Yesterday I headed over to BJ’s to stock up on food for July 4th and to purchase a couple of folding tables for the upcoming festivities. The prices are supposed to be cheaper because you’re buying in bulk and not paying for store services. So there I was, pushing a cart with pasta and popsicles and pulling a dolly with two six-foot tables. I was managing; I always do, but I must have looked rather awkward because a woman behind me, wearing a dress and high heals, called out, “Would you like some help?”

        In less than ten seconds, my little-head-voice and my independent-self had a brief back and forth: “I don’t need help; I can do it myself ….But wait, I could use some help….Why not.”
      “I’d love some,” I called back.
      Can you believe what a big step that was for me? Me, who loves solitude, who stashes away points for helping others, and who feels proud of all the shoveling she did at the cottage this winter. You know how it goes.
         On the way home I got thinking about giving and receiving. If I hadn’t accepted that woman’s offer, I would have missed an opportunity to contribute my little part in manifesting the golden rule out there in the world. which, by the way, is widely considered to be at the core of all faith traditions. Pretty awesome.

        Sometimes I have to get involved in the complexity of things in order to arrive at a simple solution. Take cooking. As you know, most of the recipes that I’ve posted have been simple, simple to make, I mean. I haven’t promised that they would be nutritious, but certainly delicious, at least according to my palate. So, of course today’s recipe is delicious, that is, if you like mac and cheese; and depending how you look at it, it’s also nutritious. Well, let me clarify that—high in protein, but alas, also high in cholesterol.
        In the simplicity category it’s a mixed bag; several steps are involved and it is somewhat time-consuming to make. But once you spoon it into those casserole dishes, life becomes simple. Simple because you have doubled the recipe, made it ahead of time, and stuck it in the freezer. When the family comes on July 4th, out it comes, along with the hamburgers and hotdogs, simple and simply enough to feed the crowd.  Simple because kids love it, and, well, adults will eat anything. 

     This week I have been visiting some friends who can’t get out easily on their own. While I am choosing my solitude and cottage-by-the-sea times, these folks are alone because their choices are limited; they just can’t get around like they used to. They have had to give up their driver’s license and some are now relying on walkers or wheelchairs to get maneuver about the house.

      Although this blog is for people who sometimes like to be alone, the underlying principle is that we have choices. But what about these friends that I visit who don’t have the free reign of choices, at least as far as mobility is concerned, that I take for granted? I want to believe that they feel they have other kinds of choices in their lives beside those that relate to cars and legs.

      Today I got one answer. “I am thankful I have the choice to stay in my own home rather than go to a nursing home.”

      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).

Today Boston is swelling with over a million prideful people celebrating the Bruins who, after thirty nine years, have brought the Stanley Cup back to the city. Some of us can remember 1972 and Bobby Orr and the Big Bad Bruins. Regardless, Boston is Sports City Supreme and do we know how to celebrate!!! Exuberantly and safely.

     I watch a good share of professional sports, particularly playoffs, but I really consider myself a fair-weather fan. I learned the hard way back in my Brooklyn Dodger days. I remember telling my Grandmother that I just knew that God was a Yankee fan. I have so many memories of being a fan with her. Every day she’d cut the Major League Standings of the day from the New York Times, and before the game started, there she was, sitting at the card table watching the Knot-Hole Gang.

       In 1955 she took me to the opening game at Ebbets Field. It was rained out, but all at once, there was Jackie Robinson standing two feet away from us outside the park looking for his wife to pick him up. “Jackie, do you think you’ll play tomorrow?” Wow, that was bold of me!!. Rather distractedly he said yes and then autographed the little piece of paper I thrust at him. Alas, I don’t have the autograph, but I do have my scrapbook of the season.

     What does all of this have to do with solitude? Maybe it is all a stretch. Maybe I just want to share the memory. However, it’s pretty clear that as much as I love solitude, I have no interest in becoming a hermit or removing myself from all the social aspects of life. More to the point, maybe there aren’t many people left who shared those Dodger memories with me?  My younger brother, and then there are my high school friends: only one joined me in rooting for “Dem Bums”; most of them were die-hard Yankee fans; one rooted for the Red Sox; and then there was that sole Giants fan who never let me forget Bobby Thompson’s home run in 1951. But for the most part, it was my grandmother and me. If nothing else, I’m enjoying some solitude with her.

      9:45 AM. How does restlessness relates to solitude? I have the day ahead of me, free to do whatever I so desire, all solitude. But here I am, restless, my mind and body all over the place. Should I take a walk? Go to Starbucks? Read a book? Write the blog? Visit a friend? Put in a load of laundry? On it goes; up and down I bob (yes, bob for Bobbi). Decision made. I’m hungry for fried eggs and an English muffin, so I’m heading down to the kitchen right now.
     12 Noon. I satisfied my appetite, which is always most ravenous in the morning a hour after I’ve eaten my oatmeal. And now I just finished what I call a meditation nap; I nod off for a bit and when I come back to consciousness, my mind is settled with gentle thoughts. Today I drifted off to my cottage by the sea for calm and comfort. At home I am full of “shoulds”, which mainly feel like obligations, such as, “Should I visit a friend who doesn’t get out much?” I just can’t get into that “on vacation” mood that I embrace at the cottage. Um, nothing new there! Next decision: read.
     2:30 PM. I read (Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy) for an hour, did some laundry, and prepared a salad for supper tonight. I’m feeling less restless and am very glad that I didn’t succumb to Starbucks. The Desert Fathers tell us, “Stay in your cell, for your cell will tell you everything you need to know.” Well I don’t know everything, but I do know that paying attention to restlessness helps me get through it. The Dessert Fathers also wandered about the dessert, so right now I’m going to wander around the neighborhood. I’d prefer a walk on the beach, but I’m not at the cottage.
    4:00 PM. The walk revived me. Nothing like a pilgrimage around the block to still the restlessness while at the same time, keeping me in solitude. One insight to ponder: I love when I don’t have any obligations. I know, I know, that’s not practical or sensible, but I bet there’s something in admitting that most of us have too many obligations.
    Tomorrow is a day filled with good obligations.  

       I’ve thought long and hard about sharing this poem. Believe me, I’m not ready to head for the hills, but my attention is always drawn to any text that starts off with, “What gets you up in the morning?” You know me, I’m a morning person.

       As I read on, I thought, “Oh my gosh, Eleanor Lerma knows how to connect with people who sometimes like to be alone. She acknowledges our desire.” Let’s face it, we love to fantasize and “Bandito” encourages our imaginations to come up with ways to follow our bliss, admit what is true for us, dare to dream, do whatever we need to do to lead a soul filled life….

         That’s the purpose of this blog: to encourage. By offering a window into my own thinking about silence, solitude and simplicity, I hope to tweak you on our journey.

"Bandito" by Eleanor Lerman

What gets you up in the morning?

For me it is the thought
that someday, I will be
as far away from here
as I can get

Watch me
rubbing out the lines behind me
I recommend it

I recommend
fooling everyone into thinking
that you have settled down
and then heading for the hills

The dog will bare his teeth
if instructed and meet up
with you later. It's good
you named him Bandito:
he'll watch your back

This, by the way, this is not a fantasy
It is page 69 (ha ha!) of the manual
I read when we were planning
the takeover

So it didn't happen--so what?
This is better
Wait until I tell you
what's on the next page

From The Writer’s Almanac
newsletter@americanpublicmedia.org  

    I look around this house and see over thirty years of collectables, old and new, bought and homemade. My sister once likened our house to a museum, and there is something about her comment that rings true. However, it doesn’t express the simplicity that I feel day in and day out living here, even when I am overwhelmed by the thought that we have too many things. Donald Hall would understand.

The Things  

When I walk in my house I see pictures,
bought long ago, framed and hanging
-- de Kooning, Arp, Laurencin, Henry Moore --
that I've cherished and stared at for years,
yet my eyes keep returning to the masters
of the trivial -- a white stone perfectly round,
tiny lead models of baseball players, a cowbell,
a broken great-grandmother's rocker,
a dead dog's toy -- valueless, unforgettable
detritus that my children will throw away
as I did my mother's souvenirs of trips
with my dead father. Kodaks of kittens,
and bundles of cards from her mother Kate.

             Donald Hall

         For me, solitude isn’t just about being all by myself with no one in view; so yesterday I took a field trip to Boston. There I was, alone in the presence of families, school groups and random individuals, as well as mallards and swans. My T stop was Park Street and from there I wandered behind the State House and around Beacon Hill. Talk about memories! Still standing a the corner of  Joy and Myrtle was the apartment I lived in during my first year of teaching.
       The State House was adorned with a huge Boston Bruins banner, cheering on the city’s sport’s team of the moment (battling Vancouver for the Stanley Cup tonight at The Garden). But let’s face it, flying a banner is a very usual way of showing allegiance to the home team. However, only in the Boston Public Garden could we possibly see McCloskey’s ducklings, Jack, Kack, Lack, Mack, Nack, Ouack, Pack and Quack draped with black and gold capes with a hockey player’s number on the back. What a photo op. Oh, but that isn’t all. Facing Commonwealth Avenue at the entrance to the Public Garden, adorned with a Bruins’ cape and its own Number 1, stood George Washington, mounted on his steed, ready to forge toward the goal.
     Alone, or with a friend, enjoyable either way.

      So what’s on my mind when I find myself with a chunk of solitude, when I’m in solitude mode?  On one end of the continuum is nothingness--empty mind; at the other end, worry-- usually mundane, but sometimes worth dwelling upon.  In between it might go something like this. I might be present to the moment, to the NOW. If I’m cooking, it’s attending to how I am following the recipe or stirring the soup; while walking I’d be noticing the light on the trees, or feeling the breeze on my face. Sometimes I am in a prayerful, meditative mode, thinking of others and sending hope for a healing or positive resolution to a problem. Of course my mind also wanders and I find myself planning—the menu, a trip, what to do tomorrow….on it goes. I’m a big anticipator. 

    But what has intrigued me recently is how often in solitude I think about other people. Here I am, with time alone, but I’m inviting others to join me. Ah, but I have control of the conversations and can manipulate how I want it to go. Well, kind of.