1. a mindful demise?
I gritted my teeth. The Atlanta traffic was, as usual, uncompromising. And today I had a special reason for arriving home promptly: the appearance at my home of Thich Nhat Hanh of the Unified Buddhist Church. It’s not every day one breaks bread with a Nobel Laureate.
“Yes, he’s here,” said my aunt Winnie, waiting just as patient as you please.
“Tell him I’m on my way and very much looking forward to our Zen conversation,” I said.
“OK. Shall I offer him anything to eat? He’s so skinny!”
“You can certainly try.”
A half hour later, I called back to report on my progress.
“It won’t be long now,” I said. “How’s the Most Venerable Mr. Hanh?”
“Well, he bowed and accepted a piece of bread, and he’s been nibbling on the same crust for ten minutes now. I’ve never seen anything like it!”
I chuckled as I explained to my aunt the practice of mindful eating, how Mr. Hanh believed that “each morsel of bread is an ambassador from the cosmos.”
“Humph,” Aunt Winnie said. But I could tell she was interested.
I had grossly underestimated my travel time. When I next called back, I discovered my aunt had continued with her feeding regimen.
“Now he’s sampling some green bean casserole,” she informed me.
“Oh,” I said, and then a split second later, almost missed my exit.
For a new thought had suddenly occurred: Aunt Winnie’s green bean casserole was at best an acquired taste, certainly not for the faint of heart. If Mr. Hanh tried to be mindful of every bite….
His peaceful words came back to haunt me as I raced my car up the drive. How important it was to “recognize” each item of food, really concentrate…how one must tune out the rest of the world and focus all one’s attention on each chew.
“Good God!” I exclaimed, bursting in through the front door. “Get that plate away from him!”
2. super bored
At the church sale, where I had offered to help tag some items, I was bored. So bored, in fact, I found it quite difficult to refrain from using my superpowers to escape.
Briefly, I pretended to be interested in some old curios on a table near the far corner of the parking lot and felt my legs twitching to transport me away from the venue at super-speed. But a busload of Boy Scouts was unloading boxes nearby, and one of them might be alert enough to spot me.
I tried to lose the crowd again by examining some old refrigerator boxes near the geranium garden. These contained junk, mostly, and old shoes and clothes. If I could just hop into one when no one’s looking, I thought, I could use my super-tunneling abilities to flee. Then thought better of it, because I would be the first one the church ladies would call to handle the giant mole problem and have to listen to them all over again. I’m an exterminator by trade.
Anyway, too late: Here were Mrs. Hale and Mrs. Hodges coming over to visit. I fidgeted, feeling as trapped as I might have if one of my super-foes had encased me in a cement and carbon steel casket.
“Didn’t it turn out to be a lovely day for the sale?” Mrs. Hale offered.
“Yes, just glorious,” Mrs. Hodges seconded her, before I could answer.
I could feel myself levitating just a little. Fortunately, the ladies weren’t paying much direct attention to me.
“I think those linens would be just the thing to spruce up someone’s home.”
“Yes, a bachelor’s.”
“And that lamp just needs a man’s touch.”
“Yes, a handyman’s.”
Could I hold out much longer? Could you, reader? The high-tensile muscles of my thighs felt like two rockets preparing for blast-off.
“I declare, Mrs. Hodges, isn’t that Miss Alcott over yon?”
“Yes, she’s so sweet. And never married.”
Reader, I was gone. I whooshed upwards, saying a silent prayer that my blur would be too quick for the old ladies to track through their bifocals. Later, I would find time to make some excuse.
After circling the church skies twice, I got out of sight behind the steeple. There, I tuned in my super-hearing for a moment to confirm that my secret identity was safeguarded.
“Now where did that nice man, Mr. Miller, go?”
“We were just talking to him.”
“I hope we didn’t offend him.”
“Shush, Marla, he might could hear you.”
“Such an eligible young man. But always vanishing on a person.”
“Yes, one minute here and the next minute . . .”
“…Gone!!” both ladies giggled together.
3. the follow-up visit
As I sat on the lounge chair at my chiropractor’s office, I began to sweat. Jenna, the receptionist, had brought out a bill including many previously-undisclosed charges. Apart from the $15 copay for the appointment itself, there was a fee for plastic gloves, a strip of tape, a thermometer sleeve, and “Other/Miscellaneous” items totaling $26.
When Jenna returned to the lobby, I started to ask questions. She looked suddenly stricken with guilt for the charges, which she acknowledged she should have informed me of first. She darted back to the reception area, where I saw her bend low, as if retrieving something furtively from a drawer or purse.
Rather shakily, she returned to me and began to count out twenty-six dollars, all in ones. For a brief moment, I felt guilty myself.
“I really appreciate it,” I said to her.
At this, she smiled and perked up. Then she placed a customer comment card in my palm. At the top I saw written the words: “How’re We Doin???” Below that, a couple of dozen boxes to check.
“I hope you will give our office lots of ‘Great’s!,” she said.
“Sure,” I replied. “I’ll just take that survey with me.”
“Oh,” she said, looking slightly disappointed again.
Upon returning home, I emptied my pockets and never even looked at the card.
That afternoon, I was lounging on the couch when I heard a large engine rev and a bright honk in the drive. Reluctantly, I got up and went to the door.
“Congratulations!” boomed a voice there.
My eyes adjusted to the brighter light of outdoors. When they focused, I recognized a familiar face. It was Doctor Sven.
The chiropractor was a short, graying man with a goatee and perfect bronze tan. He grinned as he held out a huge bouquet of balloons, candy suckers, and plastic streamers. The streamers were so long that, to prevent them from dragging, he had to hold the whole assemblage aloft like an Olympic torch.
I, along with a couple of curious neighbors, was impressed.
Doctor Sven held out the bouquet to me.
“This is just a token of our appreciation for being such a super patient,” he announced. “How’s the back?”
“Good, I replied. It’s good, Doctor Sven.” I took the bouquet and marveled. It looked like a tacky waterfall, exploding into color at the end of a cone-shaped handle.
“Don’t let that thing touch the ground,” Dr. Sven said.
“I won’t, Doctor Sven.”
“Gotta run now! Got many other super patients to visit!”
“Bye,” I said, brandishing the streamers overhead as enthusiastically as I could.
“Ciao! And don’t forget to fill out that comment card!” he said, shutting the doors to the Customer Appreciation Van. “Jenna will be expecting you at the office, first thing tomorrow.”
“I won’t, Doctor Sven.”
“Super!”
His final words were just audible over the van’s happy roar: “And don’t forget to give us lots of ‘Great’s!!!”
