Excellent The cautionary tales of the kitchen A Particular Friendship : A Convent Kitchen by Liz O'Neill

Background We are getting to laugh at the foibles revealed with Lizzy in her Noviate years, her training years Previously: I've been discussing my therapeutic plan to refrain from using sweets to insulate myself when I've been emotionally harmed.  The previous recorded scenario involved my aunt criticizing me for eating out of a small jar of peanuts in place of a large piece of bundt cake as the others were enjoying.  It felt good to remain strong. I could have easily retaliated by angrily going into the designated pantry and grabbing a giant piece of cake. I did not. That would be like eating poison and waiting for the enemy to die.  *******  I admittedly did have a negative moment later that evening causing me to graze, looking for anything sweet to eat. One of my affirmations is I don't have to insulate myself.  With all the many recent difficult times I had at work being targeted by adult bullies, and tattlers, and being set up on occasion,  I never found a need to insulate myself. I knew it was about them, not me.  This is why,  when I went to my mother's kitchen, I said my affirmations instead of going into the pantry to get sweets to falsely believe that was the best way to comfort, nurture, and insulate myself. I felt stronger and better about myself, not having to robotically enter that pantry.  I learned in my work with psychiatric, and substance abuse patients, in situations like this,  we have three functioning levels of our brain. The top level is the part we use to make resolves of ‘I'm not going to do this.’ or ‘I am going to do this.’  Even if we promise ourselves we won't there are two other opposing levels of the brain.  The second level of the brain is the pleasure center. We do not have much chance of complying with any resolves made if the pleasure center is our focus. The third level is the automatic response section. If I threw a ball at your head, no other parts of the brain would need to operate. You wouldn't say, oh I better put my hand up to catch that ball, or it will be painful if I don't. Rather, you immediately and automatically put your hand up to stop that ball from striking your head. The same is true with addiction to sugar or any addiction. A perfect example would be if I saw a platter of cookies on a table during a meeting. For a while, all I could do would be to focus on those cookies. Now here comes the powerlessness of our resolve. I might say I know I am not going to have any cookies from that platter. Nevertheless, on our way out, while in a serious conversation, I reach down and pick up two cookies.  Someone might say ‘You weren't thinking, were you?’ And I would have to say no, thinking would be following my resolve, using the top part of my brain. Eckhart Tolle changed that habitual pattern for me. He has helped me to become more conscious of my less-conscious behaviors. This is a way to continue activating the top part of my brain. A perfect example of this is the time I was snacking from a package of six cookies while performing another task. I was startled when I went to get my last cookie. It was gone. I was the only one in the house at the time. Where could it have gone? You probably guessed it. I had mindlessly eaten the sixth cookie. I still attack snacks automatically, but not as often. ******** A Convent Kitchen         A year before I was supposed to go into the convent, there was a “come and see” gathering where I met another nineteen-year-old named Shelly.  Since she lived only an hour away we spent the following year doing activities together. Finally, September 8th arrived, and it was time to go to the Novitiate, our training grounds. We were quite a team when we had to be in the kitchen for three months at a time.  We got into trouble, but had fun, despite it all. At four-year intervals, beginning with fourth grade, I had to cook for my father while my mother was taking a break from it all in the hospital with an ulcer attack.  I believed I was a good cook.  That belief was to be challenged many times over.   Much of the kitchen time with Shelly was spent on our nineteen-year-old knees for our penance.  As I covered in an earlier chapter, it was not officially for praying, although many prayers were said.  I’d made tuna wiggle many times, one of the favorites Mother taught me.   I’d never prepared it for twenty people, so I was unsure of the proportions of flour and water.  When Shelly & I realized there was about an inch of pie dough consistency at the bottom of the big pot, we knew there would be trouble and seemed to hasten it by laughing and talking when we were supposed to be silent.  Hearing the familiar rattle of the rosary beads worn by the Mistress or head Sister, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.  As customary,  I sank to my knees. When a sister had done something wrong she would receive a penance, such as, to say three Hail Mary’s. We did a lot of cooking on our knees. I wrote about this penance routine in my book titled ‘Tor,’ where we vortexed into the 16th century. You will see a similarity if you have read that book. In the 20th we lived much like monastic monks from as far back as the 15th or 16th century. Regardless of how any cooking came out or tasted, everyone had to eat it.  One of the funniest concoctions Shelly and I developed came about when I had to finish making some cookies.  My only preparation, before leaving on an errand,  was Shelly quickly pointing to the page she was working from. Assuring this would become a cautionary tale, Shelly had no time to specifically note whether I should continue with the top or bottom recipe.   I looked at the ingredients called for, examined the bowl’s contents, and took a guess at which one to follow.  Shelly and I  secretly nicknamed them “puppywinks” after the deed was done.  What else could we do?  Being mutant cookies, they tasted terrible.  I guess the one good thing about people not being able to talk at a meal, would be that no one could complain.  We did look around at the expressions on others’ faces as they bit into the seemingly harmless-looking cookie.   Author Notes If you've read my book 'The Tor,' you will note the bizarre similarity between the described 16th-century monastic life and our Noviate training of the 19th century.

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