One of my walks takes me along some conservation land in town. The other day I stopped near the parking lot to watch a man get out of his van, open the back trunk, remove a wide plastic stepping stool, place it by side door, and slide the door open. I expected to see a toddler emerge, but no, out wobbled a huge, white-faced golden retriever. Simple love.
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Yesterday, one of those luscious autumn New England days, I took a friend to the town cemetery on the hill. Her husband is buried there and she loves to sit by his grave and enjoy the tree that years ago her family had planted near by. She sits for a while; I walk. I wander up and down the rows, following the grassy paths past old and new gravestones. Old Sudbury names like Fairbanks and Hunt. Names of individuals that I knew: a teacher I taught with, a student I taught, parents of students I taught, a woman I played tennis with, church members, good friends. Of course there is sadness mixed in with the memories, but I’m comforted as I recall the good times we shared. After my stroll, I sit and chat with my friend, sharing good times, creating memories. As I write, my daughter is flying into Rome and will begin making her way to Florence. She has just lost six hours of sleep, but no time for sleep once she steps into this magical city! I expect that her first magical moment will be when we turn the corner into Piazza Santa Maria Novella on our way to the apartment. As soon as I post this, my challenge will be to maneuver my way to the train station to meet her. I know the way but I don’t know precisely when the officials will open the barricades to let the pedestrians cross the cyclist route. As it stands right now, my apartment is literally on the wrong side of the road. My days of solitude in Florence are over. I am ‘very grateful’ for every museum, meal, church, walk and everything in between that I have experienced. And now, I am grateful for the upcoming days with Emily. It doesn’t seem that long ago that I was here in Florence with my mom, and for that I am also grateful. She was the one who taught our family to start with gratitude. Yesterday I visited a long-time friend whom I haven’t seen in many years. We have kept up, but not often and not on any regular basis. For various reasons we knew that this visit would only be for twenty minutes, which under the normal rules of women getting together would be ridiculous. Can’t you just hear it? “How can we even begin to cover everything?” Blah blah blah. And yet, we did cover everything. Oh, not the details behind the stories, not even the stories, but the essence of who we are and where we are on life’s journey. And because there were no stories, there was no gossip, critique or judgments to get in the way of what is really important to us. Now, I’m not saying that this is the only way to visit friends or nurture relationships, but it is a way to refine silence, solitude and simplicity and keep friendship. I left my friend feeling deeply satisfied. There was no clutter to clear away in order to regain that silence, solitude, simplicity that I long for. Email sent to my wonderful dentist: The good news is that the right top wisdom tooth that you extracted on Monday is completely healed. The bad news is that on that very same day, the cap on my left top wisdom tooth came out--as I was eating soft foods. Um. The good news is that I have the cap in a very safe place. The bad news is that I can’t make it in to see you until Monday. The good news is that I don’t feel any discomfort at all. You’ll have to admit that this is quite coincidental. That wee cap must have responded in sympathy to her little buddy. Right now I am sitting in the mystery of it all at my cottage by the sea in Maine. I received this card from a long-time friend. Here’s a portion of the message. “During this season of thanks and giving, and in recognition of your compassion for those in need, AmeriCares has received a contribution in your name to help with our Hurricane Sandy relief efforts. This thoughtful gesture was made by _______________. “ Gratitude is one of those ideas out there in the universe these days. But how to be grateful in the midst of so much plenty? Excess spending and gift giving doesn’t feel neutral anymore; it sets my gratitude back a few notches. But the thought, and actual giving, behind a card like this moves gratitude forward. And, here’s a bonus. Although I don’t know anyone directly effected by Hurricane Sandy, I’ve fallen in love with the little boy on the cover of the card. That’s got to be good for the universe. Iona Abbey Tomorrow friends and family will gather to remember and celebrate the life of Edie Murray. As we come together I’m sure that we will acknowledge the services taking place for the victims of the Newtown tragedy. One of Edie roles while on staff at the Iona Abbey and as director of Wayside Hospice was to plan and lead the services of remembrance. The following poem/prayer was always included. How appropriate it is at the time. We Remember Them In the rising of the sun and its going down, We Remember Them. In the bowing of the wind and in the chill of winter, We Remember Them. In the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring. We Remember Them. In the blueness of the skies and in the warmth of summer, We Remember Them. In the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn. We Remember Them. In the beginning of the year and when it ends, We Remember Them. When we are weary and in need of strength, We Remember Them. When we are lost and sick of heart, We Remember Them. When we have joys and special celebrations we yearn to share, We Remember Them. Sp long as we live, they too shall live, for they are part of us. We Remember Them. ~From the Jewish Book Of Prayer~ I am back at the cottage. It is dark and I have lit a candle for my friend Edie, who died this morning, six years after a diagnosis of ovarian cancer. Edie and I were connected through our hospice work and our love of Iona, that little island-off-an island off the west coast of Scotland, where she lived for five years as a staff member at the Iona Abbey. It is where she met her husband, John. When Edie and John returned to the States she became director of Wayside Hospice, which is where I met her through my role as volunteer and spiritual care counselor. Edie’s public legacy will live on through the Parlin Hospice Residence that she founded and where she spent the last weeks of her life. But it is her remarkable capacity to share her love with so many that will remain deep in the hearts of those who knew her. Day by day she showed us the unlimited abundance of love that there is in the world. Deep peace of the running waves to you Deep peace of the flowing air to you Deep peace of the quiet earth to you Deep peace of the shining stars to you Deep peace of the Son of Peace to you Out of solitude with little time to write. However, out of solitude leads me to appreciate my times in solitude at the cottage. “So, you like to be alone?” I was asked by long-time friends at lunch today. My short answer was, “Yes.” My long answer would have been, “Yes, because of friends like you.” My husband smiled and agreed. I recently finished reading "Truth and Beauty," by Ann Patchett, a riveting memoir of her friendship with Lucy Grealy, author of "Autobiography of a Face". I am in awe of the intensity of this friendship and of the different commitments that each one made to the other. I’m ashamed to admit that in some sense I take friendships for granted; at least I don’t spend much time thinking about them. So here I am with something new to ponder. For instance, “Truth and Beauty” has me thinking that just because I’m friends with someone doesn’t mean that we each put the same energy or intention into the friendship, or expect the same thing from it. The friendship between Ann and Lucy was neither silent or simple, nor did they have any solitude when they were together. I’m relieved to say that this isn’t always the case. Thank goodness some of my friendships have the aura of the 3S’s. |
Contact me: bobbifisher.mac@mac.com
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