I'm getting there. I've packed and unpacked, then repacked. My front hallway is filled with suitcases, bags and containers. One of the suitcases is filled with personal supplies; there's a Princess Auto Tool Bag stocked with spindles, reading material, road trip supplies/purse and the rest belongs to the classes at Fibre Week. I'll do a last minute check tomorrow evening and we'll head out on Wednesday morning for the ten day stay at Olds College.
Right now, I'm out the door to pick up my did-the-best-they-could-in-a-short-time repaired glasses. The technician explained that they've held the dislocated arm onto the lens as well as can be expected, but they really need to send them away to be properly fixed. I can take them with me, but do I have a spare pair? (Yes, I do. They're on my nose right now. They're too strong, but if I didn't have them, I'd have to stay in one place because I couldn't navigate out of a chair.)
In case anyone thinks people who meditate are immune to carelessness, my plight with the broken glasses disproves the theory. I really can't see past the end of my nose, to the point where I need glasses to get in and out of the bathtub. Once I'm in, the glasses rest on the mat beside the tub. I've done this for years. I'm careful to remind myself that the fate of my visionary self rests on the floor. My concentrated efforts have worked. I've scratched and broken eyewear over the years, but never during morning ablutions. (I've always wanted to work "ablutions" into a sentence.)
Until Saturday. I was rushing around, worrying, anxious about whether I've packed everything I need for the classes, whether or not I'll know what to do and say when I'm there, wondering if I'll even have students. I thought I'd have a relaxing, restorative soak. It would have been, it was-until I stepped out of the tub, right onto the arm and lens of my spectacles.
Oh, my. (Those are exactly the words I used. That's my story.)
Shelley, the optical technician, is a wonderful, kind being. She soothed my annoyance at my carelessness, sighed over the damage and promised to do her best to have my glasses ready before I left town. She's kept her promise, although she's doubtful that this will be a long term repair. The inconvenience is a reminder that not being mindful has consequences and that, no matter how much I meditate, I will always struggle to stay attentive and in the moment.
I'm going to resist the urge to give Shelley a great big hug and kiss. I'm not sure she'd appreciate more than a hearty thanks. So here it is-THANK YOU, SHELLEY. I am most grateful for your efforts.
P.S. My glasses are safely perched on my nose. I have an estimate for a proper spare pair. As they were making adjustments, Shelley asked, "What are you teaching?" Head down, muttering under my breath, I replied, "Um, would you believe 'mindfulness meditation?'" Shelley, the other optician and the customer next to me were more than a little amused.