I’ll Meet You In The Kitchen
When my husband asked last night, “How do you plan to follow the election results?” I couldn’t answer. I didn’t want to be dragged through speculation, but did I have the discipline to stay away from social media and the news until it was done? I went to bed.
I woke up this morning, Election Day, to a miracle. Our internet was out. I could make calls and access a few apps on my phone, but the myriad of opinion-bloated “news” outlets weren’t available. How ironic. How much of a gift was that?!
I made tea, read Pema Chodron meditations, and journaled. I walked, talked with a friend, and read an excellent article about a woman keeping her relapse secret after 11 years of sobriety. I put away clothes, and then what? What do you do when waiting for an outcome you are not even sure you will believe when it happens?
I didn’t plan to make spring rolls or oatmeal cookies, but that’s where I found myself – mechanically pulling baking ingredients and boiling rice noodles at 9 in the morning. I stirred, and rolled, and thought without guilt – do I add chocolate chips and pistachios to the cookies? Tofu and zucchini to the spring rolls? As I cooked, I noticed my heart had slowed, a softer mind, and a gentler thought: Millions are heading to the polls today, and we are ALL a jitter. Meet me in the kitchen where good things can happen.
I thought about the cookies I make for my friends in Durango and said prayers for those there who are digging out from the mud. I thought of how we gather beyond political party lines to supply and staff food banks, and contribute to groups like World Central Kitchen in care of communities in war and devastation. I smiled as my husband walked into the kitchen and shared an e-mail from a friend in France who said he is hoping for good results. I stirred, and sliced, and as I did, I felt respect and well wishes for my country, our voting process, and for all of her people – every single one of us. I’ll meet you in the kitchen, and there we might share a cookie and sip some tea, and dream about what we might cook up next.
Last Walk
I set out with intentions to just walk. To be present. To look. To meet the hills where they are, as they are – asking nothing in return other than having the privilege of one last walk.
It rained last night, leaving a few welcome puddles along the curb and small dusty pools of water on the hood of the car that will take us home tomorrow. The residual cloud cover seemed fitting to my mood.
Continue reading Last WalkI Almost Missed It
Yes, that is a lost, faded froggie pencil-topper on the side of the road. At first I thought it may have been a crushed robin egg, but of course not. It is autumn. At first, I walked on past it, but curiosity made me retrace my steps, lean down, take a closer look, and if I hadn’t – I would have missed it.
Continue reading I Almost Missed ItThings Change
We’ve been here long enough to watch things change, as they do – cattails burst giving up of themselves, seedlings for next spring; the littlest of fawns growing up a bit, their soft white spots fading into tawny shades of brown; and orange cones removed, revealing fresh asphalted streets made ready for winter.
I am humbled by this chance to be in one place of beauty for more than a day. I am inspired and reminded to not get stuck or too in love with the ways things were when we arrived, and consider the present state – of the cattails, the fawns, the asphalt – as one shape of the process not the beginning or ending or whole of itself. Like me.
I’ve been here long enough to watch things change in me, and practice releasing what I cling to as unmovable suffering or ultimate sublime.
The Warmth Of The Sun
A little winded, I sat on the bench overlooking first – the ad hoc grassy pitch, then the sidewalk, the road, then the hill to the east and sky. Breathing in, breathing out, I pressed my back against the green grid backrest, shifting my line of sight from left to right, from right to left. And there it was – the slightest temperature change on my face as I turned toward and away from the sun. Shifting sunlight and shadows against my cheek carries sensations I had not noticed until just this moment on this bench.
It’s a delightful reminder – light carries warmth. Denied if I’m busy, irrefutable if I am still and present.
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A sweater for my Soul
