This past week, I was at the boundary waters in Minnesota with 20 men, some I have known for 30 years. We see each other infrequently, and we know each other so well. We came up in this work together, we were the beginnings of the New Warriors in Milwaukee and Chicago.
My intentions were clear and simple: unplug, slow down, connect deeply. Men worked, cutting logs for the fire, going fishing, building a new outhouse on Joe’s property, men at work. I am a different kind of man, that stuff does not excite me. I would rather cook.
This photo below was taken in Siracusa, Sicilia in 1910. My grandmother (last one standing on right) was 10 years old. At 17, she came across the Atlantic to Ellis Island. Married at 20, a son at 21, my mother at 22, her name was Sebastiana Tine Cusimano. She spoke broken English, loved me with all her heart, and was an extraordinary cook.
Many years ago, I had a dream about grandmothers. They are alive in me, they are the feminine aspect of my soul. Gracefully dancing the masculine & feminine has been the conscious work of my lifetime. There is a mountain in the Catalinas, I see it almost every morning. I call her mi Nona, my grandmother.
Originally published 8/6/19Back