Klecko is sick.
Not level 10 sick, but level 5, or maybe 6, lets just say sick enough to tilt the NyQuil bottle last night.
This morning as I drove into work the sky was more than overcast, it was daunting. Almost as if the firmament was winking exclusively at me, letting Klecko know that just on the other side of the veil there might be enough water to float an ark for 40 days and 40 nights.
Whenever I'm driving through Saint Paul and there is an absence of sun, I can't but help feeling like I am in a Euro movie.
I like foreign cinema because it is so much more like life than Hollywood. In Euro movies everybody just wears scarves, smokes cigarettes, engages in acts of love...and of course, they all eat bread.
You very seldom will find an American Director who will implement bread into their film.
So I pull Bob Dylan out of my disc player and replace it with the Run Lola Rum soundtrack.
I swear to Caesar that it didn't take long for my mind to go numb. Has this ever happened to you after a NyQuil jag were you double dosed?
Perfection only crosses Klecko's intersection seldom, but this morning, for just the shortest time...I was there.
It was like I was on God's treadmill. I was completely still, but the bread truck obtained a mind of its own and somehow knew how to glide its way towards the bakery.
So now as Franke Potente sings......
"I don't believe in silence
cuz silence seems so slow
I don't believe in energy
the tension is too low
I don't believe in panic
I don't believe in fear
I don't believe in prophecies
so don't waste any tears."
I am struck how by these words. They are basically my personal anthem.
As the world blurred past me, I smile in a stupor and recalled a conversation that I had with Master Kiwis. It was towards the beginning of my career, towards the beginning of my employment at SuperMoms.
The old man pulled me in the office, I sat down.......
He just stared at me.
"Yes Mr. Kiwus, you wanted me?"
Now he has a scowl like look, but it was kinda whimsical, or at least enough that I couldnt tell if I was going to get praised, or ripped to shreds.
My Master spoke.....
"Did I offer you a seat?"
I bolted up out of the chair and him to forgive my presumptuous attitude.
So just like a Private in the army, I'm standing at attention in front of his desk. He starts looking me up and down. You can never see what goes on in another persons mind, but sometimes if you are careful, you can hear the speed in which their gears are turning.
"Let me ask you kid, what are you going to do with your baking career?"
I was nervous. I wasn't sure if this was a trick question. You know, like the ones that Shaolin priests ask to see if you are worthy of receiving there training.
"Sir, I believe I will take American baking concepts and bring them across the world."
Now my Master laughs, but not in a mean or in a condescending tone.
"Hey dumbs***, why would you want to do that?"
I smiled back at him (but I was still standing at attention)and told him that I wanted to be adventurous, in fact I envisioned myself becoming the Indiana Jones of the Bread Guild.
The smile left his face and the old man became lost in thought. when his focus returned my Master no longer had his usual edge.
"You know kid, only "F"ing fools go chasing dreams. You don't have s*** to show anybody, and you won't for 20 years, but if you trust me....I'll make you a promise. If you can just keep your God-D mouth shut, and pay attention. I promise you...the world will come to you."
It was the truest thing anybody has said to me.
Suddenly my bread truck pulled into the Saint Agnes parking lot, the fog lifted from my head, and I kinda wished I could crawl back into that mindset, but now that I'm getting older, I'm learning its not always best to force moments.