Meditation with Laundry and Letters

Today I'm folding laundry and ironing napkins, this isn't the most exciting thing I've done in my week but I'm doing it with such dexterity and care and slowed, deliberate pace that it's almost a Buddhist meditation. What I find interesting about this process is how time seems to just pass by both slowly and quickly. Maybe that is where the meditation lies in that fine line between the actual ticking of the clock the moment passing, gone, yet the moment being on hold, stuck there like the hand of the clock during those timeless seconds. The seconds are so precious they don't even need air or breath, they are completely submerged in the moment.  There's  something really interesting about owning those seconds, of turning the hem, ironing it flat,  stretching the square folding the napkin into quarters and then stacking them into a squared pile.

This energy given will be taken when I pull them out of a drawer and place each by a plate. Later each invited guest will flap them and unfurl them on their lap or knee and the meditation continues.

Imagine my surprise when I got not one but 2 letters from you.  The carefully measured cursive lettering on each so closely duplicated. The poems you sent were arms out reached and I felt a warm and loving hug with each one. I especially liked the Frederick Buechner one "when you remember.."

- When you remember me it means that you have carried something of who I am with you. That I have left some mark of who I am I knew who you are. It means that you can summon me back to your mind even though countless years and Myles me stand between us. It means that if we meet again, you will know me. It means that even after I die, you can still see my face, hear my voice and speak to me in your heart.-

That is such a beautiful thought. But not only is this something I carry and conjure but I am also touched by how influenced and changed I am. Isn't the sorcerer as good as his spells? And I isn't he or she changed by these, as well?
I remember you often. And I can't help remembering me too and who I was at the time. there are so many memories squeezed into that trunk. The locks don't work and at this point it's almost so stuffed the top won't fully close. But yet magically, each day allows all the space that's needed.