I went to see my dad today. I go every Tuesday morning and sometimes on Sundays. But also, there are times I don’t go because I am already feeling emotional (perimenopause) and seeing my dad just kind of tips me over the edge. He has dementia and lives in a nearby nursing home. It is a beautiful nursing home filled with nurses who love him. We sit in the hallway together and he tells me how he just got back from California and how happy he is that he is back in time to see me. He smiles most of the time I am there. The nurses tell me that is how he usually is, happy to be where he is. We are lucky, I know. I’ve gone through alternative situations that we could be living and I know how fortunate we are, for my dad to be in such a warm place where he is cared for so lovingly. It can still be difficult to see the man who was flying and sailing the world not being able to do those things - or also, just the simple luxury of living at home with my mom.
I’ve found that what supports me most when navigating life’s choppy waters is having a soft place to land. What this means to me is having a home that is a place where I can rest. A place where I can walk through the front door and not have the additional stress of clutter or mess or whatever might add to the day. Of course, there is the smattering of shoes and bags when I first walk in, which I actually kind of love because that means the house is full of the ones I love. But other than that, I do my best to keep the house fairly clutter-free. There are four of us in the home plus a dog and two cats, so it is what it is - there is going to be clutter. But what I have grown to love is the process of cleaning. What used to be a dreaded chore has evolved into self-care. It has become a sort of meditation for me. There is so much on my mind at times, so many thoughts and streams and ideas. When I pick one chore and focus on it, it can calm me as much as going on a walk or sitting in nature.
I read an article about a man named Andy Puddicombe who, after losing several close people in his life, spent 10 years studying to become a monk, traveling to countries like Nepal, India, Myanmar, and Thailand all in search of trying to better understand himself. At one of the monasteries where he lived, he was given the task of cutting the grass by hand, with scissors. His mind fought and fought the activity with its incessant chatter, saying how crazy this was, how silly to cut grass with scissors. This went on until his mind eventually quieted down and all Andy was left with was the sun and the scissors and the grass. And how beautiful everything was in that moment. No worries, no stories about life. Just the present moment. This is the practice of hand-washing clothes for me.
I have a few pieces that need hand-washing and I look forward to it now. I make it a ritual. The right side of the sink is for washing, the left for rinsing. The water is warm on my hands. The soap is faintly perfumed. I think of my grandmother and her hand-washing basins that lived in the basement of her home. My mother would bathe me in those tubs as a baby when we would visit. The difference between my grandmother then and I in this present day is that I have a few pieces to wash - she would spend entire days hand-washing clothes. I think of her while I wash and wish I could ask her how she felt about it. Was it enjoyable? Did she dread those days? And then I feel like her voice fills my heart while my hands are in the sink - “Just feel your hands in the warm water. Feel the fabric between your fingers. You’re here now. No place else. There is nothing else to think about, to worry about, than this moment and this task.”
When I immerse myself in this washing, it is quiet. The noise of the world and my mind are at rest. I am not only am I caring for my home and my loved clothing items, I am caring for myself. I am creating a nourishing environment for myself and my family. I am holding myself through this time of life. A time of so much change, so much flux. I am filling myself with the care I give to my dad and the love I give to others. I meet myself here again at the sink, hands in the warm soapy water, and I am free.
Do you have an activity you love that quiets your mind? That brings you peace?