Things are settling down out there; the traffic is manageable, the supermarket thinning out, the New Year has arrived in Australia and is coming our way. Those of us staying home this evening are looking forward to silence and simplicity, and maybe some solitude. Those going out are preparing for a joyful evening with friends. Tomorrow when we all wake up, it will the first day of 2013 regardless of how we spent the final evening of 2012.

     Most of us have planned these two days carefully for our pleasure. But not so the  friend I visited today in the hospital. Tests, personal care, monitoring, medicine, all for his benefit, but clearly he’s not in charge of his New Year’s Eve plans this year. He is, however, in charge of his attitude, and he knows it. If having a positive attitude was the only criteria for dismissal, he’d be on his way home or off to a party. In fact, he’d never have ended up in the hospital in the first place.

     So here’s a toast to my friend in the hospital, and to those around the globe who are not in charge of their New Year’s plans.

This afternoon I took our granddog for a walk  to the local cemetery. There was a lovely stillness there, a certain aliveness among flowers, Christmas trees and other decorations that loved ones had left in remembrance. Then there were the always-present the American flags bestowed by the VFW. People have died, but they are alive in memories. I found this to be just the place to go for silence, solitude and simplicity on a clear end-of-December day.

I received this card from a long-time friend. Here’s a portion of the message.

“During this season of thanks and giving, and in recognition of your compassion for those in need, AmeriCares has received a contribution in your name to help with our Hurricane Sandy relief efforts. This thoughtful gesture was made by ­­­­­­­_______________. “

     Gratitude is one of those ideas out there in the universe these days. But how to be grateful in the midst of so much plenty? Excess spending and gift giving doesn’t feel neutral anymore; it sets my gratitude back a few notches. But the thought, and actual giving, behind a card like this moves gratitude forward.

     And, here’s a bonus. Although I don’t know anyone directly effected by Hurricane Sandy, I’ve fallen in love with the little boy on the cover of the card. That’s got to be good for the universe.

How does one maintain silence, solitude and simplicity on the day before Christmas, (or Chanukah, if that is what you celebrate)? Well, I don’t even try, and I believe that it is that very giving up that makes it possible for me to find it. Now, I must admit that this holiday season is calm as far as my hostessing is concerned. Family and friends have that role this year. But I am cooking, and this morning I experienced some lovely, peaceful moments while sautéing vegetables for a Moroccan couscous dish. Gratitude embraces silence, solitude and simplicity at this time of year .

Tomorrow friends and family will gather to remember and celebrate the life of Edie Murray. As we come together I’m sure that we will acknowledge the services taking place for the victims of the Newtown tragedy.

    One of Edie roles while on staff at the Iona Abbey and as director of Wayside Hospice was to plan and lead the services of remembrance. The following poem/prayer was always included. How appropriate it is at the time.

We Remember Them
 

In the rising of the sun and its going down,
We Remember Them.
In the bowing of the wind and in the chill of winter,
We Remember Them.
In the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring.
We Remember Them.
In the blueness of the skies and in the warmth of summer,
We Remember Them.
In the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn.
We Remember Them.
In the beginning of the year and when it ends,
We Remember Them.
When we are weary and in need of strength,
We Remember Them.
When we are lost and sick of heart,
We Remember Them.
When we have joys and special celebrations we yearn to share,
We Remember Them.
Sp long as we live, they too shall live, for they are part of us.
We Remember Them.

~From the Jewish Book Of Prayer~

Yesterday the beach belonged to the surfers. At one time I counted twelve black dots among the waves and more were parking their cars and suiting up. As I walked along I envied these people who had chosen such a vibrant way to stay in the present moment, their bodies alive and pulsating with every wave, every dip, every roll. My body did what it could to participate vicariously—my best for a moment in the NOW.

“Let the sea roar and all that fills it; the world and those who live in it,” says the psalmist and that’s the way it was when I arrived at the cottage yesterday afternoon. The wind wasn’t howling; just the sea, high tide waves rolling in, fog obliterating the homes across the bay. Somehow it felt comforting. I had no choice but to snuggle into my little cottage by the sea, snuggle and feel protected. Our world has been in an uproar since last Friday morning; a simplistic, idyllic scene would have felt dishonest. But our world has also been comforted, and even protected, by the outpouring of candles, flowers and teddy bears, and by the heartfelt prayers of our president, Christian clergy, Jewish rabbis, Islamic leaders, and from everyone who has shed a tear. As Annie once sang, “The sun will come out tomorrow.”

Last Friday morning I wrote about watching the sunrise from the deck of the cottage and about walking the beach at low tide. A simple, silent, solitary kind of time for me. Today I am consumed by those twenty-six names that President Obama spoke at last evening’s Interface Service in Newtown. I’m doing my best not to talk about it; not to avoid the reality, the sorrow, the anguish, but so I can sit in silence with the victims, their friends and families, the responders, the town, the country, the world. We all have a role in this grieving, and I believe that mine is silence.

Yesterday I did what this blog is all about. In the cottage I sat in silence, solitude and simplicity. Same thing while walking the beach.      Then this morning, while watching yet another sunrise from the outside deck, I called ‘good morning’ to my neighbor. A typically congenial conversation about the weather followed-- I can only describe it as a kind of silence. Let me explain. In the four years that I’ve been coming here the only  exchange I’ve had with these neighbors was when early on I introduced myself while passing them on the sidewalk. Since then, as we’ve come and gone, I’ve tried to make eye contact. Nothing. It has felt like the air has been filling up with ‘silent noise.’ But no more. The noise of silence is gone, hopefully to be replaced by a  silent morning wave.

     Today I return home to a more noisy, social and complicated life. No complaints. I’m very grateful for the two worlds I live in.

I’m trying to figure out the winter rules for conversation and sociability on the beach.  I thinking about this because here at the cottage (and on the beach) I’m into silence and thus conscious of  all the sounds around me. Undoubtedly the standards for summer are entirely different, but here’s what I observed yesterday at low tide on a warm afternoon.   

      When walking along the sidewalk on the way to the beach, the rules are clear. Any or all of the following are acceptable: nod, raise your hand as in waving, say hello, offer a one-liner on the weather. On the beach, the rules are different, probably because everyone is so spread out. But even within talking distance, the most anyone gets or gives is a nod or wave. That is, unless dogs are involved, and then all rules and etiquette are off. Owners feel perfectly free to let their dogs bark at you or jump on you, and are more than willing to converse with you (about their dog, of course).

     Yesterday (sorry no pic) a lady explained to me that she’s trying to get her new, very tiny, dog to be friendly. “I hope you don’t mind that he’s jumping on you. Since I’ve been letting him ‘meet’ people, he’s not as shy. I’ve only had him a week.”

      My role in this etiquette is to rave (as in wonderful) about the dog. “Looks like you have winner.”

     Thank goodness the Emily Post of dog etiquette doesn’t say I have to linger and talk. And thank goodness there’s something about the beach that keeps everyone moving, especially dogs.