A Buddhist friend of mine in Thailand gave me a book about mindfulness, about how to appreciate the moment, about how to wash the dishes not to get them clean, but to simply wash the dishes.
My mother had a more simple version of this. When I used to get gloomy or grumpy, I was told “it’s time for you to read the Pollyanna books again.”
Sometimes this is easier than others. It’s not hard right now. The sky is clear but dark, it will be cold tonight, but there won’t be any wind or rain. I am comfortable and warm in my office, my fingers are typing my words as I think them, and the radio is telling me the news of the day. I can hear the ruru or morepork (night owl) calling in the trees outside my window. My husband will be home from work soon, when we’ll open a bottle of pinot noir or cabernet sauvignon, and I’ll pop the tiny lamb roast with garlic and rosemary in the oven with the kumara and parsnip and pumpkin, and steam some broccoli and peas. Oops. I’m anticipating. See, it’s harder than it looks.
Deloney is the master of celebrating the now. He’s my Pollyanna, my Buddhist monk. My daily reminder to love what I’m doing. To be glad.
I'm so glad we have him.