Our Smallest Citizens Are Revolting!

Hammett demonstrating implacability.

Last weekend I saw Zodiac and Norbit. Zodiac was good, drenched, surprisingly, in sadness more than anything else. Norbit afforded a mild bit of amusement. On Sunday, the weather was gorgeous, so I rode my bike out to the beach, and then made my father’s two-bean vegan chili, which is very quick and came out great, and baked tofu to put in sandwiches. I sent my little second cousin Lucas in Michigan a birthday card and $20.

There seemed to be many more little kids in Golden Gate Park than I remembered from Sundays past, a large early-spring crop of toddlers in their cheery outfits, helmeted, sailing along on tiny bikes and scooters. It was delightful. I attribute this to the velorution: every day there are more people riding bikes in San Francisco, which probably makes new parents feel it will be safe for their children to learn to ride.

I’ve been working with what Ezra Bayda calls in one of his books on Buddhism a menu of practices, choosing a special focus for each day. One of his is non-manifestation of negative emotions, internally or externally. A good one could be to focus on right speech: Is what I’m about to say true? Is it kind? Is it helpful and/or necessary? Avoiding unkind speech would eliminate about four percent of what I say, and eschewing unnecessary speech would take care of another 95 percent.

Setting out to do a certain practice all day usually means remembering to do it only once or twice, but, as he says, that’s more than not remembering at all.

The point is not to seek perfection, and certainly not to assign oneself a passing or failing grade at the end of the day, but simply to increase awareness.

It actually does make a difference now and then. I open my mouth to gripe about a third party who is not present, and then remember that today’s practice is not to do that, or maybe that it was yesterday’s practice, but I’ll go ahead and refrain anyway. The reward is in the experience of choosing my actions deliberately rather than being driven hither and thither by impulse, and also in not having to look back and say, “Rats, I did it again.”

Before I went to the movies on Saturday, I went to European Sleep Works, in Berkeley, where I told the saleslady that I had only about an hour for this visit, and so probably wouldn’t be able to make a choice that day. She said it usually takes just 45 minutes to choose a mattress, out of their 28 choices! That’s 14 styles/firmnesses, with or without an added topper.

I felt rushed, so it’s hard to be sure, but I didn’t think their mattresses were that comfortable. Some are bouncy and you feel like you’re on top of them, more held at arm’s length than embraced. Delivery to San Francisco costs $70 and they will not refund your money, but only give you a store credit.

I decided I would just buy some non-flannel sheets for the Tempur-Pedic and stick with that, but then I read a pile of anecdotes online about people who blame their Tempur-Pedics for rashes, headaches and the like, so the latest plan is to visit McRoskey and then, if necessary, to go back to European Sleep Works for an extended visit.

Smoke-related angst has arisen again in my apartment building. Several times a week, late at night, I am lying in my bed when a cloud of cigarette smoke rolls in the window nearest my face, not coming from any of the known sources, but obviously from nearby.

If I look out the window, I can’t see or hear anyone who might be smoking. It is not preceded by any detectable sound, like a door or window opening.

I asked Tom where he thought it could be coming from and he said, “Look downward.” Below my apartment is that of the building manager, who does indeed smoke, but not in her apartment—I see her smoking out front fairly often—and if she were to open her window and stick her head out in order to smoke, I would both hear it and be able to see it.

So I puzzled over Tom’s advice as if it were a Zen koan: Look downward, look downward; whatever could it mean?

A few day ago, I went out to the trash area and realized that IF I were a smoker who happened to get off work at 11 p.m. and IF I didn’t necessarily want to stand out front at midnight and risk being mugged, I might find an alley that runs the length of the building to be a congenial place to smoke.

At one end of the alley is a door to the backyard. The door has an open grating in it instead of a window. One could stand right inside that door and smoke without being seen from the windows above. An official investigation is now in progress.