Polishing the Silver - A Lost Art in Meditation

As a kid, when the holidays approached I would inevitably be coaxed into polishing the silver.  My mom would retrieve it from it's secret hiding place, safe from the threat of burglars where it lay nestled deeply in the hidden cubby of the antique icebox.  It was where, back in the day, the large chunks of ice were placed to keep the food cold.  The silver was in velvety deep purple-blue bags, clinking gently as it was pulled into the light.

Recently, I decided to polish the silver, for the first time as an adult.  A good twenty years have passed since I last polished silver, but my hands haven't forgotten the simple process.  Soft cloths, the acrid sweet smell of blue-gray polish, warm water and multiple dries - mustn't leave behind any spots!  In this modern day of paper towels and dishwashers, of speed and efficiency, I find that I don't mind the repetitious smoothing and cleansing of each piece.  As my hands clear the tarnish of years gone by, I can't help but imagine the weathered hands of relatives who have passed across each piece, deep in their own mental mediation, thinking perhaps of upcoming dinner guests.  I imagine the delicate foods planned and laboriously prepared, the finest meal creations available to a simple farming lifestyle.

And as I stand back and admire my handiwork, fingers dry and chalky from the polish, I think, "That'll do".

What simple chores free your mind from worries?

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