Zen and the Art of Potato Peeling

I stood at the sink last night, peeling Yukon Gold potatoes. They were from Sam’s and roughly the size and shape of a partially deflated softball. The skin on the Yukon Gold potato (if you’ve never seen one and are interested in tuber skins) could be called “delicate,” particularly since “dainty” doesn’t seem to fit something as earthy and ugly as a potato. Yet, said skin is dainty, and delicate, and thin, and comes off easily with my very manly fire-engine red KitchenAid TM peeler.

Growing up we used a rickety peeler:




Its tiny frame and wobbly blade belied its deadliness…I still bear the marks of its razor sharp edge finding my own skin rather than the potato’s. Note that “it finding” here means that I believe that rickety peeler was demon possessed. I mean, look at it...It just screams...and it does so using the same chords as heard in that classic documentary on bed and breakfasts called “Psycho.”

But the KitchenAid Euro-peeler is a beast:




A handsome, fat handle and large blade set into an arcing frame. This is a peeler to make potatoes shudder…it makes them bow to the power of its sturdy girth…nay… it makes the potato practically peel itself!

BWA-ha-haha-ha-hahahaah!

So I’m standing at my kitchen sink, peeling Yukon Gold (or rather watching the potato jump out of its skin as I wave my manly KitchenAid Euro-peeler threateningly nearby) and I realize:

I was thoroughly enjoying peeling potatoes.

The fire was blazing, it was cold outside, Meghan was working on a project, Kevin was on his way home, Libby was laying at my feet and drooling, Peanut was laying under the still up artificial Christmas tree, and Fluffy the Hamster was still frozen…and I was…

Content.

But it was more than that. It was the pleasant, unforced contentedness of simply being…of taking a task and accomplishing it with capable tools and with ease…and seeing that it was good. Of watching my daughter moving in her gift of creating videos and knowing that it (and she) is good. Of a grateful heart for a husband who works hard in his gifting and who gladly provides (in God) pleasant surroundings in which I can peel my potato and realizing that he is good. And, deep down, resting in the glow of my Creator who made me to enjoy work and being and mothering and wifing and worshiping and being completely sure that he is utterly good.

I realize that there is flawed theology in that last paragraph. Please don’t burst my contented bubble this week….

because PMS arrives next week.

I am,

Currently Contented and Hormonally Stable

Marcy