Just Being Grateful

I wouldn't say my life is perfect - I don't know about anyone else's life, but I rather think that no one leads a perfect life. I'm not saying things might not appear to be perfect, or closer to perfection than I seem to get, but one never knows what's behind the scenes. What's the saying about everyone fighting some kind of battle we know nothing about? I may have grown up thinking my family was so much more dysfunctional than everyone else's family - there were times I felt that approaching my teenage years. The more into adulthood my journey gets, the more I realize that there are no perfect families with perfect lives - we're all on different journeys. Maybe we all have the same destination, but I believe the routes are our own individually. That's deep enough to get, lest I get off the subject of gratitude and just being grateful.

I'm not proud of all of the choices I've made on my journey - some of them were made when I should've known better, I'll admit it. But I own them and I blame no one else but myself. I don't exactly need - or want, to share those choices/decisions with anyone and everyone, but they're mine. I have close enough friends who know of some of my worst moments - and they're close enough to view those choices with at least a fraction of the regret that I have for them. I'm grateful for friends who still call me their friend with an even though moment or two.

Friends and family are what I'm most grateful for, but I have a side of the family that I favor over the other. Thankfully the good side of the family instilled the notion that family is everything. Then there's being thankful for some longstanding friendships that are an extension of my family. The brothers I never had via bloodlines, the sisters I have outside of bloodlines. Deep within my soul these are people that don't make me feel as old as I'm getting. I'm not sure how to explain that feeling, and I guess it's just because I have known them for most of my life.

Then there are the friends that I spent time briefly with, yet they made a mark so deep into my soul that knowing them a third or quarter of my life and only being in close proximity to them for a year or two, still makes them feel like people I've known most of my life. I have one such friend in that category - if you want to call it that, who I've seen twice in the last year, three times in the last 15 years. We talk on the phone several times a year - and now we text. Until last August, I hadn't seen this friend since '03. Nothing had changed about our conversation flow - we talked like we always had years ago when we worked together. Time has brought some changes to the table, but not to the bond of friendship.

I think friends who make marks like this in our lives are with us despite time, miles and other things that can distance to people - at least that's how it feels to me, and it's taken friends like I have to realize that....along with a few years that hopefully come with some wisdom. At any given moment, even on my worst of days, there are more things to be grateful for than I can count. If I can't count 'em all, I should at least recognize a few of them. We lose momentum when we let ourselves lose sight of the things we should be grateful for - at least I know I do. Who wants to lose momentum? Not me, that's for sure. Boom, there you have it - my thoughts on a beautiful Monday morning as I write through the coffee. If you're reading this, I hope you have a fantastic week. Peace, good people.

CRO

Life's Ultimate Promotion

I have this saying about Grandparents: Being a Grandparent is life's ultimate promotion. The wisdom of my own Grandparents still amazes me to this very day - and they've been gone for years. The longer my own earthy journey continues, the more I'm amazed by how wise my grandparents were. If they were ever wrong about anything, it was never in front of me. I felt loved unconditionally, every single minute I was around my grandparents - they wouldn't have had it any other way. Family was everything to Don & Louise Vincent, and what a family they had.

I carry as much of my Grandparent's wisdom around as I possibly can, as a grown man I'd give anything to talk to them again, to say what they knew - and although nothing got by them, and they knew I loved them as I knew they loved me, I would've loved to say to them in no uncertain terms what it took me well into adulthood to realize. Imagine the chaos of eight kids, everything shared, passed on and serving a purpose. There's no room for waste with a household the size of the Vincent family!

Louise Vincent didn't work outside her home - eight kids is a full time job, and she killed it on the daily. Never had a driver's license. Never drove a car - at least I don't think she ever drove a car. So what did she do? She raised her family. She kept her home spotless - I don't ever remember her house being messy, nothing was ever out of order. From my earliest memories of being in my grandparent's home, her house was always spotless. That's no small feat with that many kids around.

With a family Vincent-sized, it's a given that there would be large family gatherings. The house that sat at the top of the hill in Loudonville is still clear in my memory. By the time they'd moved to that house, not all of my eight aunts and uncles were living at home. There were still enough people in the house that it can't have been easy to keep that house as clean as it always was - and it was indeed always clean. Always.

I have trouble deciding what I'm going to make myself for any given meal at times. Louise fed eight kids - and she could cook! Don Vincent kept order at her dinner table - quietly. He never was one to raise his voice - he never was one to have to. Oh you just knew. I've heard stories about how some of my aunts and uncles were...well, snapped back into order at the dinner table. By the time I was old enough to remember sitting at that table, there was a constant unspoken law of order. I don't know how my grandfather did what he did, never raising his voice, seldom raising a hand. He didn't have an intimidating stature - until he needed one, and you just knew not to push it. He'd set you straight with one clam look. If you had any smarts, you didn't make him have to speak - and if you'd gotten to where he did speak up, that would've been your last opportunity to straighten up, because action would follow. Again, I'd heard stories - but I think by the time I was...well, old enough to test certain household rules, both of my grandparents had seen it all before. There was nothing any grandchild was going to throw at them that they hadn't seen before - eight kids, do the math - and that's a lot of math. A lot. Math had to be their strongest subject.

The advice my grandmother gave out was magical. Calm, delivered with a strong Catholic faith. Louise Vincent's faith never wavered. She was right about every little tidbit of wisdom she ever shared with me - and with eight kids, no one was better at sharing than Louise Vincent. To this day, Vincent's are great at sharing. Everything. How can anyone grow up in a household that large and still feel that there's plenty to go around? Sharing.

Being a grandparent is an honorable role. My grandparents fit that role perfectly. They were all too willing to sidestep things that my parents were not so willing...you know, allowing some things that neither mom or dad may have done - but at no time did they ever undermine my parents. They were often willing to say yes, but never did so unless it was okay with my parents - ultimately, you'd want such moments of permission and/or special consideration to fall at a time when the call could be made without having to ask mom or dad. Grandparents are wonderful at saying yes. Don and Louise Vincent were no exception - but they were not suckers by any stretch of the imagination. In the unlikely event that you pulled a fast one on either of them, let's just say that your success was very short lived. Very short lived.

I have always felt incredibly humbled by my elders - that continues to this very day, despite the fact that I'm a grown man. My grandparents knew that I loved them, because I learned how to love my family from them. As a child it wasn't something I thought about focusing on - but that's often how grandparent wisdom works - you soak it up when your around them and you reach adulthood and you start to realize all the ways things like that happen. The love of my grandparents, the love they had for their wonderful family, was warming - like sunshine warming your very soul.

Thoughts like these loom large in my heart these last couple of weeks. I have dear friends who have had to say goodbye to a mother and grandmother who touched so many lives and was like an extension of my own family elders. Another dear friend is facing saying goodbye to a grandmother. My entire heart aches for the people in my life in the midst of this. I never liked saying goodbye to my grandparents any time I was around them. I just wanted to stay, to bask in the love they surrounded me and the rest of our family with. There is no safer place than that. I can still do that, having been given enough of that love to carry it on my own journey - but that gift is exactly what I would like to tell Don & Louise Vincent that I'm grateful for in no uncertain terms. There was so much meaning and genuine any time I was around them, and the longer they have been gone, the more I realize how much they gave their family.

For those of you facing this sad and difficult part of your journey - I wish you peace, and may you know that you will carry the love and wisdom given to you. Every day up to this one is what has made the journey worth it - let your fondest memories comfort you, beyond the scope of what is right in front of you. My reflections as I finish the coffee portion of this beautiful Sunday morning. Peace, good people - for those of you in my heart that I've shared these thought with, you know who you are - I wish you peace and comfort.

Shoe!

I'll openly admit that I have a not-so slight shoe obsession. Oh believe me, I know exactly where and when it started - in my teen years, and it started because I grew up in a family where brands like Adidas, Converse, Nike, Onitsuka Tiger and Puma were not in our family budget. I'm not bitter, but you best believe that the moment I got a job, I put such brands in my budget. The memory of a pair of cheap, department store sneakers that I thought were a bargain and were like being on ice skates once they hit a gym floor for intramural basketball made a lasting impression on me. My dogs cain't work in cheap shoes. Nevermore.

To this day, I f'kn hate cheap, ill-fitting shoes. You know the kind of shoes that are cranked out by toddlers of far off lands in such mass quantities that the manufacturer screams, "Boxes?? You mean shoe boxes? Fuck boxes, string 'em together in pairs & ship 'em off to discount department stores - let John Q. Public ask no sales clerk some bullshit question like, 'Can I see these crappy shoes in a ten and a half?? Dude! You can see these crappy shoes en masse,  in every size known to mankind, spread out like a field of sweet corn - BEHOLD! Discomfort and foot pain await you! - and for less than what you bought from Starbucks!"

And so it was, and so it is to this very day. I'm more than a little obsessed with good sneakers. Good shoes in general, being a person who is on their feet a lot. I've eaten so many meals, partial and full that it sometimes feels odd to sit down and eat. I've eaten so many meals standing up that I've seriously considered throwing together a seven course tasting menu event for industry peeps...imagine how that would go down..."Good evening - party of six? If you're ready, we can stand you right over here....

My point is, good shoes are important. Good, comfortable/nice shoes. You can have your f'kn flip-flops and their highly annoying click-snap-slap off the bottom of your bare heel every time you move your foot, which happens a lot. Trust me, that isn't pissing anyone off close by. For anyone slow on the uptake this morning, that last line was typed dripping with sarcasm.

Next up, you can have your f'kn Crocs too. More dripping sarcasm alert. Jesus. Seriously? Impersonally molded footwear, pooped out of some machine in any color you want. So many color options, yet it's still hard to figure out what they'll look good with. Here's a hint: Nothing. They look good with nothing. What's worse than how they look? How they feel - and no, I haven't tried a pair on, ever. My feet know better - I'll not give them the pleasure of saying I told you so. Ever...well, I have caved in my athletic footwear obsession and bought 2 or 3 retro styled pairs of sneakers - and I did so because they reminded me of the shoes I never had until I started earning my own money. They look cool as f'k...but I'll tell you something: For all the pomp and circumstance of a marketing tag line that says something like, "The exact same shoes worn by the 1966 Olympic teams", if you fall for even a hope of comfort once you've passed the 40 mile marker in life, you deserve every ounce of the pain your dogs are going to hit you with - and trust me, they will hit you with it in spades. There's a very good reason why sneaker design has evolved since 1966. Trust me, I know - I have a couple of pairs of these retros. A friend looked at my feet and commented - "Dude, I bet those retros are comfy as fuck, ain't they?" Me: No - no they're not.

I work on my feet. At this stage of my journey, I'm on my feet so much that it's like the old cliche about a horse sleeping standing up. While I've never slept standing up, I wouldn't rule it out. I used to have a coworker who would show me some hideous choices in footwear given the work that was ahead of us on a busy night. NOTE: Hiya, Randi. Don't hate on me - not judging, just saying.

On one particular night, she showed me shoes that, well, if we're being honest here - and we are, should've seen a dumpster months ago. Their only defense seemed to be that they still looked stylish from the top. There are two sides to every story. My coworker's side was that she said she loved these particular shoes and didn't want to get rid of them...or something non-sensical as she showed me the bottoms. Holy crap - hole-y shoes! I've had more obstructed views looking out the peephole of the back door to our kitchen than looking through the holes in the shoes she showed me. Do people really wear shoes that have soles that our cocktail napkins are four times thicker than??? Turns out some people do. My memory is a bit foggy, but I think I said something along the lines of 'Well, don't come crying to me in an hour when your feet are hurting - actually it might be better if you just worked in bare feet...I mean, what could go wrong?"

All this rambling is what happens when I open and discard various and sundry emails while having coffee, which is rumored to be a very non-productive thing to do first off in the morning. Turns out that's true...heyyyyyy, what's this sale from Zappos dot com?? (I'm not sure if Imelda Marcos likes Zappos more than I do) What if there's a pair of Asics that I don't need?? Click. Wow, there's a shit ton of Crocs popping up here! As if...God dammit! Where are my molded plastic shoes? Yeah, the ones that are waterproof, but are filled with holes...the ones that feel like I'm wearing Tupperware??

My motto is simple: Crocs f'kn never, Asics forever.  A lot of Asics. Reminds me of Imelda Marcos, which reminds me of a song from Mark Knopfler's gem of a solo album, Golden Heart. Peace, good people. Go forth and have a great week...ready, set.....GO.

Anthony Bourdain, Industry Champion

I can't wrap my head around Anthony Bourdain being gone. No one in this industry is cooler than him. No one. By the time I read Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly, I'd seen all that and more in an industry that usually picks you as opposed to you picking it. Nothing Bourdain wrote about surprised me - what I did find surprising, was that anyone wanted to read about it. There's much more to be said here, but no one said it in ways so brutally honest and as wonderful and brilliantly as Anthony Bourdain did.

You work long enough in this industry and you can see the passion that some of us have for this way of life - and you can see the lack of passion in those who use it for their own personal gain - which there wouldn't be anything wrong with if they didn't look down on the industry that helped them reach their goals, and look down upon any of us who choose to remain in this life.

I have at least some insight regarding both a lack of passion for the restaurant lifestyle, and a strong sense of passion for it. While I've worked in other industries in various capacities, I've been in the hospitality business most of my working life. My work ethic is strong enough to have served me well in any job that I've held, but in the restaurant world it's always served me better. See what I did there? Restaurant/served?

In my younger adult years, I did my job well and I like being good at my job. I struggled with a sense of wanting to be on the way to somewhere better, struggled with people in my life who constantly told me I should be/do something else. Someone once told me that I had a meaningless job. It was the same type of job she held for years. Her telling me that hit me like a ton of bricks. While I can't say that I'm bitter about that remark, I can say that I take offense to any statement from anyone else that is meant to cast doubt and make anyone feel bad about anything that may have a very profound meaning to them.

My job, on its worst days, is anything but meaningless. I can say that because of Anthony Bourdain. No, I'm not a chef - although I am a decent cook, and I have nothing but mad respect for chefs and the people who work in kitchens. If you've never witnessed the people who work those jobs and never let up and hang onto their passion for this business and food, I can tell you that it's a sight to marvel at. Anthony Bourdain shed favorable light on working in this wonderful industry - light from any number of directions...cool, difficult, easy - or people who are so good at their jobs that they make it look easy. Sometimes it's the perception that it's easy that causes people outside of our industry to look down their nose at our work. In my opinion, Anthony Bourdain put a stop to that kind of shit - and above anything else he brought to light about the world of restaurants, that is what I'm most grateful to him for. Why? Because it ignited the sense of passion that I should have had all along. Passion for good food, good drink - and let's be honest here, not always in moderation. Passion for hard work and pride in a job well done - both my own and that of the rest of the team.

There's something to be said working for an owner who demands the best out of their employees and fully expects to get the best out of them - because they expect the same out of themselves and are every bit as hard on themselves when they drop the ball as they are on any of us when we drop the ball. What separates the men from the boys - and the women from the girls when a ball gets dropped, is owning it and admitting it. Without getting defensive, without pointing a finger to blame someone else. I feel very fortunate to work for an owner who is to this industry, what Vince Lombardi was/is to professional football: Legendary - and who works harder than most of his employees. There's a huge difference between a boss and a leader. Huge.

At work last night, I knew exactly what kind of looks I'd see on my coworkers over the loss of Anthony Bourdain. While I'm not a chef, I carry that same look of a loss that will never get any easier to stomach. It's loss that cut off a part of more hearts than I could count. Of course Anthony Bourdain would come up in conversations - I lost count of how many I took part in, always keeping my input brief; it's sad, horrible loss, and then I had to exit. It's not in my nature to talk about the negative things that torment anyone to the breaking point where they don't want to live anymore. I hate speculating and gossip well enough as it is - I don't need to know more about Mr. Bourdain's demons and torment. I, along with everyone else in this industry, need him to still be here.

The industry I work in is filled with some of the most creative, inspiring and hard working people I've ever met and had the pleasure of working for and with - and all of us have lost our greatest champion. It seems sad to raise a glass to Anthony Bourdain - I say that not to dishonor the man in any way, but rather because some people can't drink, at least not without it seriously harming their life and the lives of those who love them. You can figure that one out, particularly if you happen to work in our industry. I'd much rather honor him by remembering how his writing flat out bitch slapped me upside the head and made me realize what I should've known all along: my job is anything but meaningless.

Rest in peace, Anthony Bourdain - and thank you. Peace, good people - take with you the fact that nothing on your journey is meaningless unless  you make it so.

Ain't No Weather Gonna Dictate My Mood

Ah, Northeast Ohio weather. It's bound to f'k with you - if you let it...and even if you don't. Where do I start? An early Summer day where the temperature is a cool 56 degrees? How about the near 80 degree day we had in February - the one that had some people so excited that they scrambled to find a pair of shorts to wear outside, in Cleveland...in f'king February. Then those same types of people bitched when the 80 degrees didn't last. F'king DUH...it's Cleveland and it's February. Did it not dawn on you that we're not supposed to have an 80 degree day in February? C'mon, man...seriously.

I'll admit that I feel a bit lazy today. High pollen counts and erratic weather...two things I'll point an accusing finger at on this early Summer day. One cup in on the coffee intake, I'm ready for another - because I'm not about to give in to the desire to be lazy on this, my lone day off this week. There are various and sundry chores that need done, more work on the outdoor space - which is actually much better to have at on a day that isn't sweltering hot.

I'm not sure why people want to bitch so much about our weather. If you can't move out of it, then move in it. That's my take on it. I may be a bit sluggish today, but I will move in it on this day. Weather, whether I like it or not, leather, tether/tie me a knot...words, sometimes I feel like a walking rhyming dictionary. Who am I kidding? - I feel like that pretty much all the time. At best, I have some minor theories as to why I'm like that, but I digress.

This weather, the high pollen count and anything else that wants to make less of this day will not succeed. I found myself hoping yesterday for exactly this kind of a day so that I could address some of the things around here that I want to accomplish, and those are things that I would easily put off in favor of a few miles on the bicycle, hell I may even decide to ride later...of course the rain will have to hold out, but now that my coffee has started to lift my mind out of the fog, there are good things to happen on this day. I'm happy to say that I've steered clear of the negative mind wash that I'm finding social media to be lately, while at the same time, I'll openly admit that I may actually use the blue and white to say "HEY, LOOK AT ME - I WROTE SOMETHING TODAY" -  even a benevolent ego like mine sometimes hankers for attention.

Perhaps this is pointless drivel that I'm writing and even considering sharing, but the point is twofold; addressing/assessing the day and the need for me to chase down creativity at times. There you have it, my coffee thought ramblings for this morning. Peace, good people. Go forth and make some things wonderful on this day - and never mind the weather or the pollen count.

Small World Problems

I've grown a bit tired of social media - I said a bit tired, because I'm not tired of how social media allows me to stay in touch with many people who have made a favorable mark on my journey. Life comes at you, time passes in the blinking of eyes, playing fields get leveled and the older I get, the more I give thought to how connected we are to one another. Social media is mostly a shallow connection - on its best days being a mere reminder of the genuine human touch. If you're not seeing signs that social media is robbing many of us of the genuine human connection/touch...well, you're probably paying too much attention to things social media. Don't believe me? Take a look around the next time you're sitting in a restaurant - fifty bucks says you'll find people staring at their phones. I'm dating myself when I say I grew up in a time where you didn't take a phone call while you were having dinner.

So I'll allow a little bit of social media to have some space/time in my day. Fuck the faux activist shit that clouds up news feeds. If something moves me enough, I should get off my arse and act on it. The memes aren't going to save us - they're not. We need to save ourselves, and yet it seems like we only get more divided when we know enough by now to realize just how connected we are as humans. Don't get me wrong, I love this country - but I don't believe that my being born here makes me any better of a person. I'm not much of a fan of what I call the rabid sports fan mindset - the whole, "We're number one - you suck!" mentality. I had a teacher who stressed the importance of sportsmanship more than the competition itself. I had no way of knowing how that would play into my favoring a creative mindset over a competitive one, but I get it...now. The thing is, I could have just as easily been born into far worse circumstances, surroundings or some minority that still struggles unjustly in a fucking day and age where we collectively know better, yet act like we don't.

We live in a time where we should be getting less divided by the minute, but instead, we get more divided, less compassionate much less empathetic towards others who are different from us. The mere act of wanting someone to listen and consider another point of view has us jumping on the defense...or offense. We're so fucking sensitive about being so fucking insensitive.

Remember the scene in the movie, Roxanne, where Steve Martin's character walks up to a newspaper machine, puts a quarter in it and grabs a newspaper, glances at the headlines, lets out a yell in disgust and then reaches into his pocket for another quarter, puts it in the slot, opens the machine and puts the paper back? Yeah, that. That's what the blue and white social media is like for me these days. I don't want to look any more - and it's not like I want to know any less. Awareness is one thing, but a few mouse clicks, well chosen words - or in a lot of cases, poorly chosen words, hashtag this, meme that? Not much of an accomplishment. All of us could do well keeping a lid on things from time to time - and that includes me. Sad thing is, there's a douchebag sitting in an oval office who can't keep his fucking mouth shut. Not trying to get political - don't wanna open that can of worms, but for the love of God, how about some dignity, class or respect? Nasty things are no less so hiding behind a bible, a cross...and yes, even a fucking flag. Ever hear the cliche about someone else's candle burning does not in any way make your own any less bright? We're better because of our actions, not because of our bragging...or at least we should be better because of our actions. We should let our actions brag for us, yet we decide more by the minute that there have to be absolute winners and absolute losers. Fuck compromise, mutual agreements and the mere considering that we could be seeking more win-win solutions that take into account our differences.

I'm surrounded by some small world problems this morning, in a world that has much, much bigger problems. I should remember to be grateful for more things than I can count, get off of my arse and just start addressing them one by one. What's a bit of laundry or mulch that needs put down, spread out and tamped down? What's a gym closing at fucking ONE PM on Saturdays & Sundays all Summer long going to hurt me, a guy who has a different kind of nine to five? I'll live. There's a roof over my head, there's food on my table, coffee in my cup, juice in my glass and the sun is shining. There's a difference to be made, and none of it is going to happen on social media. Dear Lord, please bless this breakfast I'm about to Instagram....

Peace, good people. Get up, go forth and do something on this beautiful day. These are my second cup of coffee ramblings on this gorgeous Sunday morning.