I never have to remember when the Memorial Day parade is scheduled to stop across from our house at the Civil War statue in front of the library. I hear the Minutemen and know it’s time to go out. This year more watchers and marchers than usual were along the road to Concord. Seems there were representatives from all “our” wars, even “the men in blue”, which may have been a first for them. This time three rounds of three were shot by corps representing the Revolutionary, Civil, and well, I guess all the wars of the twentieth (and twenty-first?) century.
     Our stop is the Civil War stop. Next they move up the road to Wadsworth Cemetery where King Philips War was fought in 1675. On they go to the town center a mile and a half away.
     The Memorial Day parade in our town has a feel of silence and solitude, punctuated by the three gun salutes. We retreat to our own private thoughts of war: the silence that befalls the soldier dead on the battlefield, and the solitude that loved ones will forever feel. But maybe more than that, or maybe because of that, we feel the need for community and companionship.

       I bet you’ve been wondering when I was going to tell you about the yard sale. Here I am, but don’t worry, I’m not going to go on and on with all the details. After all, this is a blog about the 3S’s, and in this case, simplicity, which according to my definition, includes having less stuff.
       As you can imagine, a sunny day in the low 80’s simplified the logistics. Buyers began snooping around five minutes after we started putting things out at 6 AM; by 11:30 everything was at half price; at 2 the leftovers were by the side of the road, with a sign that said, “Free”; by 3 the pickers had snatched everything, with the exception of a bag of stuffed animals, three baskets, and a huge artificial Christmas wreath.
       With every item taken away, a buyer’s life becomes more complex: young couples finding kitchen items for their new home; parents and kids looking for toys; little kids spending their allowance; collectors searching for special pottery; teachers rummaging for anything and everything; middle aged women selecting brand named clothing to put on EBay; older folk scrounging for items to sell at flea markets.; everyone thumbing through books.
      With every item taken away, a seller’s life becomes more simple; less stuff! But what amazed me was that my attitude toward material possessions shifted just in that morning. Case in point: I was tempted to take the set of measuring cups I was pricing. “Um, these are nice-- high quality and like new,” I told myself. But then I retorted, “Hey, you have enough measuring cups to last your lifetime.”
      Believe me this takes a lot of discipline and practice, but by the end of the morning, I was pretty used to this private discussion with myself. Now that I’m home, I am hoping that the internal conversation with continue. “Keep what you need; share the rest in some useful way.”   
      (Full disclosure, true confession, I took back one of those pocketbooks that I had purged from my closet and wrote about in a previous blog. How many pocketbooks do I need? What is need, anyway? Life isn’t simple.)

 Today we’re making another attempt to simplify. We’ve loaded the car with “stuff” to take all the way to the yard sale in our daughter’s neighborhood in Pennsylvania. Of course, if my husband didn’t have this hobby of acquiring  things from the “Put and Take” at our local dump, we would have room to load some of the treasures from our house that we have collected over the thirty plus years.

    I’m well aware that simplicity isn’t simply about getting rid of stuff, but I also know that just thinking about all the piles of “sitters,” books, clothing, dishes, kids drawings and trophies (for every sport’s event that they every participated in)—you name it—is enough to get me thinking that nothing in my life will ever be simple. So just making a little headway in clearning (cleaning  and clearing) gives me the illusion that I’m walking down a simple path.  

      Dr. B’s office called yesterday to report that the tick that I found embedded in my thigh ten days ago was indeed a carrier of Lyme disease. So I agreed to be treated as if I had it. Of course there’s a very good chance that I don’t have the disease, but it’s not worth taking the chance. 
      Illness, or even attention to health issues, presents me with thoughts about silence, solitude and simplicity, as well as their opposites, which I’ll name as community, noise and complexity. For example, a doctor’s office never feels silent, even when there is an atmosphere of hush; if people aren’t talking or even if they are just whispering quietly, computers are spurting forth information. As far as solitude is concerned, whatever is going on inside my body is not private once I’m plugged into the medical system; and yet, I feel immense solitude as I deal with possibilities and realities. And finally, need I mention that none of this is simple?

We took a fieldtrip to the gristmill near the Wayside Inn with the grandkids. Plenty of room to run around. Even the sun was out. Biggest surprise was the crystal clear pond where we always go to feed the ducks with the stale bread that I keep in the freezer for just such occasions. For the past four years, the pond has fooled us with its covering of green algae that looks like a beautifully mowed lawn. But yesterday the pond was pristine, with a swan preening in the distance and a couple of mallards and one Canadian goose showing a little curiosity but not enough to grab our snack.

       I could have sat by this pond for hours, just as I can meander along the beach for long periods of time. Being on the water makes me feel alive and free, whereas walking around the block in the neighborhood just isn’t the same. There’s power in water, even in a still little pond. Of course the ocean, even on a calm day, is overpowering. Maybe that’s what I’m searching for. 

I don’t know if it’s the weather or the location, but I don’t get the same personal satisfaction or experience the same human connections when I walk in my neighborhood as I did up there at the cottage by the sea. Every walk on the beach offered just the right blend of solitude and community. Whether it was folks looking for treasure, surfers riding the waves or the sea gulls crying for clams, something of the NOW was always happening. A moment in time.

      But here in the neighborhood, everyone is going somewhere (shopping or carpooling) or doing something (mowing or something property related), and I find myself joining in with my own mission to accomplish. Have I become another suburban power walker? Sure, I’m alone, but I don’t feel the same peaceful solitude surrounding my walk. I don’t even remember to step into the NOW. Less of a moment in time.

       Let’s face it. Living in a cottage by the sea day after day without obligations, and taking a walk on the beach daily, is pretty ideal for keeping in the moment. But walking in the neighbor is quite wonderful, too. I have to believe that solitude moments are everywhere I want to see them.

Why has it been a few days since I’ve written? Maybe because my life hasn’t been filled with much silence, solitude or simplicity and after all, that’s what this blog is supposed to be about. Well, it’s partly about that, but one way I seem to understand the 3Ss is when I don’t have them. Zing, the contrast brings clarity.

    Clarity No. One. As much as I love solitude, I love going places with friends. Yesterday five of us had a ball just over the border in New Hampshire, first enjoying lunch at the Pickity Place in Mason, and then  wandering about the Cathedral of the Pines in Rindge . If this were a travel blog, I’d tell you about them, but since it isn’t, I suggest you check out them out on line, and if you ever in the area, by all means make a visit.

     Clarity No. Two. Visiting places with friends is a different experience than visiting alone. What fun we had discussing the herbs and edibles leaves and flowers that were part of our gourmet lunch:

       Clarity No. Three. I will return to these places alone, for a silent and solitary visit.  On a beautiful day I could spend hours at the Cathedral of the Pines, a “cathedral without walls”  that  welcomes people of all faiths and honors the service of American men and women, both military and civilian.

       Today I’m thinking that I gotta have companionship in order to enjoy solitude, and of course, vice-versa.

     Yesterday was, as the saying goes, just one of those days. I couldn’t get going, couldn’t get anything accomplished. Um, I thought, “Maybe I’m supposed to learn to do nothing, and think that that’s by far the best way to live.” Now that would be a challenge, but I’m considering that it may be a worthwhile one.
    Well, come to think of it, I did do something. I took the tick that I found lodged in my hip to my doctor. Yup, it’s tick season. Dr. B thought it was too big to be a “lyme disease tick.” She told me to look for a bull’s eye forming where the bite had been and to watch out for “flu like symptom.” With that, she sent the tick to the lab, and me to my home.  
     I don’t think that my lethargy had much to do with the tick experience. These kind of days happen to all of us from time to time. We have day to ourselves, and find that we can’t get going on anything. I didn’t feel lonely, sad, or purposeless. I just couldn't be my usually productive self. Sometimes on such days I take one of my field trips, which means I get out of the house and visit something new and different. Yesterday, however, I stayed home and read a novel, something I hardly ever do. Talk about simplicity!! It was one that I picked from the library because I like the picture on the cover. The story was easy to get into, the plot moved along, and if it dragged, I could speed read to the next incident. 
     Today my productive energy is back, although I think I’ll go back to the library and get another novel, just in case.

  I’m sitting here in solitude watching the green leaves of spring burst forth outside my window and eating a green lunch of broccoli soup (with a little spinach) and avocado on rice cakes. I just made the soup and will post the recipe tomorrow (Check comfort food. posted . Soup and sandwich was my staple at the cottage. I bought or made soup to accompany my usual avocado on rice cakes, which gives a sandwich feel but without the carbo loading of bread.

        Somehow good nutrition goes along with silence, solitude and simplicity, and so on a cottage day, like today, I want to eat yummy and healthy. But believe me I’m not always good. Last night we had steak, onion rings, and good for us, a salad. And, truth be told, I’m not wild about vegetables.

Be who your are meant to be and you will set the world on fire.

      I’ve been thinking about today’s quote from St. Catherine of Siena. What in heaven’s (or earth’s) name does it mean? What in my unconscious prompted me to put it on? I must admit that I don’t always mull over the quotes that I offer. After all, posting one a day is a challenge. Sometimes I think more deeply about them on subsequent days, but truth be told, there are some quotes that never get my attention again. But here I am today, thinking hard about what it might mean to set the world on fire, the implication being that it’s a real possibility for each of us. 

    Fire can be destructive, but I don’t think that is what Catherine had in mind. Maybe she was thinking about that spark in each of us that is for the good. We never know precisely what someone else has in mind when they write, but we can look and see what their words tweak in us.

      As a start, I believe that we are meant to be truth tellers. Yes to others, but first and foremost to ourselves. Here’s an example that might speak to “those who are looking for silence, solitude and simplicity and who sometimes like to be alone.” A year before I started this blog, on my first day at the cottage in November 2009, I wrote, “I am afraid that I might like this being alone.”  It has taken me a year and a half and two cottage seasons to admit to myself, and then to others, that yes, I love solitude and that yes, I am happy alone (not afraid).

      Why was this so difficult to admit? In large measure because “the world” tells us that we should want to be with others all the time and that being alone indicates something very wrong. Just take the messages of TV, telling and showing us how to look, where to live, what to eat, how to succeed in business, how to make money, ways to get others to like us, with the end result to gain power over others. Those are the destructive fires that eventually burn out.

     Admitting the truth that I like silence, solitude and simplicity and sometimes like to be alone, was a big deal to me, but it really wasn’t to my family and friends. Most of them knew that about me before I knew it myself. Now I try to live into that truth, being considerate to those close to me, while giving myself what I need to live authentically/truthfully.

      I surely don’t claim to have set the world on fire. But I do hope that I have helped some of you to face that truth in yourself about your need for solitude; when that spark ignites, you have no choice but to take some actions to get what you need. Remember Joseph Campbell who told us to follow our bliss.