I was cooking.
Actually, I was cleaning.
Before one can cook, one must clean to make space. And it was all good until I thought about all the cleaning to come – the pots & pans & bowls & spoons & spatulas & whisks & knife & boards I would dirty along the way.
For a moment, I resented all of the pots & pans & bowls & spoons & spatulas & whisks & knife & boards.
I accused them of distracting from the process of cooking… except they are a part of the process, inevitable to it, integral to the flow, critical to getting the sausage made.
Or, more likely in our home, the eggplant and cashew cream casserole.
But you know what I mean.
What if we lived as if everything was integral to the process?