The Ash Creek Papers

Guilty! Yes, I freely admit to it. Things I see, hear, taste, smell or feel today will often put me in mind of things that took place in the past. Do I live in the past? Hardly. But I do cherish the memories & I find new appreciation of the world I experience today by reflecting on the richness of what has taken place yesterday.

I was in the mood for tea. Now understand this… for much of my youth tea meant two things. First, it was the beverage to drink with Chinese food (which we did somewhat regularly). Next, if I was sick with a sore throat, Mommie Soph would prepare me the other elixir… a cup of tea with lemon and honey.

While drinking tea for me was a clearly defined event, for Mommie Soph it was a pastime. She brought to this country the Eastern European approach to consuming this hot drink. First, you drink it every day. Next, tea while put in a cup, the cup was referred to as a glass (or more specifically, a glessela… meaning a small glass, although it rarely was). Then, true to Russian/Polish custom, a piece of brick hard sugar was wedged between the teeth & the tea was sipped thru the sugar.

But as I say… one day I was in the mood for tea and I happened to be strolling the aisles of Costco looking for Claymore mines when I saw a box containing eight different flavours of herbal tea… some of the flavours actually contained some green tea. But for sure, none of the flavours represented would have been found in the Far East (New Haven’s popular Chinese Restaurant) or in Mommie Soph’s glass.

I tucked my “variety pack” of tea under my arm and headed back to work. My body ached & I couldn’t get warm… I was surrounded by wine; but the remedy at hand was my “party” box of tea. I made a selection: chamomile.

I put my bag into a steaming glass of water (yes… I actually drink my tea in an oversized wine glass). I love the soft fragrance of chamomile that fills the glass like the bouquet of a beautiful wine. The very smell begins to work its magic effect… it’s like I just stepped into an herb garden brimming with summer sun.

I sip and remember the taste… and this time I am brought back to the first time I tried Chamomile Tea… it was in the 5th floor office at Chipp and I was 20 something (an early 20 something). I picked up the tea from Charles & Co on Madison Avenue. I don’t know why I picked it up; but I lucked into a flavour that had a soothing effect on me. It wasn’t like I was a “no caffeine” freak or anything… I simply liked its slightly medicinal taste.

But there was someone in the office who did not appreciate my excursion into this herbal tea: Ada Weingreen. Ada worked part time for us, filing away the copious amount of paper records we had. She was an older woman and I loved her. She was a little blonde Irish woman… a little blonde Irish Jewish woman… and she had a brogue you could cut with a knife. Talk about anomalies! My ear is accustomed to Jewish people sounding a certain way… hearing Ada speak with that distinctive Irish lilt was as improbable as hearing Bill Cosby tell a Jewish accent joke…

Ada was powerfully proud of both her heritages. She pointed out that the Lord Mayor of Dublin at that time was Jewish, and she herself marched in the St. Patrick’s Day Parade with a small contingent of Hebrew Friends of Erin.

Ada was very well read and was delightful story teller. But the day I made Chamomile tea, she was lightening quick to tell me how she found the very smell of chamomile tea to be purely vile. I thought she was kidding.

No. The very next day I was brewing up another cup of chamomile tea, when she repeated that the smell was making her nauseous. In disbelief I questioned her, “You must be kidding, Ada…”

“No I’m in earnest. When I was a little girl and if I was sick or had an upset stomach my Mother would make me drink chamomile tea. And the very thought of drinking that tea makes me sick all over again. In fact I can’t possibly imagine that you are actually enjoying it… it would make me throw up!”

Each to his or her own, I guess. Maybe her Mother didn’t know about regular tea… with honey and lemon.

I take another sip of my tea. Smile at the warm memory of Ada. Feel the warmth of the tea beginning to restore me… the delicacy of the flavour softening the ache and the chill. I look around the room… any new objectors to chamomile tea? No. Good. Time to get serious about enjoying this glessela of tea.

Well it certainly is nice to hear from some folks… a few of the faithful have questioned putting Hitler on the same plane as humus… and rather than give a very clever and amusing retort, let me say that the list was meant to include a variety items that relate to the flexibility of how we use the word hate. Sometimes the word has to be taken more seriously than other times… in much the same way that we use the word love…

And just to show you that I’m not stingy, I am sending along a “second edition”….

ENEMIES LIST… the sequel

Guacamole It’s funny, I actually like avocado… I have a favorite “California” sandwich: avocado, bean sprouts, crisp bacon on whole wheat. But guacamole? What a horrible looking mess… something that your body produces when you have bronchitis… or something that Linda Blair threw up in the Exorcist.

Traffic This is not news to anyone who has ever driven with me. It’s not just the red lights… it’s the stop and go on the highway, or the long line at an uncooperative intersection. My road rage is confined to using colourful language in the car, and giving the appearance of “simmering”.

Books I had to read for High School English There wasn’t one single book I enjoyed reading at Hamden Hall. Moby Dick, A Tale of Two Cities, Silas Marner, The Scarlet Letter… I hated them all! I am still trying to burn them from my memory. I didn’t even like the Cliff’s Notes. Once I left Union, I started to read with an all consuming passion… one time I actually thought I was going to go back and read the “classics” that I so roundly despised as a High Schooler… but that thought passed like a bad fever.

Bad weather on a Sunday For so many of my “adult” years I have had to work on Saturday’s. It placed a higher level of importance for the weather to be “right” on the half of the weekend that I was at liberty. And “right” had to fit to the seasons… sunny and warm with puffy clouds and blue sky in the summer for the beach; crisp tinge in the air & dry for kicking in the leaves and picking pumpkins in the fall; snow beating against the windowpanes & accumulating by the ton in the winter; a fresh warmth and sun of a spring day. Anything less than the above is a disappointment.

Waiters & Waitresses who tell me their nameI mean do I sit down and tell them, “Hiya my name is Jim and I will be your patron tonight”

Roadrunner I love cartoons… the old ones, that is. Sorry Zack, I can’t get into the Japanese graphics or the primitive style of South Park. Give me Warner Bros. & Looney Tunes. But do me a big favour… kill the Roadrunner. After one episode it ceased to be funny. And it’s not like I loved the Coyote… it simply became too repetitive. Speedy Gonzales is a close second in the hateable category.

White Zinfandel You had to know this was coming. This is worse than asking for a ‘Pink Squirrel’ at a bar. True Zinfandel happens to be a heady red wine. White Zinfandel is an aberration… even in the Bible it is referred to as an “abomination” and deemed slightly worse than sodomy.

Soft mattresses I like firm, firm, firm. And a good carpeted floor in my book is pretty darn good. Soft is good for couches, shoulders and ice cream.

This little exercise began when I casually made reference that I preferred sour cream to apple sauce as an accompaniment to latkes. My friend agreed; but not before dropping an emphatic *blech* to apple sauce in any use.

I had to laugh. I happen to hate white apple sauce, too (although I adore the homemade variety, dark with cinnamon). You see, when I was a kid I was suffering some sort of ailment that required a medication that came in a capsule the size of a dung beetle. I couldn’t swallow it on a bet. Kindly Dr. Marshak told my mother to open the capsule and put the contents into apple sauce. It gave the apple sauce (at that time not an offensive food) a bitter and miserable taste… it even ruined the smell!

To this day, the sight and smell of white apple sauce turns my stomach and conjures painful memories of my mother forcing me to ingest that horrible stuff… three times a day.

Now you know why I am the way I am…

Anyway, all this talk about latkes & applesauce… well, it got me thinking about other things I “hate”.

Now before we descend into an ocean of “negativity”, let’s keep a perspective: we can’t love everything, and so therefore, things we “hate” act to define us in much the same way that things that we “love” do. I am reminded of a line attributed to Kenneth Galbraith… he was asked to react to being on Nixon’s “Enemies List”… and he responded by saying that he would have been insulted if he didn’t make the list.

“Negativity” isn’t always… negative. Let’s have some fun with an “Enemies List”… things we hate. There will be more to follow…

ENEMIES LIST

Eggplant It was an epiphany. One early spring day I woke up and told Ellen that I hated eggplant. I hated the consistency of eggplant, I didn’t care for the taste, and in as much that I loved so much that she prepared, I didn’t want to have to “fake” liking something I hated. Burn your recipe for Ratatouille, I closed the door to eggplant in my life.

Adolph Hitler I can keep this one simple… if you can’t hate this guy and what he represented than I think I have to take away your sandbox privileges.

The Inquisition Part II of Jewish angst. It troubles me that repeatedly thru history those Countries (Kingdoms) where Jewish achievement reached a pinnacle — Spain of Maimonides, Germany of the 19th Century (two examples that come to mind) are the very same places that were a well spring for the most virulent strains of Anti-Semitism… an Anti-Semitism that would reach volcanic proportions and spill Jewish blood across the countryside.

Archie Bell & the Drells When I was at Union thisHouston based group had a song that made the charts. It was one of the worst songs I have ever heard. It would have gone un-noticed by me save for one thing — the song is on the play chart at my gym… each time I hear it, I am reminded how much I hate it.

Richard Nixon We all have to own a “political lightening rod”. Someone to whom we can ascribe our disaffection with the “system”. You know, Patrician Republicans hated FDR… he was deemed a traitor to their Class. I hate Nixon because I believe he was a traitor to humanity.

New York Jets  I am a Baltimore Colts fan of old. The Packers edged out the Colts to compete in the first two Super Bowls. Their chance came in Super Bowl III. The upstart Jets beat the Colts. Back then the old AFL was considered to be several notches below the old NFL… and for the Colts to be the first NFL team to take it on the chin was a bit of a disgrace… and that the team to suffer the first loss was has caused lasting pain in my breast. I hate the Jets with every part of my being. When the Jets went 1 and 15 a few years ago… my cup was not full! There is an amusing side to this… my brother Paul loves the Jets. And to our mutual credit, we have not let this “small” difference in opinion interfere with our love for one and other.

Traffic lights Or more specifically, red lights. There are certain lights that are purely evil. They refuse to remain green for me. It’s a conspiracy. They are the bane of my existence.

Toll takers They love the brief power that they exert over our lives. And God help you if you show any indication that you are in a hurry… as they painstakingly open a roll of quarters as if they were preparing an omelet. And now that Ezpass has removed so many drivers from their grasp they have taken their hurt out on the cash customers. I have decided to combat their surly attitude by lavishing kindness on them…

Grand Central Station Men’s Restroom Zack was 3 or 4 and needed to hit the john… the train wasn’t available for boarding yet so I took him to the Men’s Room for the first and only time I have ever been there. It is harder to imagine a worse looking group of people than what I saw there… guys lying down on the floor or sitting in the urinals… and I kept thinking, please let that sorry creature be an undercover cop.”

Mark Gastineau I could put every Jet who wore green on this list… and Joe Namath gets very high consideration here (I believe him to be one of the most over rated QBs… yes he had great games — one of them in a Super Bowl — but he wasn’t that great… he is one of several QBs that had a great Super Bowl; but did little else); but I couldn’t resist putting the guy who brought “hotdog” personal celebrations to the defensive side of the field. As far as I can recall… Mark Gastineau’s was the first “sack dance”… He was a Joey Buttufuco in cleats.

Humus First, it looks vile. Although I have tasted worse things… it’s just that I take offense when it gets included in the category of food. Sorry. Mommie Soph wouldn’t serve this. Yes, it’s popular in Israel, and in the rest of theMiddle East to boot. But keep it away from me. Now, chopped liver… Jewish.

SUVs Call it a form of “vehicular terrier syndrome”. My cars are small… not just the mercedes, even the Saturn sits low to the ground. And all these big cars are flooding the road ways and they obstruct the line of sight… and another thing, people who drive them rarely drive fast enough.

Bandeau tops Sorry ladies, I have yet to see a woman look good in these things… if you’re small it presses your breasts flat and robs you of the softness of a feminine curve… if you’re really flat, it makes you look like you’re seven… if you’re big, it brings your bust line lower and makes you look like a cow.

They came to my “office”. It was moderately late — I had just finished a Wine Tasting that can only be described as a complete “camel fuck”. I was in no mood to talk to my brethren at Grapes and sought the anonymity of Ash Creek Saloon. Just stay away from me… I am not a mean person (although I admit that I know at least one person who would argue that point)… tonight I just want to be left alone.

Then “they” came in: four wait staff from the banquet staff of the Norwalk Inn… their gig finished, they were looking to un-wind.

I well recognized the attire: black vests, white formal shirts (don’t ask me why; but I find women wearing white pleated dress shirts to be incredibly sexy), black slacks & comfortable black shoes.

Yep. I don’t have to plow the depths of my memory to remember the years I wore “black & white” at the Inn at Longshore in Westport… all those nights or doubleshifted Saturdays when I mixed drinks, poured wine and served up beer deep into the night.

And if it had been a particularly fruitful night (meaning I got tipped big), Steve, Lindy, Robert or Denise & I would repair to the Mansion Clam House for “last call” to un-wind… to recount the glories of the evening — to share a host of laughs, and sometimes to voice hurt and trouble.

On those late evenings nothing seemed closer. The previous 8 – 16 hours joining us… and everything we shared over cold beer and whisky was cast through the prism of our common experience. The laughter was more intense, the melancholy was more pointed.

There was a part of being there because we needed the money. I don’t know people who choose to wait staff. And there was a part of being there because we felt “whole” being with folks traveling on a similar path.

And I glance down the bar at the foursome from the Norwalk Inn and I reflect on how ashamed I was when I first tended bar part time… here, I owned my own business, not being able to fully make it and having to tend bar? When I think about how before each wedding I would look at the card table with the names and table assignments praying that I wouldn’t see a name that I knew. Yes, it took me quite awhile to shed my embarrassment.

But I did.

I was a damned good bartender.

But it was the time that I shared with Lindy, Steve, Denise & Robert (and a few others) that gave positive definition to what was largely a bleak chapter in my life. So, I look to my left again… see part of the Norwalk Inn’s staff, see the bottles of Heineken and the celebratory shots lined up. I hear the good natured ribbing, the laughter that is spilled and think back to my days in “black & white”.

I think back to Lindy, who has provided me with more annecdotes than just about anyone who I have ever known… To Steve, a person I worked with for 7 years without a single cross word ever taking place between us… To Denise, a close friend who was sexy beyond belief in a formal shirt… And to amazing Robert who defies a brief description…

I don’t miss the forced late nights. I miss the people. I miss those shared bright moments on a twisted path between sun and shadow.