Wednesday, July 18, 2007
looking back - Wednesday, July 18, 2007
today’s Musing written and published from south Calgary, near Fish Creek Park
16C/61F (high 29C), tires humming through water and thunder, not a dream, awakened me, sounds of rain down drain my morning music; the park around the lagoon silent, occasional shore birds twitter impatiently, Gusta wanted something under the rocks way-too-much for her own good . . birds worm-fest-feasting along our way
discussion happens sometimes, but so often discussion is timed – take turns time – story telling, but here and there the snippets of an idea slip in or out like a condiment; not the main course, neither desert or appetizer, but tossed on, added in, sprinkled . . like a little cheese or fresh ground pepper; adding flavour, taking away nothing
when expression matters - it always does - not verbal, impossible to disguise; a meal is not a meal if it is just food because then it is just food; the meal is the deal, the deal is the meal and when done, we are filled with many things - not fast food, not full meal deal
satisfying appetite is not extinguishing hunger – tactile – touch it, let it touch you; it is texture, it is street light illumination of everything that lurks in any dark place; an experience where a hug is not touching, but when I get a hug I feel touched a little; talking is just talking but when I listen I sometimes feel touched, when I eat I feel fed, but when I am fed I feel nourished – this has nothing to do with dinner, it had everything to do with dinner
moving slow, running behind - rather, walking slowly, savoring words on tongue, vowels and phrases stimulate palate; I slept well and fast, my scampi rested on a risotto pillow in a tomato sauce slurry, spinach salad mattress firmly beneath – crème brulee topped it off; the whole mix drizzled in coffee and memory of dinner at BonTerra last night where waiter visits were punctuation, whoops, hollers and laughter at nearby tables were paragraph breaks, enjoyment played out on faces – birthday pals, hugging co-workers bidding someone farewell or post-movie night-cappers visiting – all around us until all were gone
thinking . . ah, thinking . . is not what you think, but another version of story telling because we tell people what we think, we write what we think . . when in fact we are only describing what we say, what we’ve said and what we are going to say next
thinking, feeling, story telling – all look the same, so maybe they become the same; like a good meal they can be nourishing or, like a bad experience, they can box us into a corner, pigeon-holed, labeled, parked, stuck, un-free; blend them all in a shake and dinner would be a 10 minute coffee, but layer upon layer 4 hours slips by without noticing
story telling is story telling, feeling if feeling, touching is touching; we confuse these often – like confusing the cart with the horse, so easy a mistake to make because they look so much the same
touching is physical, touching is demonstrative – hand on a shoulder, holding up, holding on, seizing day or opportunity, hand in hand, hand in glove, hand in this, hand in that; metaphors all around discuss touching where touching does not happen; significant too as feeling words, words of feeling, telling how we feel . . all about feeling when what is really at stake is nothing; we live in a world where talking about feeling is just that – talking; feeling is an emotion, not talk, feeling is the expression of something guttural, something felt in the solar plexis or frontal lobe, not a sentence put on a page or recited in the context of ‘let me tell you how I feel’, like courses on a menu
restaurant reviews should not be about the food, the chef, the ambience; or about a menu however artfully painted with Tuscan phrases, obscure ingredients and rare touches, because few people really care what herb graced a protein floating in some consommé reduction; simmered, stewed, sautéed flavour sealed and served a la whatever does not create an experience to remember; who cares that mussels in season and beautifully described were not available – mussel memory will draw me back again
mirrors, side-view and rear-view mirrors, as we look back the fine print tells us what we see may be larger than it appears
looking forward
Mark Kolke
223,416
201.0
What do you think? Join the discussion - your comments are welcomed - please write.
To subscribe to Mark's Musings daily email distribution, write to musing@maxcomm.ca
©2007 MaxComm Communications, all rights reserved.
16C/61F (high 29C), tires humming through water and thunder, not a dream, awakened me, sounds of rain down drain my morning music; the park around the lagoon silent, occasional shore birds twitter impatiently, Gusta wanted something under the rocks way-too-much for her own good . . birds worm-fest-feasting along our way
discussion happens sometimes, but so often discussion is timed – take turns time – story telling, but here and there the snippets of an idea slip in or out like a condiment; not the main course, neither desert or appetizer, but tossed on, added in, sprinkled . . like a little cheese or fresh ground pepper; adding flavour, taking away nothing
when expression matters - it always does - not verbal, impossible to disguise; a meal is not a meal if it is just food because then it is just food; the meal is the deal, the deal is the meal and when done, we are filled with many things - not fast food, not full meal deal
satisfying appetite is not extinguishing hunger – tactile – touch it, let it touch you; it is texture, it is street light illumination of everything that lurks in any dark place; an experience where a hug is not touching, but when I get a hug I feel touched a little; talking is just talking but when I listen I sometimes feel touched, when I eat I feel fed, but when I am fed I feel nourished – this has nothing to do with dinner, it had everything to do with dinner
moving slow, running behind - rather, walking slowly, savoring words on tongue, vowels and phrases stimulate palate; I slept well and fast, my scampi rested on a risotto pillow in a tomato sauce slurry, spinach salad mattress firmly beneath – crème brulee topped it off; the whole mix drizzled in coffee and memory of dinner at BonTerra last night where waiter visits were punctuation, whoops, hollers and laughter at nearby tables were paragraph breaks, enjoyment played out on faces – birthday pals, hugging co-workers bidding someone farewell or post-movie night-cappers visiting – all around us until all were gone
thinking . . ah, thinking . . is not what you think, but another version of story telling because we tell people what we think, we write what we think . . when in fact we are only describing what we say, what we’ve said and what we are going to say next
thinking, feeling, story telling – all look the same, so maybe they become the same; like a good meal they can be nourishing or, like a bad experience, they can box us into a corner, pigeon-holed, labeled, parked, stuck, un-free; blend them all in a shake and dinner would be a 10 minute coffee, but layer upon layer 4 hours slips by without noticing
story telling is story telling, feeling if feeling, touching is touching; we confuse these often – like confusing the cart with the horse, so easy a mistake to make because they look so much the same
touching is physical, touching is demonstrative – hand on a shoulder, holding up, holding on, seizing day or opportunity, hand in hand, hand in glove, hand in this, hand in that; metaphors all around discuss touching where touching does not happen; significant too as feeling words, words of feeling, telling how we feel . . all about feeling when what is really at stake is nothing; we live in a world where talking about feeling is just that – talking; feeling is an emotion, not talk, feeling is the expression of something guttural, something felt in the solar plexis or frontal lobe, not a sentence put on a page or recited in the context of ‘let me tell you how I feel’, like courses on a menu
restaurant reviews should not be about the food, the chef, the ambience; or about a menu however artfully painted with Tuscan phrases, obscure ingredients and rare touches, because few people really care what herb graced a protein floating in some consommé reduction; simmered, stewed, sautéed flavour sealed and served a la whatever does not create an experience to remember; who cares that mussels in season and beautifully described were not available – mussel memory will draw me back again
mirrors, side-view and rear-view mirrors, as we look back the fine print tells us what we see may be larger than it appears
looking forward
Mark Kolke
223,416
201.0
What do you think? Join the discussion - your comments are welcomed - please write.
To subscribe to Mark's Musings daily email distribution, write to musing@maxcomm.ca
©2007 MaxComm Communications, all rights reserved.
