I was doing walking meditation before bed by the edge of the pool outside my apartment in suburban Honolulu. It was a typically pleasant, mild Hawaii evening. I was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and my Casio digital watch, which I bought at Costco, like everything else I have acquired since moving here. I'd have been happiest wearing nothing, but I needed the shorts to placate the modest morals of my pool-side neighbors, and I needed the watch to measure the length of my walking session. I was only a couple of minutes into walking mindfully back and forth, when suddenly my watch fell off. Somehow I must have failed to buckle the band properly. The watch bounced once, then bounded into the inky water of the pool, like Jacques Cousteau embarking on an undersea adventure. I yelped a few of my favorite swear words as my watch sunk to the bottom of the pool. I ran around frantically for a moment trying to devise a strategy how to find and retrieve the watch from the darkness at the bottom of the pool. I knocked on my neighbor Joni's door in hopes that she might have an industrial-strength flashlight, presumably from Costco, but although her lights and TV were on, she didn't answer. Finally, I hopped into the pool and waded slowly toward the deep end, groping with my feet, hoping I would stumble across the watch to rescue it before it drown. The water was almost up to my armpits when I felt it under my left foot. I grasped it monkey-like with my toes and pulled it up and out to safety. I jumped out of the pool and inspected the watch. To my amazement and delight, it was perfectly fine, still counting the time left in my meditation session. I reset it to start the session over, then, in soaking-wet shorts, resumed my contemplative pacing as the gentle breeze tousled the nearby palm trees, under the star-lit, moonless night.