Dirty

There's such a lovely emphasis on giving. Who doesn't love to host and to share? There couldn't be a novel thing to say on the topic. Generosity, warmth- these are virtues we all admire.

One day I went to buy my herbs from the same lady I buy them from whenever I am in town. I have to seek her out- she moves around a bit. It's a good selection- cilantro, black basil, arranged on cardboard atop a plastic crate. It was lunch time, and she warmly pressed some of her lunch on me. It was not a finger food- pastry or such- but a sopping wet food, hard to eat out of hand- picked cabbage. And what hands- her own had (hopefully) touched many coins, and mine, well, I've never turned down an invitation to prod the pink gills of a fish on ice. After all, i would never dream of touching food before sterilizing my hands. Except now, unwashed, unhungry, and yet grateful for a share of this lady's lunch. In accounts like this, it is usual to describe the unexpected food as a revelation, a delight. It was dreadful- sourish and undersalted, its cool juices stinging my winter-dry knuckles and seeping into my cuffs. Long after a cheerful goodbye I was still dutifully gnawing at it as I made my way around to the winter produce, thankful for the thought, if not exactly the thing the thought was embodied in.

It should make sense to consult your own wishes in accepting an offer of anything. But it doesn't. It's not about what you want, but rather the flow of generosity. Not taking is suspending the pleasure of giving, and the whole circulation of good will comes to a stop. This means: Yes to endless cups of coffee, some of them cold, some of them dirty, Yes to hiding uneaten pieces of cake in your bag, Yes to exotic delicacies that may freak you out culturally (testes, bugs, reptiles....), and of course Yes, always Yes, to the kindness of others.

At the Exploratorium in San Francisco, I participated in the most astonishing experiment in perception (read no further if you want to try it- it's at the top of this post) Viewers were to watch a short film of a part of a basketball game, and to see who made more baskets- the red shirted team or the green. I counted the baskets carefully, and therefore knew not only who was ahead, but also the precise number of baskets scored by each team. The next question was whether I had noticed anything unusual. I had not, and was invited to view the same film a second time. During the entire game, an enormous man dressed in a gorilla suit had been wandering among the players and getting in the way.

Why am I mentioning this? Because I want to know- if I missed that, how is it that I have never once missed noticing the dirt under someone's fingernails as I am being handed a glass of water? I do not know if it is possible, or even wise, to become more observant, but surely it's wise to be often much less so. In my case, my thirst would be better quenched, and the much nicer feeling of gratitude would replace my hysterical squeamishness.

If we are to be judged one day I think it will probably not be on the opulence of our dinner parties, but it very well may be on the grace with which we drink from a dirty glass.