Lincoln is learning to play Duck, duck…

Christy and I fight over what to call it. She grew up playing “Duck, duck, goose.” I grew up with “Duck, duck, grey duck.” I’m sure the epic battle will continue for all eternity until the trumpet sounds.

As with teaching anything new to a two-year old, Lincoln really didn’t understand what we were doing at first. He would sit down opposite one of us and would chase us when we told him to, but the real tricky part was when it was his turn to be it. His first couple of times he would start running around us and laugh, expecting us to chase him. “Tap our heads and say ‘duck’,” we guided him. He walked around and in his jovial way would play along.

“Okay, now you tap someone and say ‘goose.’”
“Goose.”
“Run Lincoln!”

I would get up and chase him only to find that he was chasing me, but to keep the fun going we would end up running in our own little circle. He also doesn’t quite get that you only have to run around the circle once, so whoever is still sitting will just grab him and tell him he’s safe now. And he always wants it to be his turn to be it.

Today was my last day of employment at the coffee shop where I have worked for just over the last year. This "odd job" is one of the real successes of my life. I have completed things before but those were things that you just do. Things like graduations, raises, finishing a book. My employment at this store was successful like quitting smoking is successful.

Christmastime, last year, I was working this "odd job" so that my family could maybe afford to stay in our dreamhouse. Life lesson: if you find yourself moonlighting to hang on to things that hang by a thread already, you have lost your way.

I was a working stiff at my day job and I barely had anything left of an imagination except to cook meals. People have to eat, and preparing delightful meals is an inspiration that I have managed to save from the death of a thousand cuts. My intended audience is my own apetite and my wife's finicky pallette. Dabblings in Asian, Italian and Mexican cuisine ruined my roast and hot dish upbringing.

Wether its the need to eat or the need to create something delightful, food has been my medium. While the pencils and the oils and the guitar picks lie in the outer space of little boxes and shelves, herbs and fats and cutlery are getting all the action. Meat and veggies are canvases. Master the application of heat in varying degrees with perfect timing, and science and art come together as lovers.

I don't know why i always thought of food service as an "odd job". "Culinary arts" is a much better title. But the genre still is a service at the same time. People do have to eat.

Clive Owen descibed his career like a train and "I needed that train to crash" was what he said. I have to been born anew.

Oh, I was a prisoner of discouragment and guilt. Emerging out of the smoldering rubble of what once was a "dream" as if it were a baptism, I now have confidence. I feel like a man. Musical notes resonate and I can dance. Friends faces and voices and banter are small wonders to behold.

The success is that I can finally say I know what I want to do with my hands. I want to make things for people to eat and enjoy.