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| Photo by: Sara Lejour |
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I recently acquired a new position working as a cook in a restaurant close to my house. It is a wonderful place to work; great people, great atmosphere, and for the most part, fun and challenging work. But it also involved getting up at 6am, and standing for 7 hours straight. Let's just say, my body isn't quite equipped to handle said circumstances with enthusiasm. However, the pro's do outweigh the con's. Anyway, when I get up for work in the morning, especially now, in the wonderfully frigid winter months, it has yet to become light outside. So as I walk the chilly 10 minutes to work on weekend mornings, I often get the time to enjoy the last glimpses of the moon and stars: rare sightings in a usually over-lit city. Once I reach the restaurant, the warmth of an already steamy kitchen is a welcoming thing, and I forget all about the fresh frigid air outside for a while. Once 8:30 rolls around and things are rolling quite quickly, I usually get the urge to be outside again in the calm morning air. After that, the shift seems interminable; an endless line of breakfasts with particular specifications flying in and out of the two-way, squeaky kitchen door. Nonetheless, a kitchen is a fascinating place to work. And just the other morning, my iSight brought me a tiny little gift that I get to enjoy every morning since its discovery in the form of a humble little window on the fire exit/ back door of the kitchen. I was making a large order of toast as about 17 plates were being set and filled to the brim with eggs and bacon. When I finally wiped the last of the crumbs from my station and scraped the remnants of the small rush from the grill, I leaned against the counter with a stifled sigh and took a minute to enjoy the calm before what I knew would soon be a storm of scrambled eggs, pancakes and every kind of buttered toast imaginable. My eyes wandered the walls of the kitchen which were slowly becoming familiar to me in my 5 weeks working here. I appreciated the chaotic, fractal organization of the place: the very homey feel I got from the used yet cared-for look of the utensils and pots. Suddenly my eye glimpsed a ray of light spilling onto the kitchen floor. I followed the tiny beam and noticed the window on the back door through which I stumbled each morning at 7 and plowed through each afternoon at 2, pining for some fresh air and a nice shower. But never had I taken care to look through that window during my shift. From my station in the kitchen, the window was a little out of the way, just a suggestion for the searching eye. But now that I had found it, I never wanted to look away. It wasn't beautiful; in fact it is the dingy, unkempt sort of window you would expect to see on the fire escape of a kitchen. Grease stains in the corners, scratches, evidence of braving the elements... However, the last time I had seen anything outside that window, it had been dark and cold. Now, when I glimpsed the window from the inside, there was light flooding in, a blue sky shimmering just outside of it, the cars of the delivery men glimmering almost ecstatically with the warmth that only the sun brings in our wonderfully cold Canadian winters. It made me feel happy to be right where I was. For a moment I felt like I found myself at the root of everything: back to basics, just marveling at the rising sun. Before cars, and technology, before bustling lives and busy schedules, there were people who woke every morning with the sun rise, who marveled at the life it brought with it. And that day in the kitchen, as I leaned on the hardwood counters, searching for the motivation to chop some oranges, I got a glimpse of that. I found myself in awe of the sheer magnificence of the sunlight, of the day it brings. It made me realize how much I take for granted. When I walk to work in the morning, how I just look at the moon and recognize that it is "pretty" instead of appreciating it for the fact that it is out, in all its silver glory, personifying night and the cool crisp life is breathes. And every day when I am up and about in the waking hours, just living under the sun with no recognition of the fact that it is with the sun I truly live. It seems almost trivial talking about it now, but it still rings true every time I go to work, and I just cannot wait to watch the sun rise through my humble little window. When I reflect on that experience, I find myself able to harness the passion and integrity to stand in awe at the little things, at the basics, even in this world full of high standards and uneasily impressed individuals, because I know that in the end, there is nothing without the basics.
