Nonfiction by Rusty Evans
I spent some time with my grandson the other morning talking about trucks. He is interested in them, especially the big ones, like bulldozers, dump trucks, and excavators. I told him things I’ve learned about them in my life—like they’re usually yellow and smell like diesel. I know “torque” is essential, but as soon as I brought it up, his eyes darted around the house, settling on the kitchen, where he got up to go. “Cookie,” he explained. I got up, too, figuring our bonding included us doing stuff together, meaning I would have to have a cookie. These are the sacrifices good grandparents make.
The kitchen was messy from yesterday, not that my grandson cared. I told my wife, Grandma, to leave it last night and promised to clean it up first thing tomorrow, which is today. But I didn’t. In my defense, the morning had gotten away from me: My laptop needed charging because it hadn’t been plugged in. I had to refill the paper towel holder from the Costco stash in the garage. And change one of my picks in the football pool for tonight’s game. All important stuff, for sure.
Nevertheless, the clean-up needed to happen before she returned from running errands. To remind me of that, I put it with an asterisk on top of my daily “to-do” list—*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, clean inside of recycling bin was also a “to-do,” way further down the list.
As we ate our cookies together, it occurred to me that I hadn’t thought about any of those pressing duties since listing them. I may have subconsciously or unconsciously (or both) avoided them all morning. You see, I’ve been in the moment. I’ve only thought about what’s inside the little circle around me, which includes this growing, living masterpiece of a child. Maybe I had achieved what had alluded me my entire adult life: Mindfulness. Meet my personal Dalai Lama, my Grandson. To think he’s not even two years old yet.
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 poopy diaper to change? Or power wash the deck when my Grandson wants me to read “Goodnight Moon?” I suppose I could see if he’ll read the updated medicare handbook instead to satisfy a to-do. Even if he agrees, I’m not sure you can do two things simultaneously and remain in the moment.
The fact these tasks aren’t getting done proves I’m more concerned with my grandson’s safety and development than any silly, outdated, written “to-do” list. That stack of Corelle in the sink might signify something good. Of course, if I try to justify its continued existence after my wife gets home, I might have to check off another to-do: put clean sheets on bed in spare room.
My Grandson offers no judgment. Others have told me my head is often in the clouds, and I sometimes don’t see what’s right in front of me. 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 all cross-legged in silence. Except in my case, I was 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 great-guru grandson respects how I generally walk with eyes wide open. It’s fulfilling yet exhausting, neither of which I expected to feel at this age. After all, I’d finally reached a point in my life where I had earned the right to NOT pay attention.
Maybe the Buddha belly (do 3x :10 planks) I developed when I got older was a good sign. Indeed, the karma from spending time with my grandson has unexpectedly brought enlightenment. It could be my morning caffeine kick-in or something more substantial: Nirvana. I am unconcerned about anything outside our interaction during our time together.
I’m at peace today, and one with my future, even knowing it includes completing a few of those “to-dos.” My grandson has expressed to me that he is good with this. Just as long as at the top of my list, with an asterisk, is: *Cookies with Grandson.
Rusty Evans was a husband first, then a Dad, and finally a Grandpa. He hopes the trend continues. He lives and writes on the Central Coast of California.
