There is a scene in Eat, Pray, Love where the protagonist meditates at sundown in India. Mosquitoes gorge on her flesh and yet she is able to maintain the perfect peace of her meditation. I thought about that often this week. Sam, my son's whirling dervish, was visiting for the week. I usually meditate in the morning. The first day Sam slept beside me under the comforter. I was able to maintain my concentration even as he shimmied to the bottom of the comforter to escape. It was the whining after he exited that ended my efforts. The next day he wouldn't settle down, opting instead to chew and rip the down comforter. Most of the week went like that. If I put him outside the bedroom while I tried to meditate he butted the door. My husband erected barricades at the bottom of the stairs but that just made him angry. Did I mention he excels at baying mournfully?
Sam is not a creature of half measures. He was outside stripping the tomatoes from the vine, I was inside reading. When he decided he wanted in, he didn't bark or paw the door. He didn't sit by the glass door and look longingly. No, he hurled himself up in the air and planted four paws on the glass before thudding to the porch floor.