Someone told me long ago
There’s a calm before the storm
I know, it’s been comin’ for some time
When it’s over, so they say
It’ll rain a sunny day
I know, shinin’ down like water
I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain?
I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain?
Comin’ down on a sunny day– Creedence Clearwater Revival, “Have You Ever Seen The Rain”
The back deck of Belmont Station on Stark is almost uncomfortably warm. They have the heaters on, and it’s nearly empty except for a young man flipping through his phone, an older man talking to the Lord, and me. I’d probably be more comfortable without my sweater on, but I don’t want to look after something else or give my neuroses one more thing to check the seat for when I eventually leave.
It’s the light, on-and-off rain that Portland knows so well tapping on the windows and skylights, and I wonder if their sealing heat was part of the calculus that called for the (not cheap to run) electric heaters. Any notion of “spring” out here is only confirmed or denied by plant life and we all know that they just go on instinct. A sweater and a denim cloak in May? That’s about right. “Putting away heavy clothes” is something other places do.
The beers are dark and good, short 4-ounce pours so I can try a few without breaking the bank. Belmont always has an interesting selection, and it’s rare I do the same beer over and over again in a sitting.
Let it pour. The beer, the rain, the words, the times- let it all pour.
Between life in the kitchen and the general ambient fuckery, I’ve found myself craving shelter lately. Metaphorically, that is- Em and I are fine in our little hobbit hole and pay the rent just fine. I mean “shelter” mentally and emotionally, and distinct from “escape” or “escapism.” I don’t do well trying to check out of life and pretend it’s all not happening. Life is where all the cool shit happens- I’d have to be really messed up to want to bail on all that. If it’s hard sometimes… well, reality is a rough neighborhood.
You still need shelter though- a safe house to camp out, observe, reappraise the situation, and plan the next move. That shelter might also just be like one from the rain- there’s nothing to do but wait for it to stop, or grab to coat from your bag and make a dash for the next shelter you see.
You can’t make the rain stop falling, whether it’s real or metaphorical. Going outside to swear, stomp, scream, and rant does nothing but get you hoarse and wet. In Judaism, when something bad happens or we get bad news, we recite “Baruch Adonai, da’an ha’emet.” “Blessed is the Lord who is the True Judge.” It’s not necessarily a blessing of obedience or subservience, so much as a confirmation that we don’t know the big picture. We are not omniscient or omnipotent. While it stops short of saying our misfortune may prove to be a good thing or a “blessing in disguise” (no one wants to hear that,) instead it reminds us of our limits and our agency because, simply put, “Shit Happens.”
When you can take action to fix something, you should. When you can’t, you find shelter and wait.
For half of this past week, my chef just kept shaking his head as we passed each other and saying “firehose.” “Firehose, man. Keep moving.” It all just kept coming.
After a rough off-season, we lost several cooks and servers who needed to recoup financial losses or simply decided it was time to move on with their careers. Some moved on to bigger and better, others went back to school. We also lost a manager or two for various reasons- and it was all coming to a head on the same week that banquets began to pick up in earnest AND we finally did our big menu flip to spring and summer selections. Tight spaces, new faces, too many questions, and not enough people to answer them.
It was back to 9 to 11-hour days for me, which I didn’t wholly mind. Overtime pay is always nice when you’re trying to rehab your finances after an expensive off-season. I also like teaching and being helpful when I can, so being able to field questions from the new staff so that the higher-ups could keep moving felt important.
I was definitely out of practice, though. My body was bone-tired at the end of each day, and I took more “rest days” from my workout regimen. It’s hard to call an 11-hour shift on your feet and schlepping around orders of flour, sugar, and produce a “rest day” though.
The chef pulled me aside toward the end of the week to discuss staffing. Did pastry need another person? They would necessarily be seasonal, which is a dealbreaker for most cooks in the area right now- but they could find someone if need be. When I started to say “So far, with enough planning and communication, I don’t think so-” the chef cut in “without you working insanely long weeks. I know you wanna show up for your team and carry hard, but I need you sane and healthy for the long run.”
Guilty as charged, honestly, and a bit of the pot calling the kettle black. The chef and I ascribe to the same school of servant leadership. We find shelter in the kitchen from our lives, and we provide shelter for those under us. That is our definition of “strength.” How much can you handle to look after those under you? It’s a hard but vital skill to learn for people with this mentality to admit that they need help- that the shelter needs support.
We have a good team though- so let the rain fall.
The world itself feels like it falling down too. The “firehose” in my phone feels like an impossible bombardment of sorrow, anger, and terror.
It’s scary to be a Jew in America right now. It’s even more troubling for a leftist Jew who now has to wonder- bitterly- who of their non-Jewish friends would step up against their own groups to protect them from the antisemitic rhetoric and violence we keep seeing… and who would wrap a scarf around their faces and scream for “global intifada.”
How do you find shelter from this when your heart is breaking and wants you to hide, but pride and anger claim you have to stand out and stare at it all full in the face?
I haven’t belonged to a real synagogue or Jewish congregation since before I moved out to Oregon. Finding Jews or a Jewish community out here felt almost laughable- the joke that “Portland has figured out how to have a diverse and inclusive city, as long as it’s mostly white” hits a bit differently when that “whiteness” is conditional.
My therapist suggested I try, though, not necessarily because I find comfort in faith- I never have, preferring spirituality and action to prayers and hope. Instead, he suggested, I seek out a congregation to find shelter in a community– people whom I won’t have to explain my concerns, fears, and values to right now simply because they will understand them if not entirely share them. It will be enough for them to simply be people who “get it.”
Shelter is something we all need when the rain falls. We should be ready to build one for ourselves and be prepared to shelter others under us… but there’s no shame in reaching out to find shelter in others.
Stay Classy,
The Black Hat Baker 