Ginny wasn’t a solitary type, but she knew how to find that silent place within her. Maybe it was through the yoga that she taught, which she did while sitting in a chair, right up until a month before she died. What an example of vibrant living from this women in her late 80s or early 90s!
I usually don’t write about individuals on this blog. My rule is not to tell stories about friends and family. An exception, of course, has been my mom. And today, another exception, Ginny Perkins, whose life will be celebrated later this morning at First Parish Church in town. The place will be packed with all of Ginny’s family and friends who loved her. You see, without reservation Ginny loved everyone right back and offered her generous spirit and smile to whomever found themselves walking with her along one of the many paths she traveled. There was always room along side her.
Ginny wasn’t a solitary type, but she knew how to find that silent place within her. Maybe it was through the yoga that she taught, which she did while sitting in a chair, right up until a month before she died. What an example of vibrant living from this women in her late 80s or early 90s!
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In my last blog I wrote about the open-air memorial on Copley Square to the victims of the Boston bombing. When I was there, it felt that it had sprung up from the heart of every visitor and that that love continued to tend it day after day. I now have some more information about this phenomenon. I quote from the First Parish of Sudbury Unitarian Universalist 327 Concord Rd., Sudbury, MA 01776 newsletter. The words are those of Interim Minister Rev. Tracey Robinson-Harris. (For the full text of John Millspaugh’s reflection go to http://www.uuworld.org/life/articles/285333.shtml) “The Rev. John Millspaugh was on Boylston Street recently. He writes, In front of a shuttered storefront, three small white wooden crosses stood with elegant simplicity, each bearing the name and picture of one of the three victims who died on April 15. . .adorned with ribbons and paper hearts, mementos and religious figurines . . . Because the police’s physical investigation was drawing to a close and Boylston Street would soon reopen, DPW workers were relocating the objects from the impromptu shrine to a larger one in Copley Square. At first, we passersby simply watched the DPW men as they loaded . . . items into their white van. Gradually . . . we flowed past barricades to help them with their holy labor. . . Both spectators and DPW workers seemed hesitant to remove the three wooden crosses standing alone on the granite sidewalk. “The DPW official in charge, noticing the clergy garb John was wearing from a Standing on the Side of Love rally supporting immigration reform earlier that day, asked him to say a few words before the crosses were loaded and the shrine dissolved completely. John’s prayer ended with, “May we all be the rebuilders.” John continues. “One of the DPW workers spoke softly to the official, who then turned to me and asked if I would carry Martin Richard’s cross to the van . . . I can’t describe the feelings that surged in me as I lifted the memorial to this 8-year-old boy. Sorrow, humility, and reverence for the sacred privilege come close. The destruction of that day cannot be undone. But it can be answered. Already we are busying ourselves with healing. . . There is much to do on a symbolic level. I’m beginning to ask myself how to move beyond the symbolic. I’ll be searching for ways to answer the destructive acts of these two individuals with actions grounded in my own highest values. I’ll be looking for ways that we, together, might re-consecrate sacred ground. In the midst of our joy and our sorrow may we be (re)builders of the future. In faith, Tracey (For the full text of John’s reflection go to http://www.uuworld.org/life/articles/285333.shtml)” Starting my Patriots' Day walk. Today is the official Patriots’ Day here in Massachusetts. It is a little after 8 and although I live forty minutes from Boston, I feel simultaneously invaded and personally safe. To see Kenmore Square vacant, to picture parts of Watertown that I know, to observe the police standing with hands behind their backs waiting for instructions…. Well, I could go on and on but no need because very likely you, whoever and wherever you are, are probably watching the same scenes. At the moment I have left the TV room and come to the AR (Angel Room) to write and pray. It doesn’t feel healthy to stay glued to the TV, although a part of me wants to do just that. Last night, I tore my mind away from the news and attended an ecumenical service sponsored by the Sudbury Clergy Association at St. John’s Luther Church in town. It was a quiet, simple service, offering a comforting combination of solitude and community. Stepping away from ‘breaking news’ makes it easier for me to concentrate on the messages that President Obama, Governor Patrick, Mayor Menino and leaders of faith offered yesterday at the Service of Healing—to be present to the moment and to move forward. Right now I need to get away from police sirens and TV chatter so I’m going to take a walk, grateful that I can step outside of my house. I’m trying to figure out the winter rules for conversation and sociability on the beach. I thinking about this because here at the cottage (and on the beach) I’m into silence and thus conscious of all the sounds around me. Undoubtedly the standards for summer are entirely different, but here’s what I observed yesterday at low tide on a warm afternoon. When walking along the sidewalk on the way to the beach, the rules are clear. Any or all of the following are acceptable: nod, raise your hand as in waving, say hello, offer a one-liner on the weather. On the beach, the rules are different, probably because everyone is so spread out. But even within talking distance, the most anyone gets or gives is a nod or wave. That is, unless dogs are involved, and then all rules and etiquette are off. Owners feel perfectly free to let their dogs bark at you or jump on you, and are more than willing to converse with you (about their dog, of course). Yesterday (sorry no pic) a lady explained to me that she’s trying to get her new, very tiny, dog to be friendly. “I hope you don’t mind that he’s jumping on you. Since I’ve been letting him ‘meet’ people, he’s not as shy. I’ve only had him a week.” My role in this etiquette is to rave (as in wonderful) about the dog. “Looks like you have winner.” Thank goodness the Emily Post of dog etiquette doesn’t say I have to linger and talk. And thank goodness there’s something about the beach that keeps everyone moving, especially dogs. Yesterday I attended Parmenter’s Annual Lights of Remembrance service at the Dora Efthim Healing Garden in Wayland . A joining of solitude and community at its best. The ecumenical service was sparse in a most holy way: a few poems and responsive readings, two musical interludes, the reading of the names of those being remembered, and then the lighting the garden lights. I was comforted to be with others who were listening for the names of their loved ones. We didn’t know each other but clearly we were not strangers. Well, here’s silence for you. Our internet connection needs a house call, which won’t happen until tomorrow morning. Being without wifi certainly doesn’t simplify my life, but it could be more complicated. I always look for the silver lining and I see one right through my front window-- the Goodnow Public Library. We all know that libraries mean wifi and that we don’t need to go during open hours. I went over this morning and sat outside to do my correspondence. And I’ll go again in a bit after I write a few emails. Um, I wonder if I can connect from the front room. Maybe I don’t even have to cross the street. I’ll go check and report right back. Yes, here I am. About ready to send from my cozy home. Oops, it didn't quite make it. I'm very grateful for the bench in front of the library. The other day I walked into Brigadoon. Up ahead of me I saw flashes of color dancing back and forth across the road. Gnomes and elves, disguised as members of the high school cross country team practicing on the hills. When I stopped to chat with them, they asked me if I wanted to train with them. Really, how friendly is that? I declined, but then we talked about the fabulous combination of independence and teamwork, of solitude and companionship that cross country offers. Before I went on my way, I took a picture and sent it to one of the members. This log has been kicking around the beach for the past few weeks; kicked by the wind and waves and by some of my invisible beach-walking friends. I first noticed it by the water’s edge, and then another day it was along the seawall. Today it was standing proud and strong in the sand, clearly the handiwork of one of my beach buddies. I am part of a silent, and often invisible beach community. “Hello’ or the nod of a head is enough communication when we are visible to each other. I dare say that our community only exists when we are visible on the beach. Today all my friends had disappeared. Just me and this visible sign of an invisible world. I’m still thinking about the idea of I & C (independent and close) or call it C & S (community and solitude). Where’s the balance in my life? When there is bustle and activity around here, or when I have a list of obligations, I yearn for days with nothing to do, no responsibilities. But, when my calendar is clear, I find myself thinking of ways to fill it, which translates into plans with others. It seems that the minute I have some Independent time, I look to fill it by being close with someone. When I’m involved in community, I yearn for solitude. Am I ever satisfied? Can I ever attain balance? And yet, when I’m at my CBTS, my cottage by the sea, I find I can settle into many days of solitude that run together without much of a routine--other than getting up to watch the sunrise. I’m reminded of Virginia Lee Burton’s classic, The Little House, where ‘day followed day but the little house stay just the same.’ In a week and a half, on November 19th I’ll be returning to my little house to start the third season at my cottage-by-the-sea. I wonder how the I & C will feel this time. Two friends brought me flowers this week, and I must admit, I was very touched—still am. As far as I’m concerned, a bouquet of rose buds would be my gift of choice any time (after a million dollars). Of course, we never get to choose flowers as a gift; they are just handed to us, and that is the gift behind the gift. One bouquet is in the sunroom where people gather. The other is in the AR (Angel Room) where I find solitude. This has me thinking about my need for community and solitude, for my need to be independent and to be close to others. I say ‘my need’ but I’m pretty certain that it is the need of every human being. More than that, I believe that it is one of the main life-ideas that every human being has to work with. For some it’s easy and so doesn’t get much attention; for others, me included, it’s a major theme. In fact, it’s so important that I write a blog about it. |
Contact me: bobbifisher.mac@mac.com
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