Sandwiched in the Moment

In the still, quiet of early morning, I make the conscious decision to not turn on the television. Whatever is happening in the world will have to wait. As well, I break with tradition and do not turn on my computer. I don’t wish to burden my mind, heart, and soul with the infinite woes of the always troubled outside world. I do, however, go check on the pulled pork that had been slow cooking in the crock pot overnight, get a fresh pot of coffee going, load and start the dishwasher, and wipe down all the countertops. My focus right now is inward, and I must concentrate to limit my thoughts and actions to the immediate sphere of self and home.

As the coffee pot percolates in rhythmic breaths, I too, consciously breathe in and

out…slowly…in and out…deeply…in and out…concentrating solely on the act of breathing. I feel relaxed and at peace. The sense of calm is further enhanced by the soothing aroma of fresh brewing coffee. Poof! The moment shatters with the very noticeable absence of breathing coming from the coffee pot. The light is now green. Coffee’s ready!

Fixing myself a mug, I try my best to concentrate solely on the process, and not let my mind wander as it so easily does when I don’t consciously curb it. I walk outside to catch the sun as it begins to rise, taking a seat in a chair on the balcony. Randomly raising the mug and sipping, I gaze out across the rich green vegetation before me: coconut palms, mangroves, the plentiful indigenous trees and bushes. Through a wide opening along the skyline, the emerald green waters of the Atlantic meet up with the cloudless, baby blue sky. I dwell on these pleasing visuals, limiting my thoughts to the greens, the blues, and the browns: all so undemanding, so un-stressful, so wonderfully “there.” Ah yes, it truly is another beautiful day in paradise.

Going inside to replenish my coffee, I’m greeted by a houseful of potted plants, which, I remember, are overdue for watering. The second cup of Joe must wait as I tend first and foremost to the needs of my vegetative pets. Filling a pitcher, I water one at a time. I study the condition of each, its growth, and offer just enough water to make it happy. I struggle to maintain my thoughts only on the plants, on my tending them, on watering them, on the pleasure they give me so unselfishly, demanding so little from me in return.

Taking the pitcher back into the kitchen, my eyes hone in on the tomatoes that had been set out on a plate to ripen, and oh how ripened they have become! I want to stop everything and sink my teeth into one of those succulent, bright red delights. God, how I used to love going out into the garden as a boy out on eastern Long Island, hunting for a big, ripe, juicy tomato, picking it off the vine, and savoring every mouth watering, delicious bite. I confess, sometimes the hunt was shamelessly premeditated, bringing along a shaker of salt. Mom used to make the best bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches. Greg, you’re wandering, No, wait a minute…I’ve got bacon already fried and crispy, a spring mix of lettuce, these awesome tomatoes, and a fresh loaf of oatmeal bread. What an awesome breakfast this could be. I can’t remember the last time I actually enjoyed a homemade BLT. My whole universe has now become a sandwich. What else could possibly be of greater importance right now other than making myself one? Nothing at all.

The loaf of bread is unsliced, the way I remember it had always been at my grandparent’s house (on mom’s side). As such, one may decide just how thick or thin a piece to have. How easily the mind wanders, when one lets up on one’s mental focus. Getting back to the sandwich, I study the loaf, giving it a gentle squeeze. It must weigh at least a pound. My grandfather (on my dad’s side) had been a baker. He died when I was just a baby, but predicted that I would be the first family member to return to Germany. His prediction came true. I wonder what a loaf of oat bread he had baked might have been like. See? There went my mind again! Knife in hand, I saw through the mound creating two evenly cut slices, roughly 7/8th inches each, and place them side by side on a plate.

Before going any further, I place the previously cooked bacon strips in the oven to warm. While waiting, I get the mayonnaise out of the refrigerator and proceed to spread a hefty helping onto both slices of bread – not feeling the least bit guilty (please don’t tell my doctor!). That accomplished, I carefully select leaves from the spring mix box of lettuce, placing them onto one slice of mayo slathered bread. There’s a nice variety to choose from, including some baby spinach. The L in this BLT is going to be wonderfully diversified in color, as well as texture.

I select the biggest tomato from the plate, tossing it into the air and catching it a few times. (Don’t ask me why. I don’t know.) It has weight, substance, firmness, and color. I almost don’t want to slice it; it looks so good. But I take comfort in knowing that if not enjoyed now, it wouldn’t look that great much longer. Besides, it’s about to become part of the best sandwich ever. The vegetable knife had just recently been sharpened, so I exercise great care in slicing the sacrificial fruit into even ¼ inch slices, placing them with artistic flair upon the lettuce leaves, then sprinkling them with salt and pepper. Last, but not least, I fetch the warmed bacon strips from the oven, pile them on top, and complete the ensemble by adding the other slice of bread. Voila! I just built me one hell of a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich! It is going to be so, SO good!

Setting the plate with the sandwich upon the dining room table, I feel it’s too important a moment not to add a little something extra to the ambiance: a lighted candle. I sent the large ornately sculptured candle to my mother from Berlin, Germany, when serving in the military there. She’s been gone from us since 1980, but the candle still remains. I only light it for holidays and special occasions such as this one. Placing it in the middle of the table, I strike a wooden match, and once again its wick is aglow. I sense a comforting spirit in the room. I’m now ready to begin.

Picking the generously stacked sandwich up with both hands, I raise it to my eagerly awaiting mouth. Locating just the right spot along the crust, I slowly, but with purpose, sink my teeth deep within it. Passing through the bread from above and below, my teeth cut through the layers finding what I expected all along – pure heaven. Suddenly my mouth has become a cornucopia of pleasurable tastes and textures. I smelled the bacon right before tasting it, right before feeling its crispy crunchiness. Chewing, the creamy mayonnaise blends with the succulent, juiciness of the tomato; the individual tastes resonating with richness amid the textural subtleties of the lettuce. Yes, salt and pepper, I detect your presence, faintly, but ever so meaningfully adding to the culinary concerto; in much the same way that wooden blocks against sandpaper, and finger cymbals delicately accentuate a symphony. The juices in the sandwich together with the saliva in my happy mouth melt the oat bread into all the other goodness, and then…and then…I swallow.

Each subsequent bite offers a glorious rendition of its immediate predecessor. Bite after bite, chew after chew, swallow after swallow, the pleasure continues up to the very last bit of awesomeness. There is nowhere but here. There is no time but now. I am one with the sandwich, and it has now become one with me. I’ve no thought as to what the rest of the day may bring my way. It needn’t bring me anything more. Feeling content and fully satisfied, I free my mind to wander as I gaze into the flickering flame.

~g Tristan tarot