The semi-circles are the remains of one of my suitcase wheels. I hate the idea that I may have to buy a new one, but right now I’m hoping that the suitcase has enough roll left in it to make it to the check-in counter.
I still love public transportation! My ‘fairy feet’ kept moving all day without delay. Here are some of pictures from along the way, from the shores of Iona-- feet, ferry, feet, bus, feet, ferry, feet, train, feet, bus, feet—to the hotel at the Glasgow Airport. The semi-circles are the remains of one of my suitcase wheels. I hate the idea that I may have to buy a new one, but right now I’m hoping that the suitcase has enough roll left in it to make it to the check-in counter.
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I haven’t experienced much solitude since I returned from the cottage a month ago, at least not much long-term solitude. There’s the usual family and friends comings and goings, which I categorize as ‘the givens’, and then there was the Boston Bombing that generated a communal intensity that was neither silent, solitary nor simple. Today, as I thought things were calming down, the put-and-take at the dump opened, and with it was my husbands joyful activity of ‘putting and taking’. He loves fixing things up and using them for a while. What he doesn’t keep he gives to our kids for their use or to sell at their neighborhood yard sale. Thank goodness we have a old barn and garage where he works on and stores the stuff. But once in a while a little sitter sneaks it’s way into the house, cluttering my simplicity. It’s what spring is all about. And, not to worry, I can find enough solitude. March, not lamb-like, not lion-like, but a sign that spring is on her way and my cottage days will be ending. I have mixed feelings about this. I love these weekends at home followed by weekdays at the cottage. I love the rhythm that allows me to be in the present moment, winter day after winter day. Most people plan something to help them get through or get away. “Are you getting away this winter?” “What do you do to get through the winter,” we are asked. For me, going to the cottage isn’t about getting away or getting through. Rather, it’s about a place and existence I love. When I’m there, I’m more present to the NOW than when I’m home. I have my routine but I’m not stuck with it. I know I’ll read, write, pray, meditate, work on a jigsaw puzzle, watch the ocean, walk the beach, but I’m not certain when each activity will happen. One minute I’m reading, the next I’m putting on my walking shoes. Oh dear, here I am realizing that I have only six weeks left before my cottage by the sea routine ends. Once I can count the weeks remaining, planning sneaks in. As I sit here by myself in the cottage, I’ve been thinking about Jesus sending his disciples out two by two: the solitary and the friends, the hermit and the companions. It’s not a question of either/or, of God saying one is better than the other, but a statement that Jesus calls each of us in a unique way to be with Him--from hermit to activist and all the possibilities in between. At this time in my life I am being led on a solitary path; my ministry to be manifested through prayer, rather than overt camaraderie. At least that’s what I’m hearing at the moment. Back to my original thought about two by two, which has to do with prayer. Recently I’ve been writing two names together on my daily prayer list, because usually two are involved in the request (you have your own examples). Because people usually aren’t alone in their prayer needs. I notice that in writing them two by two, my list ends up with twenty rather than ten prayer names. I like that. 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. Is silence and solitude relative? It feels very noisy and congested around here, but I know I have nothing to complain about. Well, I’m not complaining; I’m noticing. It goes like this. We have someone installing insulation in our basement and under our kitchen floor, which means that all kind of spaces are open, which means that our grandcat for whom we are cat sitting, got out. That’s a problem because Izzie is an indoor cat. So for the moment we are keeping her shut in upstairs. Oh, the added responsibility of being grandparents. During the three years that I have consciously been considering silence, it has become clear to me that the feeling of silence doesn’t only wash over me when there is no sound. For example, when I’m at the cottage I feel silence as the waves lap on the rocks or as the gulls caw over the beach. These sounds of nature exude a sense of silence, which gets me wondering about the affinity between silence and a feeling of calm and peace. This past Wednesday, my train trip from Connecticut to Grand Central Station, followed by a subway ride to Greenwich Village. offered me another situation in which to consider the nuances of silence. Generally speaking, the silence of nature isn’t a major characteristic of a city. And yet, the many little parks that we walked by exuded a sense of peace and calm, and yes, silence, as buses and cars circled by them. The quaint, tree-lined residential streets also offered calm, peace, and silence. One my most silent moments of the day, however, was on the subway from Times Square to Grand Central. The cars on that line are all decorated with murals of books on shelves. You get on to the sound and movement of the subway, only to find yourself feeling the calm and steadiness of a library. That is silence. The other day while peeling carrots (for a carrot cake) I got thinking about stewardship and what that might mean for me there in the kitchen. According to Merriam-Webster stewardship is “the conducting, supervising, or managing of something; especially : the careful and responsible management of something entrusted to one's care.” My mind wandered from the stewardship committee that raises money for the management and well-being of a church, to the world wide ‘think green’ movement that tells us that we are all stewards of the earth. Accepting the role of kitchen steward feels both proactive and soothing. Planning the menus and shopping, washing the lettuce and sautéing the onions, scouring the pans and wiping the counters, setting the coffee pot and filling the ice trays have been entrusted to my care. I can do it within an atmosphere of silence, solitude and simplicity. IT’S TIME TO GO; LETTING GO OF STUFF http://lettingofstuff.blogspot.com/ is launched. Nothing like committing myself in public as a way to keep from being slothful. Two desires have come together. First, the desire, no the necessity, to get rid of stuff in this house where we have lived for 34 years. Second, a fascination with the idea of a project that I would do every day for a year. The upshot is that every day we (my husband and I) will let go of something that we don’t need or want. We know it won’t always be simple, but we also trust that in the long run our life will be simplified. |
Contact me: bobbifisher.mac@mac.com
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