Of Orzo and Impermanence

My neighborhood Vons had no orzo.  

It’s the foundation of several of my go-to recipes when I’m sick to death of pasta and rice. Existing in a Twilight Zone between the two, it fools my brain into thinking I’m eating something new and exotic.  

And Vons was out.  

As I scanned the shelves for the second and third time I noticed that they not only were out, but they seemed not to be stocking any of the signature blue boxes of the one pasta brand that used to have it. What is my world coming to?

I don’t know why this is irritating me so. I try to convince myself that I’m not really upset, I mean, who gets upset over orzo? But for some reason when I reach the checkout counter I am compelled to blurt out, in a rather snippish and superior way, “You don’t appear to have any orzo.”  

“What?”  

I could tell that my checker, a twenty-something young man with dark wavy hair, had no idea what I was talking about.  

“Orzo — it’s a pasta.”  

“Oh — well I can have someone go check for you.”  

I don’t want someone to go check. I really just want to complain.  

“No, I already checked. There’s about fifteen different varieties of spaghetti, but no orzo.”  

Now I hear myself talking, and I am almost laughing at myself inside. Am I really about to make a fuss over this? Is a lack of species diversification in the pasta aisle really worth getting up in arms? 

He turns to the woman at the next counter while continuing to ring up my groceries.  

“Natasha, do we carry orzo?”  

Natasha resembles Maria Sharapova if she were about twenty-five years older and had lived her life as an overworked grocery clerk; she’s clearly got some seniority at the store. She looks up at me apologetically. 

“Zhou know, there are so many brands that zome of them get dropped.” 

I nod, wishing now that I had never brought it up in the first place. 

In my exploration of Buddhism that I’ve embarked upon in my quest to make some sense of my inner and outer universe, I keep coming back to the notion of attachment being the root of our suffering in this life. Living the truth of the impermanence of all things sounds somewhat doable when I’m sitting alone in my room reading or meditating, but out in the messy world of real life my fledgling spirituality seems challenged by the most mundane of worldly encounters.  

I’m feeling a bit sheepish about the orzo incident. I mean, I don’t even need it right away! I start to wonder what it was about this encounter that has brought out my righteous indignation — a sure sign of attachment if there ever was one.   

I think about the orzo. I don’t think I’m really all that attached to orzo. But it’s the concept of the thing. What if there was never any orzo to be found ever again? If there was a great orzo blight and all trace of this tiny, rice-shaped pasta was wiped off the face of the earth, what would my reaction be? Would I suffer and feel cheated and resentful? Would I celebrate the fact that there once was orzo? If I never saw orzo again could I recognize it as something that came and went, recognize it as impermanence and therefore part of the truth of existence?  

Or to make it even simpler, what about the plain fact that my neighborhood store no longer carries it? I imagine a Zen master as Italian grocer: “Yesterday, orzo. Today, no orzo.” Is it as simple as that?  

Perhaps this is what Pema Chodron refers to as recognizing impermanence and suffering at the kitchen sink level. Can I notice my reaction to the impermanence of orzo with mindful awareness? Can I recognize that not getting what I want is a form of suffering, and notice my reaction to that with curiosity and awareness? 

I think about these things the next day when I buy orzo at Ralphs.

 

Comments

[Meredith Greene]

Nicely penned, this piece. It made me laugh.

[Louise]

Thanks Meredith! Glad you got a chuckle out of it :-)

[Aunt Pat]

Hurray for Ralph's! Once again we are saved from attachment suffering when we find another source! Delightful piece, Louise. I think George would say you were trying hard to metaposition yourself at Vons... 't ain't easy...Love ya!

[David Beers]

Hi Louise! Beautiful little piece. I especially like the end where you write about noticing your state of mind with curiosity and awareness--as opposed to maybe elaborating the experience with thoughts of hustling that pesky attachment out the door and getting back to being serene. That practice of bringing all of our "unwanted stuff" to the path through curiosity has been such a help to me, I sometimes like that word even better than "mindfulness," so I'm happy to see you use it.

[Louise]

Thanks for the comment, David. I think I like the word curiosity better than mindfulness too, now that you mention it. After all, you can't help but be mindful when you're curious, but the word, "mindful" can get a bit diluted.

[Mindonly]

This is fantastic, and extremely timely to me. I've been wrestling with some of the same things. My issue is diet related, and at times it drives me nuts. Then I take a step back and ask, why am I attached to either of the 2 viewpoints I'm wrestling with.

The mind is a funny thing isn't it.

...joining palms

(oh, wanted to mention, looks like Amazon has orzo and can deliver. HAHAHA. http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=orzo&x=0&y=0 )

take care my friend.

[Louise]

The mind is indeed a funny thing. So glad you enjoyed the post and thanks for the comment. And yes, I do buy two boxes of orzo now whenever I find it ;-)