful to that human experience. Our very short-lived human experience.

So even if I all ever end up doing in life is cooking, feeding people, perhaps there is merit to that.

Or maybe, as Mike Rowe would say, I should just get back to work.

Til' then.

EP6