If I had wanted to be more involved, I could have made an appointment to bring a carload of stuff and then stay and haggle over the pricing of each item as the clerk listed them all on the computer. No way, for then I’d be losing all my silence, simplicity and solitude. You see, I’ve discovered that there is no silence when discussing money. And need I remind you that a great deal of simplicity has to do with “out of sight, out of mind”? Besides, all that time at the shop would replace an afternoon of solitude, one that I’m about to enjoy as soon as I post this.
I just dropped off three boxes of “sitters” at Classic Consignments”, the popular consignment shop in town. It’s all very simple because this place has a well-organized procedure. I had an appointment to leave the regulation three boxes any time during the day. Within two weeks, I will receive a printout listing the selling price of each of my items. Then at the end of three months, my unsold treasures will be taken off the shelf and I can pick them up, or the store will distribute them to various charitable institutions.
If I had wanted to be more involved, I could have made an appointment to bring a carload of stuff and then stay and haggle over the pricing of each item as the clerk listed them all on the computer. No way, for then I’d be losing all my silence, simplicity and solitude. You see, I’ve discovered that there is no silence when discussing money. And need I remind you that a great deal of simplicity has to do with “out of sight, out of mind”? Besides, all that time at the shop would replace an afternoon of solitude, one that I’m about to enjoy as soon as I post this.
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Yesterday we had the glass panels replaced in our sun room. The view now is clear and we are told that the new glass will keep both the summer heat and winter cold out. But I want to tell you about the process of preparing for the workmen, which meant clearing out everything, and about our plans for putting nothing back. Well, almost nothing.
The room is an extension of our kitchen so the task was to move everything out of the sunroom area. Of course this included all the furniture—an upholstered couch and chair, a wooden table and four chairs, a rocking chair, an end table, one trunk serving as a coffee-table, three lamps and an enormous forty year-old jade tree. That’s about it for the big stuff. But then there was the little stuff: our collections and collectables, which we call sitters and hangers--figurines, books, candles, plates, plastic frames with family art work, little signs that such as Blessings on this House, wind chimes, old wooden sports equipment including ice skates and a golf club, and mugs, mugs, mugs. There was also a printer’s shelf, on which were balanced about one hundred tiny “sitters” in the fifty tiny niches. The entire place looked like a museum or an antique shop. My description doesn’t do justice to the “before” scene, and alas I didn’t take a picture. But it’s the “after” prospect that has me energized. We’ve decided be minimalists, which to us means having very little stuff. Most of the furniture is back, but the jade tree, which burst its pot on the way out, is now only a little possibility of an outdoor plant. The sitters and hangers are not going back. We’ll keep one or two, offer some to our kids and grandkids, sell a few, and box the rest for the church rummage sale or the “put & take” at the dump. What a relief. Ever since I started going to the cottage by the sea, I’ve been searching for simplicity, and now I actually feel that I’ve found some. Plus, I’ve gained some new skills and attitudes to help me discover even more. And yet being a minimalist isn’t going to be easy. I already miss the museum and it will take some getting use to not to live in an antique shop. This story as always touched me. Silence, solitude and simplicity is never in the cottage on other hillside. We create it in our own heart. Dr Alex Tang There is a story told about a young boy who lived with his parents in a cottage on a hillside overlooking a valley. Every evening, he would sit on his front porch and looked over to another house that is situated on another hillside at the other end of the valley. His favorite moment was when the sun was sinking in the west; the other house would burst into a dazzling golden light. How happy these people must be who live in a house with golden windows, he thought. He would fantasize about living in such a house. How happy he would be. He looked around his own house and wished that his house had golden windows too. One day, this boy packed his favorite toy and a loaf of bread and set off to the house of his dreams. The journey took longer than he thought. It was sunset when he climbed the other hill slope. He was disappointed when he reached the other house. It was a cottage like his own home, smaller and more rundown. The windows were ordinary and were not golden at all! He was so disappointed. The kindly folks in the cottage offered him a bed for the night as it was too late for the journey back. He shared supper with the simple folks and went to bed early. The young boy was eager to start his journey early the next day and leave this disappointing house behind. Early the next morning, he let himself out just when the sun was rising to get an early start. He looked across the valley toward his own house. As the ray of the rising sun struck his home, it burst forth in a dazzling golden light! This morning I did it. I boxed up my “Iona quilting project” that has been sitting around all by itself for the past year. I could have let the pieces collect dust in the front room, but I am operating on the old adage, “Out of sight, out of mind.” It has to do with simplicity. I love quilting, but it is not a simplicity-friendly hobby. If you are old enough to remember the notions section of your old Five and Ten Cents store, then seemly hundreds of little supplies will appear on your memory counter—pins, needles, thread, scissors, of all kinds, not to mention all that fabric. And, as we who sew tell each other, “You can’t have enough fabric!” But that’s not all. Along with all the supplies, you need a large work space, and then, since sewing projects take a while to set up, you want to be able to leave everything out—forever, meaning all year. Oh, one more thing—quilting is time intensive. It’s a full time job. I boxed everything (out of sight) because right now simplicity means not having stuff around (out of mind) to suggest that I “should” finish a project. However, I like having an on-going craft to work on, and so I have resurrected a stitchery project--with a Celtic design--that I purchased last year while visiting Iona. In contrast to all the complexities of quilting, stitchery is simple, and yet it offers many of the rewards of quilting (which I’ll go into on another day). Here I am playing in my room.Beatrix Potter. Two Bad Mice. I’ve been thinking about ways to get a little solitude during the holiday, because let’s face it, these days are often filled with family and friends. Of course the message is one of peace, but it’s not easy to speak up and say, “Hey, I want some peace and quiet!” But what if we did? Maybe everyone in the room would shout, “So do I.” When I was teaching I never liked the idea of teacher-direct time out, but I did get a chuckle out of a frustrated first grader who one day announced, “I am taking a time out.” Off he went to a corner of the room with his book. I hope as a grownup he is still monitoring himself. I can still feel the sense of relief when one day my mom suggested that I go up to my room and play by myself. “You’ve spend a lot of time with friends, but I know that you like your time alone. Come down in an hour. ” She was probably talking to a whiny, out-of-control ten year old, but my mom knew how to parent me. I recall staying up there all afternoon; I can picture the incident like it happened yesterday. Don’t you just love Virginia Woolf’s suggestion that a woman needs a room of her own and money? No dispute about the money, and I would say that men need their own room, too. Sure the context is different but the general suggestion is one I like. Sarah commented that my 12/3/10 blog has encouraged her to take claim and make a room of her own. As families change, as the kids grow up and then move out, we have different needs for the rooms in our house. This room that I dare to show, clutter and all, used to be my son’s room. Now it’s mine. Look around and find that room, alcove or closet that is longing to be your special space. I promise, there is one waiting for you. Try it out slowly and quietly by settling in with pillow and book, or claim it quickly and forcefully by pounding a sign on the door. I don’t have to tell you how to furnish it or what to put in it. You’ll know. The stuff will just appear. Trust me! Right away Sarah came up with a list of what was important to her. My essentials include a recliner for reading and napping; certain books at arm’s reach and others arranged on shelves in an order that only makes sense to me, and an accessible spot for my computer. The walls are covered with pictures and mementoes, as are the shelves. To an outsider, my little room may look cluttered, but to me it exudes simplicity. My only suggestion (at least for now) has to do with privacy. Whether you close the door or leave it open, or whether you even have a door, be sure that no one can see your special sitting place as they walk by. I certainly don't want to encourage comments or conversation, nor do I want anyone peeking and musing about my silence, solitude and simplicity. I go with, the adage, “Out of sight, out of mind.” Although I have an actual cottage by the sea (CBTS) where I go to for a few days at a time, to me a CBTS represents any place where I can be alone. Although we can go there in our imagination (even while in the midst of a busy activity such as grocery shopping), I usually think of as it as a physical place. Often it is a room at home, or a spot close to home such as a garden, where we can snatch an hour or two of silence, solitude and simplicity. Once in a while it is a place away from home that invites us to sit in the mystery for a few days or a week, or like Anne Morrow Lindbergh, for two weeks. When I return home from my CBTS, I retreat to a little room in my house. (As you can see from the picture it isn’t simple, but, believe it or not, I do find silence and solitude there.) I am fortunate to have this space, but I am aware that a room in one’s house is not the only kind of CBTS available. My hope is that this blog will help each one of you to find your particular CBTS. This is more apt to happen if we share the wisdom. Therefore, I am delighted that a few people have had the courage to tell their CBTS stories. Check them out on Share your story, and join the conversation. Also, over the next week I’m planning to add some poems and quotes on the subject. If any come to mind, please send them along. |
Contact me: bobbifisher.mac@mac.com
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