What's Cookin'?

First let me quell any doubt’s this may bring, my wife is an awesome cook!

While most parents receive the notice that their child needs something for snack, and then hurriedly run to the grocery store to pick up pre-made cupcakes, cookies or donuts, my wife whirls into the kitchen to hand make something, usually the night and morning before, in order to assure maximum freshness and tastiness. She not only does this for our children, she will do so for me, and for her fellow employees.

Having a potluck at work? No stereotypical cheese tray or veggie tray here. How about some hand made meatballs in a “from scratch” sauce? Need a dessert? Not store bought reheat pie or brownies from the Lang house, we do it Iron Chef style!

I am routinely amazed by my wife’s skill in the kitchen. Just the way she wants to cook things, and the time she puts into it.

Just not at 6 in the morning……with onions……and garlic……and, what ever else was in there……please……..really…………please.

The handmade meatballs smelled sweet last night, at the appropriate time. But the heavy scent of the culinary delight’s being concocted this morning upset the delicate balance between hungry and nausea this morning. While I trudged about getting ready dreaming of the cup of coffee, bowl of cereal, or whatever else is kosher for a morning meal, a thick fog of onion and garlic rolled through the house like the Passover, searching for any nostril not painted with marinara sauce indicating that they were, or were not in the mood for whatever Mama had going in the kitchen. Which I’m sure if ingested at the appropriate mealtime were more the delectable.
I am absolutely a food fan. Loving all different types and tastes. But breakfast time is for breakfast! As well as dinnertime is for…breakfast, and lunch is good for breakfast, too, and midnight snack, and….well, you get it.

The Two Wolves

Several years ago, a co-worker of mine had large board over his desk. Usually these would be filled with various papers reminding him of work that needed to be done, schedules, funny pictures to ease ones mind from the daily drudge, etc. This board contained only one scrap of paper with a poem written on it. Very prophetic in content, I have seeked out this poem today. For it seems very fitting with various battles I am now in.

A grandson told of his anger at a schoolmate who had done him an injustice. His Grandfather said: "Let me tell you a story." "I, too, have felt a great hate for those that have taken so much, with no sorrow for what they do. But, hate wears you down and does not hurt your enemy. It is like taking poison and wishing your enemy would die. I have struggled with these feelings many times. It is as if there are two wolves inside me: one is good and does no harm. He lives in harmony with all around him and does not take offense when no offense was intended. He will only fight when it is right to do so, and in the right way. But the other wolf is full of anger. The littlest thing will set him into a fit of temper. He fights with everyone, all the time, for no reason. He cannot think because his anger and hate are so great. It is hard to live with these two wolves inside me, for both of then try to dominate my spirit." The boy looked intently into his grandfather's eyes and asked, "Which one wins, Grandfather?" The grandfather solemnly replied, "The one I feed."

A Lesson

How do I change that which displeases me?
You do not, unless that which displease you comes from your own actions, thoughts, or feelings. Everything else must be accepted for what it is, an outside influence that you can either give in to, or let glance off of you and stay your course.


How do I change me?
Accept that the road will be winding and unyielding. That it will have its rises and falls. Do not strive to anticipate it, but to analyze it when it arrives, and deal with it in the best manner possible. For anticipation brings anxiousness, and anxiousness will lead to aggravation, and so on to anger, or sadness. Thrive in the now. Be mindful of the emotions which are rising, understand what it is that is setting them in motion, and then work to quiet the mind.

The Sound Track of Life

I was shuffling through my iPod this morning on the way to work and came across Joe Satriani’s “Flying in Blue Dream.” I held back a tear as I realized the following, and wondered where I would be had I viciously followed my music dream.

I, am a music lover. I drive to work listening to music, I workout to music, I fall asleep to music; I can play several different musical instruments. I, love, music.

One of my favorite music memories is standing in the Dallas City Music complex for hours at the G3 concert watching Joe Satriani, Eric Johnson, and Steve Vai, with my father, sister, guitar teacher, uncle, and many other friends. Rarely did we scream and holler during the concert, just clapped and traded looks and smiles of amazement at the virtuosos that where setting their guitars ablaze before us.

I don’t just process it and understand that music is being played and exclaim that “I like this song”, music is an emotional experience for me. To this day I am still unable to listen to “An American Symphony” from “Mr. Holland’s Opus” without getting teary eyed and choked up. That is a powerful song. And there are literally dozen’s of other’s that affect me the same way. From evoking joyful emotions, to sad emotions, to getting me pumped up for something or mellowing me out, there is always a fitting song for the occasion.

And yet, being such a music lover, I am unable to just listen to music. I must analyze music. I can listen to a song several different times and hear something different each time. Every song that has words with it, I must know exactly what they are saying. I will go back and listen to the guitar parts, to hear every nuance and ghost note, every attack of the pick and slide of finger across string. I will go back and listen to the bass line to hear exactly what is going on. I will go back and listen to the drum part to hear every strike of stick to drum head I can, every swell of the cymbals and the intricate hi-hat work. I love music.

It consumes me. I will become obsessed with it. Kicking in my OCD behavior. I have literally spent hours after hearing a small snip it of a song that catches my ear, searching the Internet, trying to find who performs the melody that has captivated me until I succeed, download the whole song, and analyzed it. Sometimes it disappoints me, and sometimes I find a new favorite song.

Before hearing a song in its entirety, I can anticipate the crescendo and decrescendo. I can pick out when the musician will transition from verse to chorus and back again. Feel what notes are coming next in the arrangement. Sometimes I am surprised, but most of the time I’m dead on.

It is difficult to decipher whether this is a curse or gift. I have been guilty of wearing out a song, or listening to it so much that I grow weary of it, and do not listen to it for quite some time. And even in very bad music I can find some melody, beat, or sound that I like. All I know is that I love music, passionately, and on a level that not many others understand.

“Notes, rhythm, and voice, all combining in an emotional orchestration, moving me, to the soundtrack of my life.” Wes Lang