If you want to experience silence, solitude and simplicity with friends and family, you might look for a wild life refuge near where you live. For us it was the Garden in the Woods, ‘in New England Wild Flower Society’s renowned botanic garden.’

     What a beautiful day it was for a group of us, young, old and in the middle, to enjoy a picnic and then to walk and listen to the silence of nature.

When I take the long version of my walk around the block, I go by a spot in the road where birds like to cross. Today it was a wild turkey; no two; no three. By the time I focused my camera for a close-up, I had spotted three of them in the woods, camouflaged and soundless as they grazed the underbrush. This was holy silence, telling me,  all is well.  

        As I tried to capture the turkeys on camera, I heard birds, saw the wind on the sunlit leaves and smelled a harbinger of fall--an alive, dynamic offering of silence, solitude and simplicity,  Then, far off, an ambulance siren, another sign that life was happening.

    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.

Although nobody has ever said that the dentist’s office exudes silence, solitude or simplicity, but my dentist comes as close as possible to creating such a setting. When I arrive this morning for preparation for a crown for my wisdom tooth, I was given a post-it and asked to write jot down something that made me smile today—for me it was the dentist’s wisdom and welcoming personality. Next I gave the assistant a CD (“Elizabeth the Queen: Life of a Modern Monarch” by Sally Bedell Smith), and for the next hour and a half hour, thanks to ear phones and CD player provided by my dentist, I became absorbed in the courtship and early marriage of the then Princess Elizabeth and Prince Philip.

    We can’t always avoid noise and complex situations, nor can we avoid the dentist. But we can do things to ease the tension confusion, especially with a dentist like mine. Thank you, Dr. S.

       Thanks to my husband, who’s helping me with this one, I’ve settled upon a 365 day project: IT’S TIME TO GO: GETTING RID OF STUFF. I’ll let you know when it is launched although it may take a few days because, although it will simplify our life in the long run, in the short run the project will take time and psychic energy.

       We absolutely have to get rid of stuff so there’s no choice there. But do I need to blog about it? That is the complicated part. It seems that wanting simplicity and attaining it isn’t as simple as the word implies.

      Let’s see what Mr. Webster says about it. Yes, I’m looking at a real book, not Mr. Webster’s, but “The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language”—a rather impressive title. Wow, here’s food for thought, or rather words for thought.

       Simplicity 1. The state or quality of being simple; absence of complexity, intricacy, or artificiality. 2. Lack of good sense or intelligence; foolishness.

     Yes, getting rid of stuff will offer us some kind of absence of complexity. On the other hand, does blogging about it show a lack of good sense and foolishness? Maybe so,  but certainly not a lack of intelligence. I’ll leave it at that for now.  

Let me tell you about my disastrous Day 1 soup, which is only a disaster if you don’t like spicy, really spicy, and by that I mean curry and cayenne pepper. Actually, I like them both, but not on overload. The two teaspoons of curry were fine, but a half teaspoon of cayenne was over the top for this Spicy Curried  Zucchini Soup. I doubt that I’ll give the recipe another try, but if I do, I’ll go for an eight of  teaspoon of cayenne.

     But that isn’t really the disastrous part of the story; maybe disasterous isn’t the right word, maybe humbling is what I searching for. You see, I had planned to take the soup to two church friends—an older woman who doesn’t get out much, and a woman who had just had major surgery.

        “Poor choice, Bobs.” In my enthusiasm to cook a soup a day for a year, I had lost track of who might be eating the soup. I had become fixated on my life and my project, not on that greater life project--doing unto others.

     What’s the expression? Eating humble pie? Well, I took the humble soup on my visits, explaining my inconsiderate spicy choice.  I told my friends that I didn’t want to throw the soup away, but that they were welcome to do just that, and that there was always a chance that they might actually love really spicy.

          It’s the thought that counts, but next time I’ll be more thoughtful.

The other day I got it in my mind (once again) that I wanted to do some kind of art or activity every day for a year. The idea has intrigued me every since I saw the movie “Julia Being Julia”, in which for 365 consecutive days a young woman named Julia Powell completes a Julia Child recipe and blogs about it. (Her blog no longer exists .)

        Then there is Nina Sankovitch reading a book a day to assuage her grief after her sister’s death and writing about it in “Tolstoy and the Purple Chair”. Her blog continues to be a rich resource for all kinds of reading: http://www.readallday.org/blog/

        “365: A Daily Creativity Journal: Make Something Every Day and Change Your Life!” by Noah Scalin has also inspired many to pick a theme and then create variations for a year. The possibilities are endless. Check out http://makesomething365.blogspot.com/ for inspiration.

      So I decided I’d make a soup a day. Really? What was I thinking? I don’t have time for such a labor intensive activity, and besides, what would I do with all that soup?  Oh, I have the time if that’s what I want to do with my life; we could have soup for breakfast, lunch and dinner and of course I could give it to the people I visit and take it whenever there is a call for food at church.

     Well, after completing Day 1 of soup making I have scratched the idea. It isn’t that the soup was a disaster (which it was, but I tell you about that tomorrow), but because, who wants to eat soup for 365 consecutive days anyway? Certainly, I don’t. Why? I like soup okay, but a lot of soup is about vegetables, and truth be told, I don’t like vegetables. How humbling to admit such a thing, but I’m working on humility and confessing such blasphemy is a good a place as any to start.

     What I learned from this one day experience is that you to have passion to repeat any variation on a theme for 365 days, and since I don’t have passion for soup or for cooking, no wonder I failed. You have to have passion to get you through those days when you’re tired and want to skip a day, and you have to have passion to give yourself permission to do just that—skip a day. In fact, you have to have passion to do whatever you do in any serious way for any extended period of time.

     As far as the 365 a day commitment, I seem to have a passion, a desire, to post a quote every day on this blog. I’ve done so for about 635 days, missing one day, I believe, due to traveling.  What’s the passion? Inspiring, affirming and encouraging others to find the silence, solitude and simplicity that they long for--to follow their bliss.

    One more thing….I haven’t given up on finding another 365 day project, although if I think about it, I’m already doing  a bunch of them, beginning with such mundane, but necessary routines as flossing, and taking my vitamins. And there’s my walking and taking quiet time.  But I’m thinking of a new, intentional commitment, something a little bit more radical than flossing.

 Every day, life gives us opportunities for forgiveness, with travel being no exception. It happened just over a week ago as my daughter, grandchildren and I stood in line to get into Versailles. As we moved along in front of the palace, we exchanged pleasantries with a German couple in front of us and an Asian family behind us. The queue wove up and down in an orderly and obvious way; no confusion for anyone…well at least that what we thought… and here’s where the forgiveness comes in.

      All at once two French women were standing between us and the Asians. Where did they come from? Since they were behind us, I didn’t say anything, but then a family of four started easing its way in front of our German friends. When the German man spoke to them, they feigned ignorance and acted confused, and then quietly slipped in behind us. But where were the French women? I walked on ahead and found them simultaneously taking photographs and slipping (cutting) into the line. When I returned to our spot, I was amazed to count fourteen people between us and our Asian friends.

    So what am I to do about this, or rather how am I to respond as a person longing for silence, solitude and simplicity? As a start, I don’t have to take it on. I can let go of the righteous indignation that I felt. Cutting in line seems to be a cultural thing, something the French do. I don’t have to like it, nor do I have to be judgmental about it. After all, we Americans have our share of abrasiveness when we travel,  particularly when we complain about the lack of efficiency and laissez-faire attitudes of others. 

     Finally, I don’t have to let it ruin my time--which it didn’t. With forgiveness, with letting it go, the incident became no more than a minor observation.  Without a doubt, the observations worth keeping are the Palace and Gardens of Versailles.

A few days ago I blogged about my annoyance that the downpour of rain on our sun roof  ruined my TV watching of the Olympics. Today, however, I have upbeat rain story, which may confirm that it was TV watching, not the rain, that ruined my sense of silence, solitude and simplicity.

      Yesterday evening, after a heavy downpour, I set out for my walk. I thought that the rain had completed it’s exercise for the day, but no, first a few sprinkles and then a more persistent presence. But, I didn’t mind it a bit. Sure I got a little wet but I also cooled off. The sound of the drops on the trees and sidewalk was calming. Definitely a positive experience of the kind of silence, solitude and simplicity that I long for.