Reciprocating nuances

Sometimes it really doesn’t take very much at all. Just a soupçon can turn a simple meal into a plat, a walk into an event or the basic need to talk to someone into an unequalled opportunity to extend friendship beyond its boundaries.

At one time or another, we all experience situations where the slightest bifurcation from the anticipated course has given rise to considerable and usually unexpected results.

Sometimes good results, sometimes not so good.

Maybe it’s the slightness of the deviation itself that takes us aback, maybe it’s the unpredictability of the occurrence that irks us (yes, we all expect to know what to expect) or maybe it’s because it invariably occurs outside our control; one thing for sure, we are all subject to the effects of life’s nuances.

I realised this most when a close friend permanently altered the traditional component of the Christmas supper I have been serving for decades.

I had never anticipated the outcome when I invited her to help me out with the meal preparations, nor did either of us perceive her subsequent decision as all that big a deal.

But as any cook will concede, it doesn’t take a tidal wave in the kitchen to have one’s culinary reset button pressed. The nuance, or nudge in this instance, was nothing more than each of us having a different perception of tourtière.

Being a Townshipper, my version sees the pie mainly composed of ground meats and spices; my counterpart being from the Saguenay will use only meat that has been specially half-diced and half-mangled, along with a careful selection of vegetables.

Adding insult to pie injury, my friend referred in abjection to my concept of this Christmas comfort food as a simple and lowly meat pie, and to her own as the only true plat, the meritorious bearer of the namesake, and long departed bird, the tourte.

What made the entire episode even more difficult to contend with was that her pie was better, dare I say, far better. Christmas supper henceforth altered. But why? I wondered. How could such a slight alteration in composition make such a difference? Which ingredient…

A couple of weeks ago I was taking a long walk through town with a few workmates on a day off. Knowlton was wearing a winter shawl as proudly as ever, the sun shone on us as it does on such crispy days as people milled about their business just as usual.

That’s the point; everything was normal. We toured around on our weekly venture, finally settling on one of several great cafés and sipped a large hot latté, like we have dozens of times before.

In the café, I came across other friends who, after introductions, initiated an exchange of banter with my workmates. Suddenly all clicked; exchanges became commentary then ribbings and finally witticism. Something had sparked a volley of glances, smiles and laughter - but what?

As I watched, I witnessed the emergence of a nearly tangible feeling of contentment between everyone involved, as if the emerging, albeit fortuitous, relationship had for some time inhabited at least part of everyone present.

Something slight, apparently veiled, a nuance of sorts, I surmised, had precipitated an unexpected and singular sociological happening. What infinitesimal force could have had such a shared impact on a disparate group of people? What influence…

I received a call this week from a long time friend, a hard-working career lawyer with whom I have the chance cup of Starbuck’s and enjoy the comfort that comes from catching up on each other’s life dénouements.

But this call was different. There was turmoil and heartache between the trebles in her voice. Life had dumped another trump card before her on the table, while the hand she had been dealt held little if anything to help her get off the ropes.

From the call transpired the kind of deep exhaustion of soul that comes with those long uphill marathons of contending with the frustration of rarely, if ever, ending up on the up-side of rigged coin tosses.

Where there is heartache, there is desperation, and both were very present that night. We talked, she recounted, I listened. There was nothing lining up at all nicely, when out of nowhere I heard a smile through the pain that had dragged her into the conversation.

It was barely perceptible but in the darkness of her voice, it was discernable. A tiny glimmer of intonation, a nanosecond’s worth of light that tuned my ear, a nuance, only and boldly, a nuance.

Within minutes her voice bore all the resemblances of life’s unimpeachable valour, all of the strength that fuels people on their way along their chosen paths. Just a nuance and yet, a complete reversal in disposition - but a nuance of what? What disposition…

As I wondered about how everything in life seems to be in constant change, how collisions of occurrences redirect people, their efforts as well as their intentions, it occurred to me that a common denominator must be at work - or at play for that matter.

I looked back at the trilogy of the clash of the tourtières, the walkers’ café laugh-in and the desolate-to-inspirited phone call and realised that each did offer an explanation as to what may have occurred. There was in fact a common denominator.

It wasn’t an ingredient, nor an influence nor a disposition but the active presence of friendship that was at play. Closeness to people brings a nuance as sublime as a passing sunbeam, lighting in each of us possibilities, probabilities, eventualities.

A friend’s tourtière warms the body, a friend’s laughter warms the heart and a friend’s smile warms the soul.

So tell me who your friends are and I’ll tell you who you are nuancing and who is nuancing you in return. Nothing huge, nothing grandiose or apparent; just a nuance, and that can often be more than enough…