Sometimes You Feel Like a Nut

“Legend has it that lovers met beneath the trees to hear the pistachios crack open on moonlit nights for the promise of good fortune. A rare delicacy, pistachios were a favorite of the Queen of Sheba, who demanded all her land's production for herself and her court. The royal nut was imported by American traders in the 1880s, primarily for U.S. citizens of Middle Eastern origin.”
California Pistachio Commission

I love to eat pistachios. The lightly salted shells with their distinctive clam-like openings protect the tasty crunch waiting inside. I can eat a bowl full of them as fast as a squirrel monkey that’s run out of insects and berries. For Father’s Day I even received a big ten pound bag of pistachios from Sam’s Club to fill my craving.

While digging around on the web for information about the pistachio I found this interesting tidbit –

The pistachio is a broad, bushy, deciduous tree which grows slowly to a height and spread of 25 to 30 feet, with one or several trunks.

I love that word ‘deh-sid-jew-us’; it has that PBS/NOVA sound to it, doesn’t it? It makes me feel as though I actually did pay attention in those biology lectures when I pronounce that word. In fact, saying it is almost as fun as ‘in-doo-buh-tuh-blee’, but, I digress.

Now I bring this tale of the tasty nut to you not to just wax on about fun-to-say words and romantic legends, but, instead, I wanted to share with you an interesting life lesson that occurs every time I bust through one of those pistachio bags.

Not all of those shells are half-opened; some of them are sealed shut and hard to get into. And in my eating frenzy I don’t always take the time to break into the difficult shells, so I just toss them back into the bag as I eat. However, this sidestepping technique causes a problem.

Sooner or later the bag ratio shifts from ‘mostly open’ to ‘none are open’ and I am left with nothing but a bag of very hard, closed, and difficult-to-deal-with nuts. It is at that moment that I have a choice – I can either take the time to break through the stubborn shells and enjoy the reward that awaits my labor, or, I can simply take the bag of rejects and toss them out. And then it happens. I realize that had I simply dealt with each difficult nut on a case by case basis rather than avoiding them, I would not be staring at a multitude of challenges right now.

Oh, that we would learn from the pistachio.

Moderate Epicureanism

There is a level of devotion to the ‘finer things in life’ that mixes with a moderate sense of style and enjoyment. I am not referring to that slavish devotion to Epicureanism that would find one bowing a knee to strict addictions and sensual puppetry, but rather I am speaking of a modest and temperate appreciation of fine foods, satisfying beverages, and the extracurricular delving into simple pleasures.

One can participate in a connoisseur travel by either sampling the fine fruits of creative or traditional labors or one can become a duplicator and originator of the samplings themselves. I have enjoyed being both and recently have taken steps to increase my knowledge and practice.

I decided to up my culinary acumen through focusing on one aspect of cooking and as a result of the season, have endeavored to fine tune my grilling skills. Steven Raichlen’s book, “How to Grill: The Complete Illustrated Book of Barbeque Techniques” has been a masterful guide to learning this delicious art. The book is well-written in easy to understand text and has enough preparation and technique pictures to make one feel as though they were working hand in hand with Raichlen as he shows you how to grill everything from whole cabbages and garlic kabobs to a mustard encrusted salmon. One of my personal favorites is a raft of fresh asparagus spears grilled with in a simple soy, garlic, and toasted sesame oil sauce – simply divine.

After working in the custom beverage industry now for more than fifteen years, my appreciation for unique and well-made beverages has been solidified into a palate love fest - delectable mangos and cream smoothies, the raspberry hinted Purple Haze microbrew from Abita, vanilla noted Maker’s Mark raised in Kentucky’s bourbon heritage, Jones’ refreshingly crisp watermelon soda, or a freshly made chai incorporating Darjeeling bases with clove, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Nothing quite satisfies like a smooth Merlot that invites delicate berries and rounded woody notes to find a home as you slowly sip its subtle perfection. Merely living on the mundane and average drink intake dims the mosaic palette as well, turning it into a grey scaled test pattern.

Lastly, as I reflect on the Divinely given cornucopia I turn my reflections to the now vilified nicotiana tabacum. It has been said that America was built on tobacco given the colonial economy’s reliance upon that trade and it is a shame that smoking has become a political whipping post. Now let me take a moment to clarify.

When I’m speaking about the enjoyment of smoking I am not speaking about the dreg habit of cigarette smoking whereby an individual inhales pack after pack daily. Equating that practice to the pleasure of sharing a Cavendish bowl with a friend over deep and intent theological conversations or a smooth Macanudo’s draw while swaying peacefully on a cypress swing on a cool evening in May as you contemplate the blessings you’ve been given is simply an equivocation fallacy no serious aficionado should have to endure. The litany of men who throughout history have partaken in this noble pass time includes Charles Haddon Spurgeon, Thomas Edison, Albert Einstein, U.S. President John Adams, Mark Twain, George Burns, Theodor “Dr.Seuss” Geisel, General Douglas MacArthur, and Sir Winston Churchill.

This weekend I shall grill and share a glass of Pinot Grigio before enjoying some down time with a bowl of McClelland Red Cake. Simple, multifarious pleasures crafted and handled with modest and temperate appreciation - blessings indeed.

The Melodious Infusion Principle

"Saul sent to Jesse, saying, "Let David now stand before me, for he has found favor in my sight." So it came about whenever the evil spirit from God came to Saul, David would take the harp and play it with his hand; and Saul would be refreshed and be well, and the evil spirit would depart from him."
1 Samuel 16:22-23

Music soothes our weary souls. There is no denying the emotional, spiritual, physical, and mental intermingling that exists between staff and heart, beat and rhythm, note and piece. An aesthetic switch clicks in my head when I hear a certain kind of musical package. It seems as though there is an instant endorphin masking that coats the melodious membrane residing inside of me as I can feel a warm rush overflowing. The overflow comes in three main types.

The first type is the adrenalin-fused burst - a membrane infusion that causes you to want to get up and dance or find the keys to the Masseratti spider convertible for a high speed jaunt. The genre of the stimulating notes doesn’t seem to matter for I can feel the same burst from Metallica’s “Invisible Kid” to Dianne Reeves’ “Smile”.

A second overflow is purely ethereal for it rests on the substratum, living in the crack of a perfectly snapped snare head or in the strangely bent third harmony note that just about fits on scale. It’s not necessarily related to a difficulty level in performance, but rather, it is usually related to the genius of design – a well-placed and crafted arrangement or technique that soothes the symphonic sensei.

Thirdly, there is the unconventional aesthetic impulse that refreshes a newness in faith found in those who remain true to form while stretching the frame such as Polytown with David Torn, Terry Bozzio, and Mick Karn. Moving beyond mere tradition and course this overflow capriciously carries you to the edge at times without dropping you on your head- curved sense without nonsense.

May you find beauty, solace, refreshment, and energized motivation permeating your musical explorations.

When Prayers Collide

It’s that time of year again – hurricane season - the time of year when we get track whirl pooled wrath and make decisions about evacuations and protective procedures. Scientific wonders and meteorological magic come together with high speed technology as we monitor our laptops viewing the latest predictions, coordinates, and radar mappings. Today we’ve been watching Mr. Dennis as he leaves behind a beaten Cuba and heads for the Gulf coast.

I was thinking about the conundrum that happens each year when I begin to come face to face with a potentially devastating hurricane – prayer. As the massive storms approach and the weather persons on television begin to increase their alerts and warnings I find myself praying for protection. “Dear Lord, please protect my home from destruction and keep my family safe.”

The tension comes when I realize that there is another person in Florida praying the same thing. And then I realize that there is another person in Alabama praying the same thing as well as in Mississippi; too late for the person in Cuba. All of us are praying for protection, safety, and good favor but the storm must hit someone! I don’t like the feeling that I’m dueling with my prayers and certainly I know that I’m not worthy of more protection than anyone else, so there I sit with a confused puppy dog look on my face as my head tilts in mid-sentence. Am I praying, “Smash HIS house not mine!”? “You can destroy HER car, leave mine intact!”?

So I decided this year that I’m going to adopt two new prayer principles during hurricane season. One is to pray as Christ said to pray – Thy will be done – leaving the results up to Him and His divine decision and, two, is to pray for annihilation. “Dear Lord, please annihilate this storm. Destroy it as it spins over the water.”

Amen.

More Reflections on Time Dilations and Helmets

Right now someone is already in tomorrow while I sit in today. Yesterday’s where we sit while today’s people think about where they’ve been.
Sitting in tomorrow ahead of time is like looking back to today before it was yesterday. Concurrent time stretching is only possible within a one day move either forward or back. Tomorrow can only be today and not the day after tomorrow.

Today’s time is my helmet.

Time Dancing

From H.G. Wells in teleporting time machines to the biblical contemplation of ‘always was’ and ‘always will be’ time boggles our minds. To sincerely grasp the continual invisible marcher is a task that confounds even the brightest observer. We have a beginning and an end to our daily references and most of us are meticulously disciplined by our schedules which are symbiotically fused to clocks. This chronological system limits our reflection.

Our own experience as we live, think, and record it is encapsulated in a referential helmet from which we absorb, sense and process. As I eat dinner at my grandmother’s house at 9 p.m. on Sunday evening I have no sense that at the very same moment someone is just waking up to the sun’s introduction of the next day while it is now just closing on me. At midnight when I gaze at the moon’s fuzzy halo someone else has bright sunshine as we are both ahead, behind, and concurrent all in the same instance. To realize that at every moment of each day we are already in the ‘not yet’, while simultaneously also in the ‘waiting to be’, puts our ‘now’ into a mind numbing place.

Contemplating too intently on these time oddities will cause us to go from navel gazing to stellar pondering and will only bring us to a blank stage where we find ourselves tap dancing in Einstein costumes at the speed of light. Transcending time limitations is a basic characteristic of God for He is a spirit, omnipresent, infinite, and eternal. Being material, temporal, and finite makes it impossible to even dip our understanding into certain concepts, but meditating on referential relativities in our small earthly realm somehow gives us a glimpse of the Divine.

Just remember that if you do decide to learn the steps to “Tea for Two” and find yourself humming almost inaudibly while eating baby food with a straw that you were warned yesterday.

Optimistic Realism and Irreversible Boots

So, frolickers and fisherman are being eaten by bull sharks in Florida, Sandra Day O’Connor is going to retire, Luther Vandross is dead and the U.S. Supreme Court decided that filling the economical coffers by expanding the eminent domain powers of government is a good thing.

I wish that the oceanic predators in government would find themselves retiring more often than attempting to dance with my father because we certainly don’t feel any love in their tango. When sense isn’t so common and original intent morphs into a living interpretation that resembles Rousseau over Bastian distinctions then utopia has decided to take practicality on a river cruise without her floaties.

At some point we will crumble. Like an overweight disco dancer attempting to hustle on patent white spikes our pants will rip wide open as we slide face first across the super glossed floor. Without proper diet and tailored clothing, an obese floundering and eruption is inevitable.

Despite the sporadic moves towards Americanism there seems to be a metachlorian count deficiency in the populace that causes amnestic sheep likeness and apathy. However, the admittance of a downward trek doesn’t mean that we should retreat. No matter how much we think that things won’t improve we must always cling to a two-fold chain. One component is the sovereign hand of God as He sees all things come to pass according to His desire and decree and the other is our responsibility before our families and our friends and our nation and our God to press on.

Retreating, whining, and neutrality are not options. If you’re gonna die, die with your boots on.

Reality Check