Saved by the Sangha

At Rainbow, I found the line outside short and moving along rapidly. Having enough space between me and the person in front of me is easy: I just leave enough space. The problem can be enough space behind, as that depends on someone else. Last week, the person behind me was careless about this. Irritation arose. Dirty looks were looked. Yesterday, the person behind me was careful; I was relieved and happy. I thanked her.

As always, it was nice to see all the workers in Rainbow and chat with a few of them. Still no toilet paper. There were small boxes of tissues, spaced far apart from each other: social distancing. This also makes the shelf look not so empty, and, as a worker told me, lessens the possibility that a customer will accidentally touch a package other than the one she is buying.

All good in the produce section except no garlic. A sign in the empty garlic bin advised that there were plastic bags of peeled cloves available. Needless to say, those were gone, as people no doubt bought way more than they needed. I understand. Garlic is essential. But how long is it going to keep? Dragonwell tea from the bulk department was available in little packages.

At the cash register, the cashier who likes Black Sabbath reweighed my containers of olives without protest. I had poured out the brine because I don’t need it and didn’t want a possible messy accident in my bike bags on the way home. At Whole Foods, they probably call the police if you pour out the brine. Actually, you probably couldn’t find a sink to pour brine into, whereas Rainbow has at least two sinks available for customers.

The cashier also put extra tape on my olive containers, just to be on the safe side, and put them in a compostable bag. I commended the outstanding job she was doing, and she hinted that my mentioning that at the customer service desk would not be taken amiss. I said I would do that online, and I did. After I got home, I sent an email expressing my admiration and thanks and then I noticed that a general feeling of benevolence had been restored: saved by the sangha yet again.

I had a nice afternoon chopping vegetables and having a weekly treat: an orange or a couple of tangerines chopped up and buried in roasted, salted cashews. My weekly treat used to be two croissants followed by two pieces of pepperoni and sausage pizza. My work pants are threatening to fall off. A neighbor gets a Community Supported Agriculture box and had a few extra small Finn potatoes. She passed those on to me, and I cooked them up yesterday evening in about half a cup of EVOO. Delicious.

By the evening, I’d reached that vaunted psychological state summarized by the word “whatever.” Whatever. I’m sure the kitchen will look better after being painted than it does right now, at least in regard to the expanses of drywall. If it doesn’t, so be it. Everything ends sooner or later. Every last thing has to be let go of before we die; might as well let go of a few of the easier ones when the opportunity arises.

I pasted my long list of grievances, complaints and demands into a new appendix in my home restoration document called Cavalcade O’ Gripes, and made a much simpler list for my next conversation with the building owner: I hope the paint boss is getting semi-gloss for the kitchen. I hope we can abort if he shows up with something else. I hope he may offer to redo the bathroom, but if not, fine; maybe later we can redo with the leftover semi-gloss from the kitchen. Or if he does offer to redo the bathroom, I hope he can use the leftover semi-gloss from the kitchen, because I’ve discovered I don’t really care for eggshell. And I have decided to have the hardwood refinished throughout the apartment rather than re-carpet.