Dear Feastlings,
Everything waxes and wanes, I know. It will appear, fleetingly, like we’re back on track and we’ll ready ourselves to reopen on Sundays and start broadening what we do, only for someone to text at 5:30 ask for the day off, only to disappear. Which by this point I’ve come to regard as polite, as it beats simply not showing up *without* a text.
That said, the effect of all this is indisputably cumulative. A micrometer at a time, one’s resolve to keep going wears away as whatever hope was still hiding out in the interstices of our daily routine gets spent on placing more help wanted ads and scheduling interviewees who fail to appear. Sigh.
I know. I gripe. I’m ashamed of how much I gripe. But it means very little. Please know that most of these emails are just healthy catharsis- no one needs to fret or bother about it. I’m more than happy just to get it off my chest and continue to plunge ahead writing menus and preparing wine tastings, like the one this Saturday that’s rife with delicious Southern French treats.
And really, frustrating as it is, it’s really caused some of the crew here to step up and show what they’re made of, which, it happens, is very sturdy and impressive stuff. Thanks, you remarkable coworkers. I adore you, and you impress the heck out of me daily. I’m lucky to work with you, and you keep me coming back, even when my interstitial hope is temporarily missing. You’re the best.
Love,
Doug