by Rusty Evans
The other morning, I spent some time with my grandson talking about trucks. He is interested in them, especially excavators, bulldozers, and the like. I told him what I had learned about these big trucks over my long life: that they are usually yellow and smell like diesel. I know “torque” is a big deal, but as soon as I brought it up, my grandson’s eyes darted around the house, settling on the kitchen, where he got up to go. “Cookie,” he explained. I got up, too, figuring that if we were going to bond, we’d do things together, which meant I’d need a cookie, too. These are the sacrifices good grandparents make.
The kitchen was a mess because I convinced my wife, Grandma, to leave it. I had promised to clean it up first thing tomorrow (which is today), but I hadn’t, because, in my defense, the morning had gotten away from me: urgent matters not on the to-do list came up. My laptop needed charging because someone hadn’t plugged it in. I had to bring paper towels up from the garage because, apparently, the pantry hadn’t been restocked yet. Most importantly, I needed to change one of my picks in the football pool for tonight’s game, which also meant doing research (A.I.) to make sure I didn’t pick a player who had already retired.
Nevertheless, the cleanup had to happen before she returned later this afternoon. To remind me, I put it at the top of my daily “to-do” list with an asterisk—*clean-up kitchen. Then I slid the list under a stack of magazines. No worries—take magazines to recycling bin was on there, too. The funny thing is, cleaning inside the recycling bin was also a “to-do,” albeit lower on the list.
As my grandson and I ate our cookies together, it occurred to me that I hadn’t thought about any of those pressing duties since first listing them. I may have subconsciously (or unconsciously, or both) avoided them all morning. Or, I want to believe, I’ve been living in the moment. I’ve only thought about what’s inside the little circle around me, which includes this breathing masterpiece of a person sitting there. Maybe I’ve achieved what had eluded me my entire adult life: mindfulness. Meet my personal Dalai Lama, my grandson. To think he’s barely a toddler.
Being mindful hasn’t been difficult with him around. If I’m living in the now, how could I sweep the garage when there’s a full diaper to change? Or power-wash the deck when my Grandson wants me to read “Goodnight Moon”? I suppose I could satisfy a to-do by seeing if he’ll read the updated Medicare Handbook instead. Even if he agrees, I’m not sure you can accomplish two things at once and stay in the moment. I’ll have to talk to him about that.
The fact that these tasks aren’t getting done proves I’m more concerned with my grandson’s safety and development than with any random, outdated written “to-do” list. That stack of Corelle in the sink might be a good sign. Of course, if I try to justify its continued existence after my wife gets home, I might have to add AND check off another to-do: put clean sheets on the bed in the spare room.
My grandson offers no judgment. Others have told me my head is often in the clouds (do meditation), and I sometimes don’t see what’s right in front of me (check on eyeglass prescription status). But it’s different with him. My head’s on straight and attached to my body, firmly on solid ground (mop floor), often surrounded by my grandson’s Hot Wheels collection. I now know how Gandhi might have felt sitting cross-legged in silence. Except in my case, I’d be listening to little metal cars crashing into one another.
If he notices my occasional wandering mind, he never lets on or says a word. I’m betting my guru-of-a-grandson respects the way I generally walk, eyes wide open. It’s fulfilling yet exhausting, neither of which I expected to worry about at this age. After all, I’d finally reached a point in my life where I had earned the right NOT to pay attention.
Maybe the Buddha belly (do 3x :10 planks) I developed as I got older was a good sign. Indeed, the karma from spending time with my grandson has unexpectedly brought enlightenment. That and the unusually strong coffee I made and drank this morning from the remaining grounds of an old bag of dark roast (buy light roast whole beans). Either way, it felt like something substantial: I’m thinking Nirvana. As a result, I am unconcerned with anything outside our interaction during our time together.
While he naps, I’ll be scrubbing and rinsing in the kitchen. I’m at peace with that and with my future of tackling pesky to-do lists. My grandson seems okay with it, as long as *Cookies with Grandson* is moved to the top.
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