The crock pot mornings...

In the last week or so, I have had the strong inclination to make baked beans. I love the process of making beans from scratch......it feels so organic and mindful. There isn't anyway to make good baked beans without participating in a ritual which lasts two days. I am not sure what I was looking forward to more.....the delicious, wholesome taste of homemade baked beans or the centering process of imagining the beans being picked in the sunshine of a summer sun, carefully washing them and soaking them in fresh clean water (we are so fortunate for this gift), and cooking them with herbs and spices, that are also so generously made available to us.

I soaked the beans last night, and as they need to cook for 6 to 8 eight hours, got up early this morning to make the beans and put them in the crock pot. I had an early appointment with a cherished client, and needed to do the beans before I left the house. I found myself in a quiet house, in the near dark kitchen, barely dressed making the beans.

Memories flooded by me. This crock pot moment was so familiar. I had forgotten about the many mornings that I had frantically put the meal in the crock pot in the quiet, dark, kitchen barely dressed. I realized that I was never present in that kitchen. The thoughts, which drew me faraway from the present felt sense of my feet carrying me down the hall way, were obsessively clutching to the response to a question that I would be asked very near the end of my day. My mind having skipped breakfast, the ride to work, the clients that I would see that day, the ride home......my thoughts were focused on a moment very much later in the day, when my son and my husband would look at me and say, "what's for dinner?". My obsession was fueled by the value that I put on having the "right" answer to that question. I could not fail at this task of wife and mother. This task took top priority in my life. What value would I have if I could not feed the people who I needed to love me the most. Opps! Did I just say that? What a disappointment I would be? What would disappointing them mean to me? What if I failed at the job that I was trying to do the best? What place would this leave me in? I could feel myself disappearing just remembering.

All I can say is "it is so hard not to know". The one blame is this confusing life and the desperate ways we try to feel safe. Shinning a light underneath the "proper" behaviour is what I would advocate for all the young women who are carrying a burden.

My beans are ready for dinner.