Who does the laundry in your house? And is it the same person who takes out the garbage? Just curious.
Two people live in my house and the chores are, by and large, assigned according to whoever has more time to do them. Tonight I chose the chore of taking out the garbage and dragging the bins out to the curb.
As a practicing Buddhist, you would think mindfulness would be almost second nature to everything I spend my time on. Let’s just say I’m a work in progress. But tonight I had a different experience performing a chore I’ve done thoughtlessly 100x before. What changed? I paid attention. For some reason, I gave importance to details that had been, in the past, meaningless.
After five days of blissful rain, I drew in the pungent scent of damp earth. Pulling my hands off the garbage cans, I closed my eyes and sucked it deep into my lungs. And I stayed there, in this odd spot on the edge of my backyard, sniffing the air. Minty wet eucalyptus leaves, wood burning from a neighbor’s fireplace, pine needles, grass. I must have looked like a displaced mental patient.
As I began to wrestle the heavy plastic bins across the driveway, I noticed the deep cracks and crevices in the concrete. Not from looking at them, or even from walking over them, but from the sound the rubber wheels made as they lumbered over the clunky surface. The thick webbing of clouds was beginning to disperse and I could see a thin stripe of night sky dotted with stars. But the sky’s a no-brainer. Who wouldn’t want to pay attention to that? The real training in mindfulness, I surmised, was in my driveway.
I live in a house built in 1933. It survived Loma Prieta and probably hundreds, if not thousands, of lesser quakes since then. We’ve patched cracks in the walls, ceilings, last summer we painted the exterior, replaced the forty year old windows. It looks solid and cared for, considering its age. But the raw truth of what this house has seen in 81 years is visible in the patchy swag of broken concrete we drive over twice a day. What else has that driveway seen? What human dramas have passed across its surface, what emotion has seeped into its skin? “I see you,” I said to my driveway tonight. “And I notice your scars.” This gives me hope, makes me wonder what I’ll notice tomorrow…
Some driveway-themed songs for further contemplation: