Musings

Let me introduce Josh whom I have known since his graduation from high school. I don’t have a picture. He would be embarrassed to be the centre of attention. So I will share my reflection and preserve his anonymity.

After trying a few post-high school jobs, Josh settled into what has become a longer-term career in consumer sales. He never expressed any leadership aspirations. Yet, as I have observed him on the job over a number of years, Josh has developed into not only a good employee but also a growing leader.

Seeing him a few days ago is what motivated this reflection. A new employee was having difficulty processing some details surrounding a customer’s purchase. I watched Josh enter the scene with a smile, gentle words, clear directions, and a minimal amount of hands-on example to illustrate what needed to be done. His entire presence was a nurturing context. I was proud of him.

I also watched the new employee. A fine-looking young man, nicely groomed short beard, contemporary glasses and hairstyle. Probably a university student on his way to a professional career in a few years. If there was any tendency for him to resist ‘being told’ what to do, or any feeling about the possibility of ‘looking stupid,’ he didn’t go there. He didn’t need to. Josh came in with a precursor of respect and patience. The newbie listened closely, asked a few questions, and settled in to finish the transaction. No damage to his hubris. Just another positive brick in the building of his own competence and confidence. And, hopefully, his own ability to nurture rather than demean those who would be under his purview in the coming years.

As I was leaving the building, I had another look at Josh – standing at an employee station in the midst of customers who were coming and going in all directions. There he was, upright in posture, an inviting expression on his face, fielding questions from customers left, right, and centre. People approached him without hesitation as if one look told them it was okay to do so. I was proud of him.

I couldn’t leave without speaking to Josh. I shared my observations from the informal ‘training’ session with the new employee. I commented on how he looked as he responded to questions at the employee station. Josh kind of hung his head sideways, smiled a bit, and ‘sluffed it off’ as nothing for me to get too excited over. He said a few things about how there are many levels of detail in that business. And how it takes time to develop the ability to respond to more situations more effectively in less time.

As I grasped his hand and squeezed his shoulder, I told him how proud I am of him and what he has become as a young man (also married for several years and he and his spouse longing to have a family). And I turned away before he could see the moisture welling up in my eyes.

For Josh has spent years thinking that he ‘fell’ into his present job and ran out of time and options for anything else. I so desperately wanted him to know how important he is to his organization, to his fellow employees, and to customers (like me). How sacred all work is. How it is possible to find a sense of personal vocation in any occupation.

With gratitude, I affirm the many Josh’s (and Jane’s) who show up each day, faithful to their current placement in life, and bring sunshine rather than shadow to the lives of everyone they touch.

Wow! I am hungry for everything I see – especially in the Bakery section. Recently my spouse and I decided to alter some of our food and eating habits. I found it quite easy to do that while stretched out in my recliner and just talking about it. Kind of a challenge when actually pushing the cart up and down the aisles. I enjoy doing most of the grocery shopping for our house (actually, we live in a condo). It is a personal social outing with myself by myself. Very seldom in a hurry. Usually go to the same two stores (one green, the other yellow) so I don’t get lost in the midst of everything.

Some time ago, after the ‘green’ store rearranged their Produce section without consulting me, I found myself in unknown territory. Panic began to set in. I realized I was in the Organic aisle. What to do? I feared being pounced upon by some of the products and force-fed into a vegetarian state of mind. So I got out of there quickly. Since that time, with my new awareness and intentions, I smile and wave as I go by that aisle. No fear. Just a growing healthy respect. I haven’t crossed the river to that side (yet, and maybe never will) but have found a new, non-judgmental wellbeing in considering them my colleagues rather than adversaries.

The other vegetables and fruit surround the Organic aisle to protect it from potential harm by callous unbelievers. And, with our new increased attention to plant-based foods, I spend a fair bit of time there. Oh, the asparagus is 2.99 when usually 6.99. Great. That will do us for servings at two suppers (I still have a hard time saying ‘dinner’ for the evening meal. Until recently, I thought you had to be smug Democrat from New York City to call it that). Ah, a smaller package of Mixed Spring Greens. That’s good. Barbara has suggested she would like a change of taste from the spinach which I bought in an unduly large volume a few weeks ago.

I need to draw strength from Produce because next stop is Bakery. Or, I should say, it used to be a full stop. I would examine birth dates for croissants and danish then do math for whether the large or small ones were a better buy. And the various donuts (chocolate, sprinkles, coconut, cream) beckoned to me from behind the glass door. The siren call has weakened a bit since new standards have now imprisoned each one in its own cellophane wrapping. I feel their pain since much of the aromatic and visual attraction has been shrouded by reflective plastic.

Yesterday was a particularly difficult time in Bakery. We have shifted to less use of bread. But a few weeks ago, when we were going to have a new soup for a few meals, I ‘caved’ and bought a beautiful round loaf of San Francisco sourdough. Right now I am reliving the joy of each slice. And there it was in front of me yesterday. That rotund loaf with artistic indents and sprinkled with just a dusting of flour on top. With white and black angel on each shoulder pressing in on my conflicted state of being, I finally broke through, turned my back in wilful disdain, and got my cart out of there. Maybe next time – when we have new soup for a few meals.

By the time I got to freshly barbecued chickens on their heated racks, I pretty much ‘had it together’ again. Just a whiff of that enticing aroma then I turned left into the Wellness section. Yes, that is what it’s called. And it is huge. Until recently it was foreign territory to me. But now I devote time to examine all the options for non-dairy milk. I have taken a liking to Unsweetened Oat but with Vanilla flavour. Almond also works. I am just a beginner but there are numerous other options for advanced learners.

At this point you may be thinking that I am now a vegan or, at minimum, a vegetarian. I would say neither but rather a Visitor to these realms of philosophy and lifestyle. Our present decision is to do more of plant-based whole food. We still love barbecued skewers of chicken and various vegetables. Fish and seafood are a regular pleasure. And, to officially welcome Spring when I open up my deck, I do plan to lovingly barbecue a good steak, sauté some mushrooms, and add some type of compatible potato.

I began by saying how difficult grocery shopping is now. That was a bit of hype to get your attention. The truth is, each time I leave the store having made good decisions (‘good’ in view of our current priorities), I feel more empowered to continue down this new road of discovery.

His mother may have called him ‘Robbie.’ To his childhood friends he was ‘Bob.’ But now, “My name is Robert.”

I met Robert at a Waffle House restaurant on the road from Niagara Falls to Niagara-on-the-Lake. By the way, that is a phenomenally beautiful drive along the river, surrounded by vineyards and historic mansion properties. Memories are flooding in but – back to Robert.

We stopped at the Waffle House for a late breakfast after checking out of the hotel at Niagara Falls. The interior of the restaurant was 1960s in crisis. One table had two people in quite an agitated state and, as we sat down, they got up and left. Mumbling something as they passed by us, it became apparent they got tired of waiting for service.

We looked around the empty room, saw a guitar leaning in one corner – that’s interesting – and were about to make a break for it ourselves. Then Robert – whose name I learned later – came out of the kitchen, dusting himself off from flour, crumbs, and other indeterminate matter. Not being able to ask Robert for permission to share his picture, I will assume that his princely manners would not be offended by you seeing him here.

Robert was a model of restauranteur decorum as he shook out his pant legs, straightened his disheveled suit jacket, tucked up his tie, squared his jaw and, with head held high and pen with pad positioned precisely before him, asked us what we would like to order. We were now ‘down for the count’ with no real option to leave. So, with a sigh of foreboding uncertainty, we submitted our requests. Robert disappeared into the bowels of the restaurant and we sat.

Did I mention that we sat. Yes, a rather long period of time passed during which we heard the clatter of pots and miscellaneous activities from the kitchen but no sign of Robert. As we were on the verge of revisiting the option of personal removal, Robert flowed into the dining room with our food. I would like to say that it was a delectable sight. But it wasn’t. Visualize teaming with your 5-year-old child to put together bacon, eggs, hash browns and toast, and you will have a pretty good sense of what the tray of food looked like. Yet Robert administered his craft to us – yes, he had done the cooking – with the flourish of one trained in the finest culinary arts of France.

At this point we were captives to a food experience that would be memorable if not delightful. While we tentatively bit into our meal, Robert stood at attention over us (you do remember that there was no one else in the restaurant) and offered to play his guitar for us as we ate. As I reflect on that day, I still ask myself why we did not accept his offer. That would have been a climactic finale to a surreal event.

We did our best to honour the sacrifice of the elements that went into our meal then moved to pay the bill. At that point Robert pulled out his little stool, as he was under five feet tall, and literally stepped up to the cash machine. After we paid, he graciously thanked us and excused himself because he had to remove and wash the dishes. Yes, Robert was restaurant host, server, cook, dishwasher and, if requested, resident entertainer.

Before he left, I asked him his name. “My name is Robert.” I asked if I could take his picture. He prepared himself upon his stool and there you see him. I have some emotion rising as I write these words. Here was someone whom society-at-large could easily marginalize. And probably whom the restaurant ownership was grossly taking advantage of. Yet I have not seen a better example of personal pride in tangible purpose. I am so glad we stayed and not only met Robert, but had the privilege of our lives being enriched by everything holy that he embodied and lived out in daily practice.