Spring will come

This was actually from a colder day in January.

It was one of those bitterly cold Mondays, where just the air hurts your face and work makes you want to stick your face into a bag of potato chips. Luckily I had chicken stew in the crock pot to come home to and a roommate to cook the rice and sesame greens I had pulled out of the freezer; so I was able to feed my salt craving in time to catch the bus to meditation.

The session was on fear, stopping the loop of thoughts that we pile onto this emotion creating hindrances.  The preferable alternative is to pause, relax, and be open to what is. But first during the meditative sit, I took a huge pause and fell asleep. I don’t mean just a little slip into a deeper relaxation, I am talking about head jerking, starting to drool sleep, the kind that would get you a sharp nudge from your mother during church kind of sleep. Apparently my path to enlightenment must start with going to bed a lot earlier so I can be open to all my fears of the future. And apparently learning to let go of the mental composition of flavors in the vinaigrette I want to make for tomorrow’s nicoise salad so I can pay attention to the discussion.

On the way home I am still struggling to pass up my craving for potato chips. In the front door to the warmth, I heat a cup of milk.  And I am struck with brilliance, toast! I can usually pass on toast but I spy a fresh loaf of white bread my house mate has recently bought on top of the refrigerator. For all intensive purposes white bread has become a pleasant memory of the past skipped over for more virtuous whole grain bread. But there it is and memories of breakfast or a late night snack at my Grandmother’s wash over me. She lightly toasted the bread in a toaster oven so that the butter pats could melt into the bread as it toasted and then thick cool think homemade blackberry jam picked in the heat of summer from the brambles spreads over making the most perfect piece of happiness. And tonight I treat myself to white bread toast complete with butter, and my own homemade jam, this time from sour cherries a new adaptation to my more northern clime and one that reminds me there are some benefits to living farther north and spring will come.