mez taps his maple trees in the country, gave us a bucket of sap to boil. result was the greatest maple syrup ever tasted. like a greek myth, flavour had other powers beyond sweetness, restorative powers. one ingredient only and from the inside of a tree! in hebrew school, the word blessed or holy (baruch) permeates everything. everywhere in much of judaism. baruch this baruch that. i didn’t tune into the meaning of thinking that way until reading allen ginsberg years later. he kept equating the word baruch with every dimension of his life. “holy the cocks of the grandfathers of kansas! holy the groaning saxophone! holy the bop apocalypse!” then i grasped he was updating the template from judaic writing exclaiming baruch sex or baruch misery or baruch fame or whatever was happening in life. the maple syrup coming from the tree seems incredible but so is the electricity, so is the door hinge opening so mez could walk into our house, so is the mud on his boots. i don’t know if it’s possible for a person to sustain that type of consciousness, to experience what’s holy about everything, moment to moment, but certain musicians and even certain audience members, try.