Forgetting 9/11 - A Night with Richard Broderick

I wasn't going to blog tonight.

I haven't slept more than a few minutes this weekend, and I wanted to be somewhat rested for the new work week.

But then I made that fatal mistake, I checked Facebook and Blogger before brushing my teeth and opening a defective book that I could pass out to.

And there they were, comments from Klecko's Girlfriend Nation.

Expressions of commiseration from international devotees of the Last American Baker.

Belgium wondered if I was going to post anything specific to commemorate the 10 year anniversary of the terrorist attacks on the United States.

Germany mentioned that I and we (Americans) were in her prayers.

Australia simply wrote "God Bless".

I can't tell you how much these comments touched me.

As a story teller, I do kinda feel bad, cuz to be truthful...I had nothing for you.

I intentionally tried to avoid rehashing the past.

Some would say that burying my head in the sand won't make the worlds problems, my problems, go away........but I don't recall ever signing up to be a universial problem solver.

Klecko is as optimistic and anybody you've ever met....but he's also realistic as well.

I've studied history, and I've observed people, and if I've learned only one thing its........

MAN CANNOT GOVERN MAN -

For most of my life I have lived in an ignorant bliss.

Growing up Catholic, I never once went to confession. I always figured it was a waste of time, I mean do we know for sure that God doesn't get distracted? Do I really want to cop to something may have slipped off the Almighty's radar?

Let's face it, if you are busted - you're busted, and there really isn't much that a Priest or anything other than a repentant heart can do to fix things.

As a Pollack, I never go to the doctor. I know modern minds will scorn my reasoning, but less face it, If I don't take medical tests, they cannot come back negative.

People flatter themselves by thinking that their ideas and actions have impact, but I got to tell you, if you are honest, if you follow the course of the world......

You begin to realize that our species is wonderful, a work of art, but it is flawed.

How can you use logic to combat a planet where people basically look out for themselves.

Religions, volunteers and non profits have all attempted to tackle this issue, but positive solutions never seem to hold any traction.

People are a flawed species.

So what can a person do to battle corruption? How can a person minister to a planet that is spinning off it's axis?

You can't.

But.....you can feed them.

If you read any of the 200 some postings I have in this site, and if you had to find one common denominator, it's not even close.....the crux of the Last American Bakers existence has been to preach the gospel of living in the immediate.

To preach the gospel of putting food onto plates and getting it into the hands of your friends, and better yet, your enemies.

THERE IS SIMPLY NO PROBLEM THAT CANNOT BE SOLVED OVER A WELL PREPARED DINNER TABLE.

If John Lennon would of adopted this philosophy instead of "IMAGINE"...who knows?

Maybe he'd have gotten the result he was looking for.

So my plan for this weekend was to avoid television stations that would run film loops of the twin towers burning and so forth.

I had a book release party to cater at Mike Finley's house this afternoon.

Mike didn't write the book however, it was his friends, our friends book.

The poets name is Richard Broderick.

As excited as I was to attend this event and hear Richard recite passages from his book entitled RAIN DANCE, part of me just wanted to close my eyes and open them the moment it became September 12th.

At 1 a.m. this morning, I decided to drive into work and make tart cherry / goat cheese scones to finish off our events menu, and as I stood alone, in the silence of an empty bakery, my mind went back to my son Tydus.

Each year before his homecoming football game, he'd get annoyed at the fact that they were not allowed to play until Saturday evening.

This meant that he had to occupy his Friday night and Saturday morning with something, anything to keep his mind off of the fact that he wasn't allowed to hit somebody for hours.

So my kid would put on his jersey and head phones and stand in the middle of the kitchen, eyes closed rocking back and forth to the music.

I swear to Caesar that this ritual went on for close to 24 hours.

Sue McGleno would become livid and thought that the kid was insane.

I never go against my wife, but in this one instance. I totally got what my kid was doing.

He was suspending time and planning for victory.

The only way I know to do that, the only way I've found that any of us can guarantee success is through feeding people.

I know it sounds simplistic, but shouldn't truth be just that, simple?

So the party starts, and 90% of the Twin Cities literary moguls came.

For a large part of the evening, I just sat back and fed the throngs.

So dear friends, like so many things that occur in my life, I use food to bandage, fuel, cop out......or even heal.

I guess it just depends on your vantage point and perception.

In closing, I would love to leave you with a poem that Richard presented.

Sometimes one poem can be equal compensation for a dozen hours of cooking, this is one of those poems.

The Fathers

by Richard Broderick

Down in the basement
Dead fathers move about
Bumping their heads on exposed beams
Trying without success to pick up tools from the dusty workbench
If their words could reach us
They'd ask for coffee and a smoke
If their words could reach us
They'd tell us how much they regret having deployed the squadron of bombers
That drones overhead in our dreams every night
They long to upgrade the circuit breaker
Replace the stained tile
Paint the foundation red
But instead
All they can do is eye an empty pack of cigarettes crumpled in the corner
Then go back to searching for the blueprints
To the family room that never got built

Once again, thank you world for the kindness you have shown me.

Good Night.