French Cuisine

 

The chinking of the glasses says far more of friendship than any morsel touching our lips, but once it had love resonated on our palates.
I left for France when I was 24 and had no idea I would fall in love the land, it's people, it's wine and food.
I landed in Bordeaux by sheer accident. I'd met Gary in Quiberon, Brittany and learned that they needed any hand to pick grapes. For 4 grueling days I ventured along the coastal route on my bike as fast as my legs would peddle, while Gary followed by train. One night in a lighthouse youth hostel, a group of young designers were meeting to celebrate their friends wedding anniversary and being the only other resident invited me to join them.

Lavish colors, fabrics, textures and designed painted the palate of the clothing, intricate necklines, lace adorned each garment. I revelled in their schooling wishing to attend. It was here that I knew my love for design was ignited. With a father as an architect, design was in my blood, he'd taken me to myriads of cathedrals, mosques, temples, castles, designed my own clothing, and tasted some of the world's best food, and sat and watched and calmness of the sun sinking into the ocean.
Leonel, the manager of the vineyard wasn't happy with my late arrival and rather aluff at my lack of working permit. I heaved my bike off the tiny boat that separated, the Isle de Chateau de Margeaux, a tiny island spanning 1 km. long and 500 meters square, and the mainland, a mere 150 feet away. I'd read a book on route and been so disillusioned by the horrid conditions they described, no showers, no food, short breaks, long hours, and low pay, why would I endure this agony. I was on holidays, I didn't need the money. My thought was, if they fire me, well I'll continue into the Pyrenees and Spain.

Catherine Lavoire stood opposite me, with a boyish smile, hidden from the vines that reached head height with the grapes situated waste height. The first lunch break I had no idea what to do, they had already been working for 1 day when I arrived. Leonel invited us into the shed where they repaired the trucks. I was astonished, a u-shaped table set for 25 people. When Marie, his wife served up some salad, I wafted it down twice the speed of anyone there, and took doubles when she offered. If this was my only meal, lettuce, it better be good. I'd already missed breakfast and how was I to get dinner stuck on an island. Then as my plate was cleared she served soup, that too, I took 2 servings. Just when my eyes were adjusting she brought out our entrée, plus a fruit and cheese platter and then dessert. I rolled out of the garage and landed at the bottom of an apple tree. I passed out within seconds, not having drank much prior to this, the glass of wine I had a lunch did me in. When the bell rang to commence work, I was two sheets to the wind, dreaming of crème brulee, tart au pomme, and poison gratine.

After 14 days the rains came and we needed to take a small break. Francois de Mecquenem, Leonel cousin asked if I'd like to see the ocean. En route he stopped along the Gironde pulled up to a man shucking oysters took out his "Laguiole" a folding knife and handed me oysters in lemon juice. He was smitten....

The rain started pounding down as the evening approached and we ended back at his parents home just outside of Bordeaux on a tiny acreage. They were concert pianist and accountants and I looked like a drowned rat as they served up soup, salad and an entre of poison fuille. We discussed religion, politics and the plight of France, every possible topics you should never discuss. I was in heaven, as polities wasn't in my blood. His mother picked up that I wasn't conjugating my verb correctly, how French.

His mother had baguettes delivered every morning, like my mom had milk,  flooding my childhood memories of the smallness of life. The comforts that I had running to the milk shoot and checking to see if it was there, or peering out the window searching up and down the street for the milk truck. The thought of plastic, or cardboard milk containers lacks romance, lacks authenticity, and mostly lacks a sense of connection to nature.

Days after, back on the vineyard the French workers sang songs from wars gone by, even kids as young as 18, and we'd listen, smile, and admire how truly bonded they were as a country. Then someone would find a cluster of white grapes as hands clamoured over the vines to taste the succulent sweet miracles that appeared in a pinot noir vineyard.

As I observed the men and women of France, they had a collective gratitude for the smallest of conversation. Yes, they worked for money, yet their livelihood was about relationships that nourished their souls during the day, especially around a meal, and walking back to their cars, they were never short for words of encouragement.

Love in the time of Cholera

How quickly we forget that 3/4 of the world living in refugee camps, slums and overcrowded environments are exposed  again and again to this infectious disease. Clean water that we take so readily, is unattainable to over half of the world's population. Water, a natural resource that's abundant for so few, takes lives of so many daily.

It is more than mere water that has stopped our planet from living as one. The infectious disease has more to do with our hearts than the small intestine. It is our ease at which we turn a blind eye to those out of sight, out of mind. If each one of us was faced with someone in our home, in our workplace, in our church, or soccer team facing life and death, compassion would reign over consumption. People were created to be love, things were created to be used, why are so many people loving things and using people. The unsurpassed satiation for inanimate object will never fill our souls, yet day after day, China and other developing countries are paying workers far too little to make far too many polymers for western ingestion. Injecting no hope, love, joy or peace into their lives, yet they have been brainwashed to believe wealth comes from outside of themselves instead of inside.  

The next time someone asks if you are caring for someone, say yes, our human planet. Share your tremendous wealth with those that can't, give until it hurts and then ask God how to give more. Lean on one another for support, God intended this to happen, he left part of our heart empty to be filled by relationships. He made sure no human was gifted abundantly so we would have to work collaboratively, like a colorful woven tapestry.


 

Living it live

Stupefied or sycophantic that 90% of us want peace in the world, perhaps 100% do, yet some have been brainwashed to believe that security in a host of resources will enrapture their soul. As Catholics I've had my share of criticism from friends and foe misguided, ignorant about what Christ is. The way we look at it, is simple. If I'm wrong and I've spent a lifetime trying to serve God and through that the immediate community I live in, my family, friends, and all those I encounter, what have I lost, nothing.....But if they are wrong, eternity in damnation is infinite. Long ago I learned to grasp the best in people, try not to gossip, as peace resides in those that don't, follow Pope Francis first rule, stop using Facebook for gossip, which after numerous inquiries would shut down 90% of users from blethering, find rejuvenation in nature, and learn to listen, for those that do instill perspicacity.

Roots

          

Stabs of anger linger, then recoil and strike for my desire to comprehend why as humans we haven't captured the quintessence of how to live harmoniously. My addiction to Burma began when my father lived/worked in Rangoon in the 50's. I have studied their countries history for 20 years, admitting ignorance yet always yearning an opportunity to lose my soul in a country so plagued by corruption that I have given up hope. Yet in the same breath I have renewed my drive to speak to the myriad of generals and military men that have slaughtered their own people and ask why? Have their lives gained such wealth by doing so? I have read not, and yet for 60 years this country has been mired with minority groups undermined and petulant attacks of its own people that even the 1988 student uprising was punctured with abscesses.

I can't imagine an entire people to be flummoxed, they are well educated and have suffered so much, why persist? Not a country that exists is not choked with historical regret, but to continue on knowing there is an alternative, and yes I realized many countries other than Burma are living with ambient animosity. Can it be so simple as greed and power? Can a human master serpentine ingenuity knowing the truth exists. It is solely a matter of survival, what about the millions of people that have lived through this. I am sickened by my sense of entitlement, living in Canada, just by sheer luck, while someone else, has been born into a country, with no means of escaping, has to subsists with little hope of change.

In the Beginning

A new year is upon us and with it comes 

A recipe for Love

Each one of us comes into this world developing values, beliefs and for most we are lured to a passion. One of mine is righteousness, it began early in life, as my parents exposed me to far too many scenes, and episodes through novels, films, and travel of those that didn't get the chance to experience truths. Thus,according to my husband, I am overly conscious of trying to right the wrongs of the world, I like to think of it as simply acknowledging reality. Lest to say beyond the human condition, sin, the secular rule, I have never understood why we haven't captured, bottled, and sold peace. There are many that have succeeded at a particular cause, U Thant, Leca Walesa, Thich Naht Hanh, Betty Williams, Malala Yousafzai, and Sri Chinmoy, I am speaking of living for peace alone.

Today our priest compared abortions to what Harod was doing in Galilei by slaughtering all babes under the age of 2, and how both justified their killings for their own purpose, their own lifestyle, agenda and comfort. What if at birth we were brought into a community, as they say - it takes a village to raise a child - and early participated in a communal responsibility to care for others. Recognizing self worth through kinship, kindness, not the latest shade of lipstick. Schools have sought to teach academia at the expense of teaching connections, at a great loss to the individual and community. Western culture idealizes independence while suicide rates sore regardless of age, gender, race and financial eminence. Africans have a saying - the saddest day in a man's life is when he thinks he can do it on his own, for they know the value of relationship. God made us empty to seek him and to rely on one another, this was a plan, not some fictitious dream. Why have we tunneled our vision to only the eye of the needle, instead of dreaming, illuminating a prism beyond this world, to an unknown so wild, so feral, not even our frenetic thoughts can glimpse at its realm.

Today we begin our journey to the other side....We begin a germ of solidarity, rich loam of ignorance with a visceral sense of purpose, taking on this mission indubitably yet assiduously.

Alive

Just caught the last 25 minutes of Shaw shank Redemption and realized in life love exists for one reason, to share. To push love forth, even when you know a mistake will be made, or it hurts, and you want to hold onto a false security, compliment an enemy, give a stranger your best gift, you never know when your time is up, love to comprehend all people.

Life might not be fair but it is always reveals truths and those truths set us free. Those that have corrupted, harmed, emotionally killed, and barred us will be dealt with, not by us, but by their own demise. Wisdom outweighs assets, nepotism, and the corporate ladder, that shatters those that climb for self servitude.

Belief wakes us up each morning, allows us to see past secular ideals, into an inner sanctum secure within our hearts. Hope sanctions our dreams, pressing them into reality, gnawing our souls into action. One step at a time.

Living

Just when you think you've licked another wound another death of a loved ones befalls opening a chasm so deep ones soul is swimming aimlessly?

Our last words to one another after eating lunch on last week were, "'We'll sit down after school and go through poetry, ideas for next term, and new film ideas."

How can one suffer so insurmountably breathing each pulse into her classroom instead of focusing on her...heart?

“Janice, now that your daughter is on the mend and she's moved out, this is your time to rejuvenate to begin to flourish again. You’ve spent so long taking care of her you've forgotten what your needs are, your desires and wants. In time I hope that you might meet someone special."

Janice laughs gently, shaking her head, "Oh Kathryn."

"I'm having enough troubles letting go of Caitlin. We see one another almost every day, but I worry so much about her safety, her health, her body."

One day in time you will release her to the world, just as she was brought into yours, and today that happened. You were taken from her and your boys without regard. Know that she will be loved, and they will be cared for, and your dream will live on in us.

As thoughts race to catch one another, to make sense, to grasp the truth, the reality that she won't be seated at her desk, as she's always been when I, when we, waltz in will take time to change course.  

 

"Overwhelmed is what I feel, Kathryn."
I can't stop hearing her tell me that again and again. Each lunch meeting, each day after school, and for what? Signs that all of us heard, words of encouragement to take time off, yet her determination to be with her students, her love of teaching and to remain interwoven kept her with us, perhaps too long. Perhaps to teach us all a lesson... be where you need to be. 

To know in her school community she is loved, so sincerely, so deeply, past her tenderness, and into the creative ideas, ingenuity, and joie de vive she unveiled. The influence that she had on each one of us pays tribute that so many people claim to have known her. She leaves us with a warm smile, her gentle touch, and a love so profound for her family and humanity.

Her physical frame didn’t exude the unrelenting depth of her being.

Janice taught us how to live.

Yearning for connection when physically it doesn’t exist now, possibly this is our call to reach out to one another, for the curriculum will always be there, but we won’t.

May she rest in Peace.

We love you Janice.