An Ode (auhhh, maybe not an ode, but I like the title) to the Sigh

My children say I sigh. Usually when I am in the kitchen. They make fun of me. Sigh behind my back and giggle.

What are you giggling about? Auhhh…..they say.

Do I sigh? Really? Do I?

Yes, mom. You sigh.

The kitchen at one time pleased me. This time has passed. Now I sigh (so I am told) as I wash the counter. Marinate a chicken breast. Clean a greasy pan. Make breakfast….again.

The sigh, the sound of the martyr. Auhhh. The sound of poor, distressed me. Universal, I suppose amongst many women. The sigh says, Save me from this. Take me away….I am a victim. And I certainly don’t want to be that person, right……?

Well, so what if you are that person in a moment (or several). So what if you are acting as The Sighing Martyr in your one-act play. Hating her moment. Resisting her work. Despising her routine. Bored and frustrated by her life. So what. I never wanted to be The Sighing Martyr. I hate people like that, right? Well I did. But of course me hating that part of them is also me hating that part of me- and hating something doesn’t clear the way. Loving might not either (if you force it), but laughing at it might.

I hear myself sighing now- and before my sigh’s hhh’s hit the air, I laugh. I think of my girls making fun of me, Auhhh-ing around the house (thinking, yeah- you just wait). I think of my inner martyr and how tortured she thinks she is, and how she wants to make everything a dramatic event. It’s funny. And it eases her.

What are you doing right now…………………………..? (Duh, your are reading this…Okay, before this….?)

Before I wrote this most inspired sentence, I was procrastinating. Trying to find a way out of my writing. Help me. Save me. (The martyr is quite adaptable. She can put on an apron and pick up a pen- in this case throw the pen) I watched me act her out, as together we have procrastinated many times. I usually judge myself/her/we for this. This time I didn’t. I loved myself/her/we for it (and I didn’t force it).

I love you for all that you do (and don’t do)– can you say this to yourself? If not, can you at least laugh at yourself?

When we can laugh and love, we take the u out of auhhh and it becomes ahhhh. The u is what gets offended. The u is who carries a story of what you u think u are. What u think u should do. Of what u hate and hope u are not. You are more than what u think/fear/believe.

Ahhhhhhhh…………………..

Namaste,

The Soul Reporter

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?