Crying Over Cauliflower -- Devon, England

The last few days have seen things gradually slumping into the sea. The yoga class I taught for Harriet was uncomfortable because my host kept interrupting me to tell the other students about "how we do it in Sivananda yoga" and to ask me complicated questions about alignment and contraindications.

Are you trying to make me look incompetent? 

As mentioned previously, Harriet took away my primary job as cook, saying during our Friday meeting, "I love cooking, too. I would much rather be in the kitchen listening to podcasts and making food than all that work in the office. And Michael -- I love drawing. I'm trained as an artist, you know. Yes, that was my original training... but I've been too busy running this business to draw at all. So I get to watch you cook and watch you draw and I guess what I'm saying is that I'm a little jealous."

"That's understandable," Michael murmured.

 "Great," Harriet stole back the stage. "Now Aimee, if you want to cook on your own time, then by all means, you go right ahead. But I don't want you cooking on my time, do you see? There are more important things to be done around here now that Tess and Amber are coming back."

"Okay."

"You just swallowed an emotion. What was that emotion you just swallowed?" the half piercing, half vacant buggy blue eyes stared into mine. 

I spent the rest of my working hours washing bathroom floors and going around to all of Harriet's facebook friends and "liking" their pictures/statuses.

"If we want them to "like" us, it's only fair that we "like" them. Isn't it, now? Just make sure you say things that I would say. Positive things. Umm... like, "sending you lots of love" and "wishing you all the best". Yes. Waheguru."

I spread so much Harriet love that afternoon. Waheguru. 

Yesterday's first... umm... crisis was related to how left out she's been feeling around Michael and me. In my past experience volunteering for people who host multiple helpers, it's kind of expected that volunteers bond and keep each other company. My considerate host from Germany deliberately hosted two at a time -- even though the work could have been done by one -- just so we wouldn't feel so alone. But perhaps Harriet understands that Michael and I need each other to cope with her unique kind of crazy, so she does whatever she can to not feel left out. When we're making wheatgrass juice in the kitchen, she'll blaze in, catch the last bit of conversation --

"What did you do in South Africa, Michael?"

-- and then have us repeat enough of the story until she can swipe it away from us and turn it into hers.

"Yes, that reminds me. When I went to India as a 20s something, I --"

Mmm... breathe, Bourget. This woman probably has a lot of loneliness she's working through. 

The next explosion caught me completely off guard. I had prepared some curried cauliflower popcorn for myself and Michael the night before (on my own time), and had only used the florets of the cruciferous veggie (as one does when making cauliflower popcorn). In my family, we've always bunged the cauliflower greens in the trash and used the stalks and heads in the cooking. However, the first time I cooked cauliflower in Aetherius House, Harriet went compost diving to retrieve the greens, saying with a shocked, disapproving look, "These are so healthy! Perfectly good, organic cauliflower that you've just bunged! The leaves are my favorite bit and taste delicious in a good curry."

So when I made my cauliflower popcorn (Harriet had been off teaching a class in Barnstaple), I carefully put the leaves in a tupperware and stacked them above the leftover soup in the leftover fridge.

Good. Now she won't be able to gripe about me wasting precious organic veg. 

But people who gripe can always find something about which to gripe. Because I'd actually saved the leaves, she chose to bluster on at me for not using the whole damn thing.

"You're like a little princess, coming and taking all the best bits and leaving the bad for the rest of us," she sputtered as she waved the tupperware of leaves at me.

"I'm sorry," I shook my head in bewilderment. "I thought you liked those parts. You told me you put them in curry."

"No, no I don't believe that's what you were thinking at all. I don't believe you."

"I honestly -- "

"And I never said I liked the leafy bits. I said not to throw them out because that's wasteful. In my family, we always ate the whole cauliflower."

"I'm --"

"But I want to hear your side. What were you thinking when you only used the best parts? Like a princess, coming into MY house and making me feel... I'm feeling very angry now. Yes, yes, all sorts of angry emotions are coming up."

"I'm sorry. I really did think you liked those -- "

"I do not like those parts and I certainly didn't say that I did."

"Do you  mind if I take a quick walk? I'm having a hard time --" I glanced past the little woman and at the door, throat tightening as tears threatened. Are we really still going on about cauliflower? 

"If anyone is going for a walk, I think it should be me," Harriet headed dramatically towards the kitchen door and then turned around to face me.

"No. No, we're going to sit down and sort this through right now," she motioned for me to sit at the table and I numbly settled down next to the heater. "Cooking has been so difficult since you've been here. Usually we just eat soup, lentils and rice," she repeated for the umpteenth time. "But now that you and Michael are doing this low-carb thing, it completely throws our system on its head. You never told me anything about this before you came. At least Rosie had the decency to let me know what she could and could not eat."

"I didn't say anything because it usually isn't a big deal," I kept my voice as calm as possible. "If my hosts are eating rice and lentils, I just make myself some eggs. But you asked what we wanted to eat, so we told you. We feel better when we eat more protein and less carbs."

She paused.

"You're right. I did ask. Thank-you for reminding me. But I can't have you cooking everything, you see? Who knows what you're likely to throw away. And if I let you cook for just yourself, I might end up eating only cauliflower leaves."

I wanted to look the Jack Skellington character in her blazing blue eyes and ask, "Is this really about the cauliflower?" but I didn't dare. I kept my hands in my lap and my eyes on my hands.

Eight more days, Bourget. God, I am never eating cauliflower again. 

"Of course, now we'll probably all have to eat cauliflower leaves because that's all we have left, isn't it? Isn't it?" she leaned in.

And I broke.

"FUCKING CAULIFLOWER," I whisper screamed as I turned my head away from her so that she'd only half-see the tears rolling down my face.

Maybe she just needed to know she had the power to make someone cry. Maybe she just needed to see me broken.

"It's not just about the cauliflower," she said as I choked back tears. "It was the straw that broke the camel's back. I came in here, wanting to make lunch, and to see... to see that after everything else that's happened..."

"I understand."

"I overreacted. I apologize for overreacting."

"It's okay."

"I knew I should have meditated before I came downstairs to make soup. Why don't you take the rest of the day off? Do what you need to do to feel better."

"Okay."

"I'm going upstairs to take a nap. I'm feeling very tired. There are some sweet potatoes in the oven and you can make a salad for lunch in fifteen minutes." 

I grabbed my bag, put on my shoes and headed down to the beach. All that anger had made me sick to my stomach and lunch sounded as good to me as cauliflower greens sounded to Harriet.

Halfway there, good sense slowed my prancing, jittery feet to a halt. 

If I don't tell anyone where I'm going, it's just going to cause another explosion. I don't want to face her again right now, but I don't want to deal with anger later on. Or make Michael deal with anger. 

So I reluctantly forced myself back up the hill and through the doors. I found Michael in the kitchen.

"Where did you go?"

"I was walking to the beach. I came back because I thought it would be best to let people know where I'm going."

He nodded understandingly. "You want company?"

"You want to deal with me being all emotional and angsty?"

"Sure," he put his lunch in a tupperware. "I'll just go tell Harriet."

"Good luck."

He returned about twenty minutes later.

"What happened?"

"Just... more information. Let's go," he pulled on his boots and grabbed his scarf.

It took three hours of watching waves and happy dogs before we felt well enough to walk back.

Eight more days. 
 
I caught a ride into Barnstaple that evening to teach an intermediate yoga vinyasa class to a group of twelve students, all eager to physically challenge themselves. It felt so energizing, encouraging, liberating to lead this group through the flow of beautiful postures that I forgot about my issues at Harriet's B&B and got completely lost in the joy of teaching.

I always have this. No matter what happens, this is something that is MINE, I thought as I locked the studio door and hopped into the car with Dan.