Water Glass

On a recent Tuesday evening, Howie said something like, if there is aversion in your mind and you are aware of the aversion, you’re doing the work. What a relief to know the task is not to figure out some way to get rid of the aversion, or, preferably, to be a wholly good person who just never experiences aversion, but simply to see it.

This came in handy this evening. During the day, I got to meet one of the roofer’s young sons. When I asked him what he wants to be when he grows up, he pointed at his father. He clearly adores his father, and it is easy to understand why.

As for the roof, the crew did a fantastic job—it looks marvelous—and a conscientious job of cleaning up afterward.

I met the roofer precisely one week ago, yet when he drove away this evening, after using a blower on the driveway to leave it cleaner than it was before the roofers arrived, I felt startlingly and achingly bereft, like, Wah! Don’t leave me!

Every month, I text five people who took care of my mother at the end of her life, plus a woman whose husband was in memory care when my mother was, just to say hello and send good wishes; then there is a little flurry of texts back and forth. I’ve decided to add the roofer to that group, and I imagine that will likely be the extent of our connection.

Fortunately, Howie’s wise words came to mind, and I could say to myself, this is craving. If nothing else, the short time it takes to say that is time free from craving! I also reminded myself of something Howie said to me 30 years ago, when I went on my first meditation retreat: The more mindful you are, the less you’ll suffer.

So then: Water glass, sponge, can of salmon, red, blue, chilly.