I had a wonderful conversation with the woman sitting next to me on my flight back to Phoenix last night. She and her husband were just beginning a two week vacation out to Arizona, wanting to see the gorgeous desert landscapes, the red rocks of Sedona, and the enormity that is the Grand Canyon–one of the benefits of retirement she boasted.
Our conversation began simply. I noticed she had a copy of John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath. I’m a bit embarrassed to admit that even though I did teach English briefly, I still have not read this classic. It currently sits on my bookshelf in my “to read” section. I do want to read it and East of Eden. A few years ago I asked for Steinbeck’s complete works for Christmas and I’ve had a chance to read a few of them, but not The Grapes of Wrath. I briefly mentioned that I really wanted to read that book.
We started talking about Steinbeck as an author and literature in general. She said that she loved Steinbeck because he was an author who “has such a way with words. He paints a picture.”
A few minutes after takeoff we both dived into our own books, taking a break from time to time, to discuss some aspect of Arizona, travel, literature, education–again, a lovely visit.
On my drive home, I thought about that “painting a picture” statement over and over.
I don’t paint with words. I’ve never been one of those writers–or speakers even.
I think of myself more as a chef, using the ingredients (words) I have. I don’t serve masterpieces, but I do serve things that I think people enjoy. Often times I end up like a short order cook (some of these blogs reflect that as do a few of my status posts), quickly tossing something together, sending it out of the kitchen, proud of it at times and other times wishing I had a few more minutes.
Other times, I feel like I’ve planned a better menu, but the execution isn’t quite there.
I’ve definitely used the “wrong” ingredients. There have definitely been times where I feel like one of the contestants on the chopping block, failing to serve the dish I was capable of–unfortunately in real lives, these take place in tense conversations with friends following an argument or in the letter from an opportunity that has been lost.
Occasionally, I send out something from the kitchen so amazing, I can’t believe I was able to even cook it.
But I know I can serve an even more incredible dish more consistently.
A good friend of mine recently graduated from the Culinary Institute of America. He spent a few weekends volunteering at a local farm to gain a better understanding of the ingredients. I think I need to do that a bit as well.
I have few “plates” that I’d like to serve. Next week I’m going to work on my chapter for a leadership book coming out this fall. I’m also going to start working on a few other book projects that I’m hoping I can publish early next year. It’s exciting.
They won’t be Steinbeck worthy. He indeed is an artist. If you haven’t read his books, you should (I will read The Grapes of Wrath in early ’10). Hopefully, though my own words–my own way of cooking will be something that can please the palettes of a very worthy audience.
My next flight is about to board–gotta go! I hope you can find the right ingredients as well!