Wild Rice

 

Original Posting in 2009:

Frantic. Home from work. Arguing with husband about dinner. Daughter and I are gluten and dairy free. Other daughter and husband are not. I’m irritated. I want us to eat together. But how can we?

I also don’t want to cook. I want to relax. To be fed without effort.

I go into the kitchen deciding I will try a new gluten free recipe- mad.

Thinking, why do I have to cook? I have things I want to do.
Write.
Exercise.
Relax.
Read.

Talk to husband about impending birthday of both our Gemini girls.

I take out the wild rice.
Why must I rinse it?
What a pain in the ass.

It’s getting it all over my hands as I try to wash away whatever I’m supposed to wash away.  And how will I drain it without losing it all down the kitchen sink drain?

I lose some grains.
I go to fill a pot. Let the water boil.
I touch the rinsed wild rice, and it occurs to me, as sometimes happens, this is a moment of opportunity to connect, in this case with my food.

But it doesn’t happen like that, as a thought of something I should do.
It occurs to me through the experience of touching the rice and noticing the sight with my eyes.

I am making food with my hands to nourish my body. Here in this space of homemaker I can reconnect, feel inspired and alive.

We often go from thing to thing missing these kinds of moments. That’s because they are in the spaces of our movement.

Have you had your wild rice moment yet today?

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