"You think too much like the others."
Mal was the vision of glorified human imperfection. Those who listened to him casually sometimes saw a troublemaker and at other times perceived a goofball. Those who really paid attention knew that he was one of life's teachers, an older man who had experienced much in life and had a message to impart. You had to listen with your ears tuned in and your mind on full alert. It also didn't hurt to listen between the lines.
Hey baby
You're a little high strung
Stay a while
Just a little while
Stop fighting everything in sight
Stop trying to convince everyone else
Try convincing yourself
"People try too hard to be original.
That makes them all the same."
Rushing to judgment is a lot of fun. Nothing beats a brief wispy cloud of a superiority complex to pass the time. Is that all you need to make life palatable? Isn't there kind of a bad taste in your mouth that rolls around behind the tongue after you've mocked an associate for their less than critically sound taste in music, movies or fishing lures? Mal had a simple answer. Basil.
People are on the go today
Not much time for cooking with class
Food in a box is quick and easy
Drive-thru windows are calling your name
Stop, look and listen
Do you hear that sound?
Sounds like basil, sweet basil
And it is calling your name
"Do you realize what bland food is doing to people?" Mal would ask as he walked through the break room and watched one of our co-workers heating up canned ravioli in the microwave. Mal was fully aware that this co-worker was about to treat himself to a terrible day. He would eat his bland ravioli and spend the afternoon remembering how good the food his mother cooked when he was a young boy really was. He would wistfully remember meals he paid top dollar for in expensive Italian restaurants. Mal had an answer. He could not let this man head into the rest of his day with that kind of burden. Mal pulled back his jacket to reveal a holster on his belt. I paused for a moment, thinking that perhaps he had a gun. After all, we were working at the post office in those days and we'd heard all of the stories. My concern would not last long. Mal drew forth a plastic tube containing dried flakes of basil. As he tossed it to our co-worker I watched in amazement. The jar spinning in mid-air was like a revelation. As our co-worker caught the jar, his dour expression turned to glee. This basil was just the thing to add excitement and flavor to his canned, flavorless ravioli.
Telling Mal that I, myself, had little experience with basil caused his brow to furrow. He patted me on the back and told me to wait for him before leaving work for the day. Nervously, I agreed, and at quitting time I followed him in my car to the grocery store. There he opened my eyes. We found basil in the spice aisle as well as amongst the fresh herbs. He filled my basket with a wide assortment of both, reminding me that I would need to learn when to use basil in its different forms. Once outside, he took me aside and spoke to me in hushed tones as he handed me a small, green notebook. "These are my secret basil recipes. Not only that, but intimate knowledge of the other powers of basil. The world will be yours now. I am passing along the secret, for you are my chosen messenger."
A mere six months later, Mal died. The heavy doses of morphine the doctors were injecting into his bloodstream had little to do with the self-satisfied smile on his face. A life filled with basil, and knowing he could trust me with this incredible knowledge about its powers, had lead him to die peacefully and without regret. His dignity and grace I will always remember. Especially when I reach for the basil.
Life not going your way? Add basil.