So when the basement sink overflowed for the third time in as many weeks, she mindlessly carried buckets and buckets of water to the door to dump out.
It was meditation in the middle of the madness of the weekend.
She dunked the bucket into the depths of the cloudy water and felt the weight of it swirl into the plastic pail. When it was full, she would lift it up over the sink and steady herself for the quick hustle to the doorway. At the open door, she would toss the water – an unfortunate lurch forward that often let most of the water splash onto her. She concentrated on successfully executing the toss with each round of bucket dumping.
Her feet and belly were soaked by the time she realized there might possibly be a better way to empty the sink. And that she might have a fairly serious plumbing problem on her hands.
She knew, maybe feared, that once she left her meditative state, she would once again question her ability to sustain a home by herself.