Yesterday I was at the sink doing the dishes, just allowing my mind to meander as I scrubbed a pot, and suddenly, out of the depths came this memory of an older woman who’d really wanted to buy a set of my quilling art earrings.
This took place at an Inn where I used to sell my goods, and this woman was quite taken with this one pair of earrings. She went down the table and had a look at the other items, but came back to those earrings. Then she went and sat down with a couple of other seniors at a picnic table under the pavilion where we had our little market.
Other potential customers came and went, and then this woman came back again and stood in front of those earrings. I chatted with her about them, telling her how I made them, and that I laminate them to make them tough, and how they’re fitted with silver plate hooks, etc. She said she really liked them, and this was evident from her joyful smile. But she went back and sat down again. After a while, a younger woman, who it became plain was her daughter, came in. The woman brought her daughter to show her the earrings she so liked. The daughter glanced at them and said, "but when would you ever wear them, Mom?"
The mom shrugged and said, "well, I don’t know, but they really are beautiful."
"But when would you ever wear them?" repeated the daughter.
After about the fourth time she said, "I just don’t know when you’d wear them," as if she was planning to keep Mom locked up in her room, my blood began to boil a little. I mean, why does anyone have to have a plan to wear something beautiful before buying it? You get it, then you work the thing into your life. Even confined to her room she could have put them on and danced around the room! And what difference did it make if she never got to wear them? They gave her pleasure and joy. They cost $15. for pitys sake. What’s the problem? But of course, it wasn’t my place to butt in, so I watched with interest as the younger woman talked her mother out of making this little purchase. And I watched as the mom walked away, glancing wistfully back at those earrings as they left the pavilion.
Well, I really scrubbed that pot, I tell you, and I wondered why, on a February afternoon, while doing dishes, all of this even occurred to me. It seemed an odd memory to dredge up out of the darker corners of my mind apropos of nothing. This, I thought, is the very sort of memory Michael Singer would encourage me to get rid of, since it was of little use.
Later the same afternoon, Bud, who was out shopping, called and asked if it was okay to buy a plush squeaky toy for the dog. It was really cute and Bud wanted to buy it for him, but wasn’t sure about it. The dog is old and has a heart condition, so we’re just loving him and taking care of him. He doesn’t play much anymore. But I instantly thought of the memory of the woman and the earrings and I said, "yes, buy him the toy. Even if he doesn’t play with it he’ll likely take great joy in just getting it."
So I’m not sure Michael Singer is quite right about these old, seemingly useless and negative memories. I mean, he says we’re supposed to ditch the memory and just keep the lesson, but there’s just something that seems a little incomplete about that, to me anyway. I’m thinking now that this experience came to my intuitive mind for a reason. The dog loved his new toy, and he even played with it a bit, even though it’s been a while since he "played." And then he snuggled down on his wee bed with it between his paws.
It’s called joie de vivre. It matters people. Even if it takes the recollection of a challenging memory to get us there.
