The relaxation phase of my retirement is being disrupted this morning by the jarring sound of dueling coffee grinders.
For Christmas, Suzanne gave me a T-shirt that said, “Retired, now I chop vegetables.” But, the reality is that I don’t generally get to my “second calling” until some time in the afternoons. I like to reserve the mornings for luxurious non-productivity, lounging in the dawn darkness, awed by the masses of productive workers, awed that it was not so long ago that mornings were my most productive time.
But this morning things are different around here; my harmony is shattered. Suzanne and Leigh are concocting in the kitchen. They are gathering samplings of the omnipresent hanging herbs and plants that adorn our home, grinding them up, and test-running various combinations. So, the re-purposed coffee grinders are in action, as is the blender, and the steamer. The noise is intrusive.
I’m learning that one of my main roles in this experimental year is to embrace tolerance. Eating entirely local was not my idea of a year well spent. It is something to engage in when there are no other options. Sort of like the glib answers I used to get when asking patients about their exercise habits: “sure, I walk… when my car is broke down,” or “I would run… if something was chasing me,” or “the only reason to swim is to get yourself out of a pickle when your boat sinks.”
So, through tolerance, I must accept and appreciate that Suzanne feels that this project is critical in highlighting the issues of food security in the North. Tolerance does not demand that I agree with her. Nor does it necessarily demand that I participate. But, for now at least, I appreciate that her success in this endeavor is more certain if all the family members participate. So we will.
Now, I’ll head downstairs and see whether the inspirational drinks the girls just created are capable of converting my thoughts ….