Work Purpose – Passion or Paycheck?

God only knows, God makes his plan
The information’s unavailable to the mortal man
We’re workin’ our jobs, collect our pay
Believe we’re gliding down the highway, when in fact we’re slip sliding away

Crazy lyrics, aren’t they? When you’re working a job, and are part of the masses doing a 9 to 5 gig, the above can be a little…well, unsettling.

“Slip Sliding Away” is a Paul Simon song that was blaring from the speakers of the almost vintage Cadillac that I drive on the way to work the other day. The irony of the above lyric hit me like the cliched ton of bricks:

Is my life actually slip sliding away while I go to my cubicle each day and perform the duties of an employee?

And is that a reason to dislike, even hate, the circumstance?

I thought about it for awhile, and concluded that I’m stuck somewhere in the middle. Worker bee limbo. I neither dislike nor love the current situation as it pertains to work.

Not everyone hates their job. For some, the only emotion is indifference.

Maybe it’s a by-product of a lousy economy, but there just seems to be an avalanche of individuals these days that will no longer work for the man. They are running micro-businesses, working independently, and writing blog posts all about it. I must admit, at times I am jealous. They all seem to have it going in the right direction.

What’s an old school kinda guy to do? Well, this theory seems to work—

It’s perfectly fine to try and find some meaning within your day job, collect that check, and have a great passion outside of work.

Find something else to do, besides your job, that will stoke your fire. It doesn’t have to be related to work. Who wrote that rule anyway??

My grandmother worked day and night in her restaurant without necessarily “loving” everything that she did. My grandfather worked a shift in factories, and then went to the restaurant to help out after his day was done at the job. I doubt he was “passionate” about most aspects of his work. He would probably say he did it for the food, the clothing, and the roof.

My job fulfills income criteria as well. That’s all I really require of it.

The idea of a “dream job” can be a fallacy for many of us. I don’t have that one singular, all consuming passion for something that I could make my living at. I do, however, love aspects of my work in sales. I love the competition and the consistent striving to be better than I was yesterday.

My passion is reserved for my God, my family, my friends, ocean front vacations, and my baseball team. My work can just be my work.

Excuse me while I work my job, collect my pay, and yes, glide down that highway.

Absolute Requirements of the Italian Kitchen

Fellow blogger Vince Scordo published this great article about what food ingredients are really required to have a complete kitchen, and to keep those of us of Italian American descent happy and content.

Although I loved Vince’s post, I wanted to add my two cents on some of these required ingredients and what they mean in my kitchen. My kitchen, and what it holds, was strongly influenced by what my grandmother taught me, as you will see in the following…

Garlic – One of two main ingredients in my gram’s kitchen, it was mandatory that there was an abundant supply ready for peeling and chopping. She used it to cook just about everything, and I have carried on that tradition. As far as rituals go, the preparation of the garlic may have been second only to the cleaning of the green beans.

Olive Oil – The other main ingredient. The kitchen was never without a shiny gold and black can of Filippo Berio, and Gram used it liberally for cooking, as well as dressing salads, bread dip, and general illness prevention. Although my wife and I will occasionally enjoy a nice extra virgin oil drizzled on a tomato & mozzarella salad, I always fall back on the Berio product for its flavor and friendly price point.

Tomatoes – I use 28 oz. cans of store bought crushed tomatoes as a rule, flipping back and forth between some different brands. Gram, however, canned her own, using hundreds of roma tomatoes from a local farmer. The sauce that she made with them is something I could not duplicate if I tried.

It took an amazing amount of back breaking work for her (and anyone that helped) to prepare the tomatoes for storage, and she would make a year’s supply. If you’re not into that kind of manual labor I recommend a nice canned product off the store shelf such as Red Pack or Tuttorosso, which is frequently on sale in my area.

Imported Tuna – All you lovers of the Bumblebee and Starkist brands, fair warning: one try at a high quality, Italian tuna packed in olive oil in a salad or on a sandwich, and it’s highly unlikely you’ll go back to the other brands. Yes, they are a little more pricey, but it is well worth the extra change that you’ll spend!

Cheese – My gram’s favorite road trip was to go to our local import store to buy some olives, mortadella, and a couple of pounds of asiago or imported parmigiano cheese. Sometimes it was more than a couple pounds. When we got back from the store, we’d sit at the kitchen table and have lunch (sandwich and coffee), and then I’d grate some cheese for that night’s dinner or for future use.

Fruit – A terrific memory that I have is the fruit bowl that was always present on the counter at my Gram’s house. It was always filled with apples, grapes, and especially pears, which we loved to peel and eat at the kitchen table.

In addition to the bowl, the yard around the house was filled with fruit trees that yielded pears, cherries, and peaches. And the grapes. Not one, but two arbors dense with the sweetest concord grapes that my wife and I, to this day, make grape jelly with.

If you’ve never had Italian bread toasted with peanut butter (or plain butter) and homemade jelly, you have not lived.

Wine – My grandmother, as well as the rest of her family, was no wine snob. The wine that was at table was usually a full bodied red that came in a very large bottle. Read: gallon jug, usually something like Carlo Rossi. It tasted great along side a dish of macaroni with my gram’s sauce, salad, and Italian bread.

Although I tend to enjoy a variety of white and red wines from Italy, France, and California, more often than not my wife or I will go to the store and pick up a gallon size bottle of red to enjoy with a favorite Italian meal…and we love it!

And in the end, isn’t that what food is about?…love!

How To Take Nothing For Granted

What do you take for granted?

Gratitude has been a theme that I’ve posted about here before, and I’ve thought recently about things that I should be grateful for, but sometimes take for granted.

One thing I’ve normally taken for granted, because its always been good, is my wife’s overall health and well being. This changed recently when she had a visit to our local ER with some tightness in her chest, and shortness of breath that we originally attributed to pine pollen.

There’s a history of heart disease in her family, and on our doctor’s suggestion, we decided to be safe rather than sorry, and go to the hospital. Even if pine pollen was the possible culprit.

Although she looked great in a hospital gown (she could look good in a paper bag), the both of us would have rather not been there. Aside from the events of having our kids, my wife does not go to hospitals, or doctors’ offices.

While waiting for test results, I was hoping for the best, but there was cause for concern. It is a subject I’ve never thought about much: I’ve always taken for granted that my wife would always be healthy, and be around to take care of us.

I’ve always looked after my own health. Fighting with elevated blood pressure and high cholesterol, it’s part of my game. My wife didn’t need to be concerned about such things, or so it seemed.

Thankfully, all of the tests (we’re talking blood, CT scan, EKG, etc.) came back with good results, and this was a scare we no longer had to worry about. I’m very grateful for the test results that portrayed her as an almost perfect physical specimen, and promised myself I’d always show gratitude for her health as long as she has it.

Something else happened here. I realized there are many other times that we all take most things for granted. It seems as we get older, we have to come to terms with that sometimes the most important facets of our life are the ones we assume will be a constant.

I thought about little things that I’ve taken for granted, that I can no longer experience. Like the hundreds of times my grandmother made me coffee, and poured it at her kitchen table. And sliced a piece of cake to go along with it.

That was a normal part of life for me, always there. So it got taken for granted. You can reflect on the past, but that experience is now gone. And with that realization, you should be more aware of what goes on now.

I make the coffee now, or my wife makes it. We do it the same way my Nonna did, brewing it with the espresso pot on top of the stove (it’s the best way to make coffee!), and it still tastes great. It’s just different.

A few weeks ago, I was walking through my dining room, and accidentally kicked my son’s baseball cleats that were left by the table. Ordinarily, I would have only noticed it in passing, but I stopped to look at them, and to think.

I thought, those shoes will only be there briefly. Someday, they will be gone, replaced by bigger shoes. And then, when my kids are grown and out of the house, they won’t be there at all. There will be just an empty space on that floor.

I took in that moment, without it being taken for granted. And I was happy to have it.

The little things in life are truly amazing, when you take the time to consider.

I feel like a cup of coffee. Right now.