Just days before I heard that the cottage would be mine for another winter, I received a picture book from a friend who reviews children’s books. “One Wish” by Francis Wolfe, is the whimsical story of a girl who wishes on a star for a cottage-by-the-sea. The illustrations brought back memories of the summer my family rented a house on the Connecticut shore when I was twelve, and of course the entire book reminded me of my current CBTS. Am I the young girl sitting on the porch, playing in the sand, and watching the gulls? Or am I the gray haired woman on the last page remembering how her wish came true? I think I am both. I live a lot in my imagination, especially during my favorite ages between 9 and 13th. Why would I ever want to grow up? And with my mom still alive, how can I?
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I received a letter from the man who rents me my CBTS, and guess what? We’re going for our third win-win situation. That’s what we call it. For another season he and I will benefit from the silence, solitude and simplicity that I enjoy at the cottage, as I keep it occupied, heated and shoveled out during the winter months. . We figure that this is probably the most simple rental arrangement on the planet-- well at least on the east coast. Actually, I’ve know about this for a week, but kept it a secret until yesterday (my husband knew). For me, living in solitude includes not telling everything to everyone--certainly not right away, and sometimes never. I wanted a little time to wallow in my own thoughts about being back at the cottage, before I opened up to anyone else. Yesterday I ventured out to purchase three large plastic storage containers. Just making the decision to spend the morning at the mall was a big one for me, because, believe me, I haven’t been shopping for months. I stopped going over a year ago when I decided that I didn’t need any new stuff and that I wanted to save my money for travel and rent at my cottage by the sea. It is amazing, all the things I don’t need, which was brought home to me as I stood in line waiting for the next available sales person—in no way was I tempted to grab one of those sale item gadgets and put in my cart. My shopping expedition was successful. I had my little list of things I really needed besides the plastic boxes, and for the most part I stuck with the list. For example, I bought some plastic sleeves to preserve some of my mom’s papers that I’m going through. Our toilet seat cracked, so I purchased a new one. I splurged on a vente decaf latte at Starbucks. Not on the list, however, was a brown belt. I’ve lived without one for over a year, but there is was, a good price, and so into the cart it went. I’m reminded of “Yogisms”--f you don’t go into a store, there’s no way you’ll walk out with something. I think I told you that my granddaughter and I toured the Emily Dickinson Homestead the other day. Definitely worth a visit when you’re in the Amherst, MA area. We heard how Emily was surrounded by the intellectual and social comings and goings of the area during her 56 years (1830-1886). By all accounts an introvert, it seems that Emily viewed much of the action from her bedroom widow; we also know that she spent much of her time there writing poems. Those of us who sometimes like to be alone can resonate with how at times Emily may have felt. We may not be the recluse that she was, but we have myriad social and public happenings in our lives that can keep us from times of desired solitude. So, like Emily, we need our own special room, from which to view the world, and be our creative selves. It’s a challenge to experience solitude when the weekend is filled with visiting and being visited by family and friends. Just no way to slip into the solitude zone while carrying out my Camp Fisher duties as chef, baker of Sculpy, provider of supplies for terrariums, and field trip director to Dairy Joy. I wonder how Emily Dickinson felt when her family home was filled with activity? They say that she liked children and was very playful with them. She loved to bake and is known to have lowered some of her biscuits in a basket from her upstairs window to the neighborhood children waiting below. We all need the balance of social and solitude, and we all find our ways. I wouldn’t give any of it up. 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. Four the past four days I’ve been on a whirlwind of, well, I don’t know what to call it. Let me just say, intensity. Two funerals, one for young man in his thirties, the other for a man in his late seventies; visiting hours for a 48 year old women who died of a brain tumor; and the round trip drive to Connecticut to visit my mom, who at aged 101 still has a twinkle in her eye, but has very few words other than, “Good to see you.” And that, I must say, is pretty wonderful to hear. All of this involves a good deal of activity and conversation—in the car, out of the car, greeting, hugging, crying, sharing memories. Hardly silence, solitude or simplicity. And yet, in the in between spaces, I have a felt just that. I wonder if once we admit to ourselves our desire for silence, solitude and simplicity, we are able to experience it in whatever circumstances we find ourselves. As I held my mothers hand and as I went through the bereavement lines, I was aware that we were all standing alone together—in emotional, yet peaceful solidarity. |
Contact me: bobbifisher.mac@mac.com
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