Today Juliette for some reason asked me if I could think of nothing. I told her it's easy, and she was fascinated. How do you do it? Well, you just let your mind float, I told her. I do it all the time. She's been making jealous remarks about it ever since. But that's not my new thing for today. I think of nothing every day.
Today's new thing was that I went to the holistic dentist. After unnameable nastiness with dentists past, this was pretty great. There was a naturopath who made me cry healing tears and told me what to eat, and taught me about joy. There was a hygienist who had all the latest ultrasonic gear and didn't torture me like the last two Montreal hygienists under whom I suffered. Then there was the dentist, who plans to use lasers and give me the night guard I've always wanted. There was classical music and a hot facecloth and a big window looking out onto lovely trees. There were vitamins especially for gums. There was herbal mouth rinse. There was no rush.
Yesterday's new thing involved a new development in Dear One's Zen practice. I think I mentioned before that someone tried to give him money on St. Hubert. He does tend to go around with holes in his pants. Well yesterday he was sitting waiting for me at the market in his lovely tweed hat. The hat became warm so he took it off while he looked at his favourite flower at the flower-stall: the white gladiola. Next thing he knew, a loonie came tumbling into the hat, thrown by a middle-aged woman in a scarf and sunglasses. He showed her to me later, over near the bicycle racks. This donation threw him into a strange meditation for the rest of the day. What should he do with the dollar? Was it possible a person could sit, holding his hat beside the gladiolas, full time? Stay tuned...
On April 23rd, 2011 07:47 pm (UTC), (Anonymous) commented:
this makes me so sad for your husband -- and extremely curious about his appearance, his hygiene, his posture, his demeanour.
I live in a city of sickening extremes: Vancouver apparently has the largest number of millionaires in North America (a dinner party statistic I have yet to confirm), and also some of the poorest people in Canada. The average annual household income in the downtown eastside is just over $15 000)
The people here who don't verbally ask for money are some of the most broken people I have ever seen, reminiscent of Cambodia and Thailand. No homes, no hope, just flat vacant eyes. They smell of sadness and neglect. I hope your husband smells of gladiolas and love. Perhaps that woman is developing a cataract, or glaucoma, and was unable to see properly.