A quiet walking spot, however, is the expansive cemetery just beyond the Unitarian Church at the town center. I go there with a friend whose husband is buried close to a tree that the family planted. It is a peaceful place for both of us. While my friend sits and remembers, I walk and remember—friends, spouses of friends, a dear teaching colleague, and a second grade student. Sad for me but seemingly peaceful for those buried there. Strange how that is!
I live in a country-like suburb about twenty-five miles from Boston: farm land during colonial times. Word has it that Sudbury encompasses the largest landmass in the Commonwealth. As I’ve shown on previous blogs, the walks I take from my house are quite idyllic, so you might conclude that they are also quiet. I don’t want to exaggerate the noise but suffice to say, I’ve given up counting the number of lawn-care and garbage (excuse me, waste-removal) trucks that chug past me. Thank goodness, at least for the safety of walkways. A quiet walking spot, however, is the expansive cemetery just beyond the Unitarian Church at the town center. I go there with a friend whose husband is buried close to a tree that the family planted. It is a peaceful place for both of us. While my friend sits and remembers, I walk and remember—friends, spouses of friends, a dear teaching colleague, and a second grade student. Sad for me but seemingly peaceful for those buried there. Strange how that is! Flowers along my cemetery walk
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It is before 10 AM; the mall is open for indoor walkers and coffee connoisseurs. That’s about it. Why didn’t I remember this ‘late’ opening? Probably because I don’t shop much these days. I’ve discovered that one of the best ways to keep life simple, and to save money for what’s important to me—travel is to stay away from malls. Oh, well, I’m here on a mission. Should I upgrade my phone and plan before I head to Italy in September? All part of travel, I tell myself. At the moment I’m perched in front the Apple Store enjoying an au bon pain cappucchino and bagel (with butter, of course). My other mall stop will be to purchase a new suitcase to replace the one that the airline lost and sent to Brussels for a week before returning it to me in Scotland. It was getting old! I hope I have some success but being so early, at least I got a premier parking spot. It’s a challenge keeping my life simple. Unimaginable, complex situations continually appear. Yesterday it was about my daily walk, although everything about it ought to be simple: I try to walk about an hour a day. This is not a goal, just an intention, and I can do it all by myself. However, when I decided to try MapMyWalk, complexity stared me right in the face, right from my phone. All I wanted to do was plot a few of my favorite routes to get an idea of my MPH. In all fairness, I did discover that I walk about a mile every 15 minutes. An hour a day and I’m at four miles. Simple. But MapMyWalk wants me to record all my walks; it wants me to compete with myself and with other MapMyWalkers; it wants me to get better. This is NOT simple. I don’t want to record; I don’t want to compete; I don’t want to get better. All I want to do is walk about an hour a day. Unbeknownst to MapMyWalk, I am self-motivated—a phrase not it it’s lexicon. The good news is that I don’t have to respond to their email prompts. These self-improvement apps can sneak in and take control of our personal authority and determination if we let them. Recording our moves to get better is what 21st techies are supposed to do. This will creep into our collective unconscious if we let it. However, simplicity is also in my DNA, as is a refreshing daily walk. Here's my version: PictureMyWalk I now have my mom’s knitting bag. It’s sitting by my chair, just as it sat by Mom’s chair over the years. Her knitting is still in it, just where she left it the last time she picked up the # 2 needles to work on the blue ‘owl’ baby sweater, size 0 to 3 months. That’s all she knit during the last years of her life. Always for the sewing group, which raised money to give to organizations helping the needy. Up until the last year of her life, Mom would faithfully go to the meetings every Monday afternoon. Someone would pick her up, and although she always took the bag with her, toward the end, she didn’t do much knitting. To celebrate her 100th birthday her knitting group friends planted a tree at her assisted living facility. They loved her just sitting there smiling while they knit away. I’m not certain what I’ll do with the bag. Maybe it will stay by my chair to offer silence, solitude and simplicity. After all, that’s what Mom always gave me. Along with the unfinished owl sweater (including needles, instructions and tape measure) is a folded obituary of one of the sewing group members. She was young, only 79, when she died. Mom had 22 more years being with her knitting friends every Monday. |
Contact me: bobbifisher.mac@mac.com
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