Sounder

I have been searching for such a long long time. And, for the most part, very patient.

...and so I believed. Believe. And so I am to believe. Belief is something you never ever really get to see and touch and taste and smell and hear?

Seeker, Sounder. There must be something I missed.  A purpose. A person?  Something to live and to die for.

How do you know you found something that you don't even know you are looking for. Where is that Eureka moment when you realize, this is what I was looking for?

Not so much, 'which way?' should I go....but more 'where am I going and how will I know when I go there?'. 

I read something on the wall at the old Downtown Phoenix YMCA that made sense to me. Made sense at the time, and oft quoted:

It seems right to me.  But I know for sure, with conviction, that the more I learn and grow and mature, the less I know.  And my questions boil down to a rich, thick bubbly broth of ....


Cheers, I think. 
nca










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The HitchHiker

Sometimes I feel that I am a Hitch Hiker through life.  Much like the thumb bound lad of my early 20's I just attach on for the ride. Never really knowing where I am going or who I will meet next.

My brother and I used to do some crazy things in our youths. One of those crazy things was we would drive around town and find houses where big parties were going on. We would park and just go in, uninvited. We would wander the party, meeting people and having a few drinks, then leave.

The uninvited guests. Hitch Hikers.

Facebook seems to be like that sometimes.  Odd hitch hikers send me a friend notice and there we are, officially 'friended' on FB.  They can then grasp little tidbits about my life, and I can learn snippets of theirs.

One thing about being a true hitch-hiker, as back in my youth....is I always had the 'story' prepared. Why was I on a road in Ohio, or Canada, or Phoenix?  My story would be ready. The same story I told each proceeding ride and each succeeding ride.  Little tidbits of me, nothing substantial. And they too, sometimes, would share. Little snippets.Nothing substantial.

One odd thing I take pleasure in....hooking up two people on FaceBook. Two people from my past. Dude who used to work at Sky-Y, or go to school with me at Phoenix College, meet a mutual friend you once knew too. CONNECTION.

Why I take joy in making these connections I am really not sure. Putting the puzzle pieces of my past together and making a pleasing picture. Is there logic to this, if I connect b to c, will I discover a?

As if I could find all the puzzle pieces, every connection lined up in time order starting with my earliest memories.  Putting all the hitch-hikers of my life in order one by one until I could make some sense of order out of this chaos of my life.

Sometimes I think there is a missing connection, missing puzzle piece out there somewhere. Something important I missed in this great progression.  Yes, I have my wife and my three beautiful daughters. And yes, of course my sweet grands. But was there something else, someone else? Something I missed? Was there one more connection I was supposed to make?

I keep searching.

Cheers, nca

Just Loafing Around....

American food establishments tend to trip all over each other copying new ideas in food.  The latest one I am seeing is all the chain restaurants offering 'Artisan Breads' and 'Artisan Style Sandwiches'.  What the heck is 'Artisan Bread'?

For some reason, when I think of 'Artisan Breads', my mind first wanders to the surrealists.   Like a Picasso BLT...

Somehow, just not making my mouth water.

I suppose  we could go to the Pop Art school, but the Warhol Patty Melt just seems so sterile and unappetizing. 

Impressionist PB&J may sound interesting, but I have to be able to trust the hands that put it together....did you wash your hands Toulouse before you spread the jelly? That open sour on the side of  your head looks nasty.

Maybe I am a bit more old fashioned, The Dutch Masters do put together a good loaf....but we need a little flavor here dudes? 

I thought about going back to the prehistoric artisans who really seemed to know how to hunt down a good Club Sandwich...

I dunno....maybe I can do without the artisan bread.  I don't know what Ciabatta even means.  A Baguette sounds a bit like some kind of feminine product. Not sure I want that in my mouth. A Brioche sounds like the thing you pin on your Grandma's bosom, but not something you actually want to eat.  I think I am ok with just some old fashioned toasted white bread...thank you very much. 

When you hear the toaster pop, can you pass me some of that gourmet designer mayo and mustard please? 

Cheers, nca....