My mother used to tell us, “If you’re feeling down, just do something for someone else.” How true, Mom, how true.
     What to do on a dreary raining/sleety day? A good day to stay home and enjoy the silence, solitude and simplicity I love. And so I did. It was a good day but there were things to do. I made turkey soup, and that was fun. I finished the scarf I was knitting for my grandson, and that was fun.
     I wrapped his gift and one for my daughter, and that was satisfying because I’m excited about the gifts and want to get them in the mail tomorrow--but not really fun. It took over a half hour to wrap, write the notes, fill in the mailing labels, and seal the packages ready to do. Simple, necessary, satisfying tasks that take time!
     That was yesterday. Today I mailed the packages on my way to meet my sister for our birthday breakfast. Born on the same day, six years apart.

I was planning to title today’s blog, “Looking Down” and ponder the deep significance of all the dust on our floors; I even took a picture of it. But then I came to my senses and realized that anyone longing for silence, solitude and simplicity doesn’t want to read about my after Christmas cleaning. Maybe I’ll write about that on my lettinggoofstuff blog; maybe I wont. Instead I’ll share the “Looking Up” photographs from this morning’s walk.

Christmas time, with all the comings and goings of family and friends, is a good time to renew Brugh Joy’s three criteria for unconditional love:
• No judgment
• No comparisons
• Give up the need to understand
 
In summary, let it all go and just love everyone.

Two questions for those of us who long for silence, solitude and simplicity. How do we know that we are really certain of this longing, and how do we satisfy it? I can’t answer for anyone else, but here are my thoughts and the action I’ve taken.
First of all, here are signs indicating that yes, I really long for the 3Ss? I retreat to my Angel Room: I say no to invitations that suggest socializing that is noisy, chatty, and apt to send me down an unnecessarily complicated path: I am elated when I have a day (or better still, days) free of plans, obligations or conversation; and, I find myself planning ways to get away to Florence again so I can wander the city by myself.
That’s precisely what I have done today—not just planned but made a flight reservation and apartment rental for January 10-23. Why not experience the city in the mid winter, a winter that won’t be as cold, dark or snowy the New England one I will be leaving.
I miss the cottage where I would spend four or five days alone, not talking to a soul. Living in Florence for two weeks is another comforting solution to this longing. Making the plan answers both questions. Yes, I have the longing; Florence in January satisfies it.
P.S. My husband, who has many projects going on, says he can use the silence, solitude and simplicity as well—as long as I leave meals on his shelf in the freezer. Very grateful all around.

The best way to simplify gift giving NOT to give any gifts. Oh, I know, that isn’t always possible, sensible, or kindhearted. That being said, we keep simplifying the Christmas tradition of giving THINGS. My husband never buy anything, because he has an uncanny ability to find the perfect gift at the town dump, more gloriously known as the Put-and-Take. The book stall is the only section open in the winter, but through the summer he stashed away treasures that people left off.
     I try to buy one special gift for my kids and grands. For the rest of the family, in lieu of a present, I made a donation to the International Rescue Committee (IRC) through my church. I received a card and a slip of paper explaining the organization I had chosen. My friends get a hug, delivered electronically or in person.

There are definitely times when I wish I were deaf—when passing a leaf blower, when the TV is blaring violence, when someone is talking on and on and on and on. You know the instances. Silence is about having the choice to hear what I want to hear and turn off what I don’t.
This morning I had my hearing tested at Mass Eye and Ear in Concord. In the three years since my previous checkup, my hearing has not deteriorate at all. “Come back in two to three years,” I was told.
Today I am grateful that I am not deaf. I like hearing the silence.

     For me today voluntary simplicity means not having plans that feel like the burden of obligation. In short, only doing what I want to do. Sounds selfish, feels selfish and without explanation is selfish.
     I’m pretty certain I am not the only one who feels this way at times. Letting go of ‘doing’ out the world can be selfish when not couched, for example, in an intention to lead a quiet, non-judgmental, prayerful existence. The world doesn’t need another busy (as in busybody), chatty (as in gossipy), or generous (as in consumer) citizen. And yet, when I step away from this usual busy way I feel separated from my social existence. Clearly, the world needs more people who love (as in everyone), forgive (as in everyone), and include (as in everyone). I can join them. I can simply volunteer to do that.
     Hum, what I’ve just written seems confusing. Well, I am confused. Please consider it as a idea in process.

     I have in my hands from the library Duane Elgin’s book, “Promise Ahead: A Vision of Hope and Action for Humanity’s Future,” copyright 2000. In it he writes at length about voluntary simplicity, which was the title of his best selling classic in 1981. As you can imagine, it is the voluntary simplicity that has captured my interest.
     Elgin claims that living a simple life doesn’t mean just getting rid of material possession, although that can be an important component, but of living a life of ‘greater sanity and soulfulness’. “Simplicity is not about a life of poverty, but about a life of purpose.”
     I’m intrigued that it has taken that simple statement for me to integrate what I have been trying to articulate every since I started this blog in November 2009. Until now I have thought of simplicity as whatever is easy; but no, it is more complex than that. Striving for simplicity is about getting rid of whatever is in the way of one’s life purpose.
     Let’ face it, possessions get in the way. Physically, just think of the buying and putting away, the cleaning and fixing, and the decisions, such as which sweater to wear to the party, or which dish for the salted nuts. Emotionally, possessions generate guilt: the abuse of the environment; the sub-standard wages of workers; and the answer to the question of who could benefit from the money I have just spent on things I don’t need.
     I think about my life purpose all the time. Seriously, I am continually yearning and striving for a meaningful life. Oh, I keep falling, but I pick myself up, or more likely get picked up, and continue on. Years ago I came up with a mission statement, which continues to this day to be spot on for me. My mission is to inspire, affirm, and encourage others to find happiness and peace. When I live into it, I, too, find happiness and peace.
     Lately all our stuff feels burdensome. Not because of the guilt associated with material possessions, but because of the mental concern that as my husband and I get older, we need to get rid of stuff in preparation to downsizing or dying. However, it is not about future time, but about NOW. I don’t want to spend the NOW cleaning or clearing; I don’t want these aging years of my life, while I am still healthy, preparing for future years. Voluntary simplicity is about NOW.
• Voluntary simplicity for me means simplicity of thought concerning possessions.
• Voluntary simplicity for me means praying, meditating, walking, writing, reading, knitting, visiting, being with family and friends, and doing jigsaw puzzles.
• Voluntary simplicity for me means living in solitude, silence and simplicity.
• Voluntary simplicity for me means living my purpose.

     Yesterday I told my sister that I wanted to go live in a simple little cabin in Vermont (or a cabin by the sea). The shootings in San Bernardo make me want to run away, but more than that, and obviously connected, is the commercialism in this country. I hate it. Yes, I hate it. I thought long and hard about how I wanted to express my feeling, and that is it!
     My dad was an artist and loved beautiful things. Our home, which conveyed an aesthetic sense that was pleasing to the eye, wasn’t about money, however, but about beauty, always connected to the heart. It fed my soul.
     I’m cynical now, I know. The glossy magazines that come with our newspapers disgust me: all those trees for printing; all those thin, very young women suggesting a fashion that none of us can fit; all that extravagant jewelry to assuage the giver and receiver!. I can’t even mentally support the artist these days because all I see are dollar signs. I know, I know, artists have to live, but that’s another topic.
     So what about this little cabin? It’s not going to happen, but it can be a sign of a simpler life, where I don’t have to buy art because it is already there in the mountains, lakes, and sunsets, and where community is kind and gentle.
     Tonight, for the second year in a row, I am going with a group from church to the Holiday Caroling Night at the Concord Prison, officially referred to as the Massachusetts Correctional Institution. We had to register in advance and we can't bring anything in with us--no wallet or phone, no glossy magazines, no fancy jewelry—only our driver’s license. The beauty is to sing and celebrate with the inmates, community members and prison staff, and afterwards to enjoy cake and conversation—just like we do at any reception after a concert at church. 

This poem of hope has been part of my life since my early teaching days. I would share it with kindergartners and first graders as we gathered together after the Thanksgiving break. Now I send it out to family, and to friends, old new and in between, and post it on Facebook.
What strikes me this year, besides the hope, is that we can’t have the light of spring without the dark of winter. That dark includes sadness, such as the death of a dear friend, but it also brings forth memories of caring and loving, which carry is forward into the light.
 
I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December
A magical thing
And sweet to remember.
“We are nearer to Spring
Than we were in September,”
I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December.
 
Oliver Hereford