Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Simply Being

My refrigerator practically blinds me when I open the door; it's like the light of the moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow.
I swear to you.
And I've mopped the kitchen and have some towels on the line and the water on the garden and gathered four beautiful eggs, two brown, one green, one blue. I took a walk which was a little longer and a little easier than the one I took yesterday. There are three loaves of oatmeal and flax sourdough in the oven, a papa-sized one, a mama-sized one, and a baby-sized one. And I napped.

There's plenty I haven't done. All of those quilts and blankets which needed to be put away still need to be put away. I haven't dusted the bedroom in, well, 2013? There are a few games still on the floor of the library from when Owen was here on Sunday.
But.
You know.
I am content. I am at peace.

I think about how when I was a child and my parents deemed me old enough to be left at home alone and how those hours were some of the happiest of my life up 'til then. To be left in the house alone without the chaos, the fear, the psychological battering, the constant need to be alert and sensitive to the sudden and inexplicable mercurial changes of mood which could bring down darkness upon us all at any moment- this was heaven.

I have a very distinct memory of sitting at my mother's sewing table, basically teaching myself how to sew a dress. It was a lavender dress made, I am sure, from a Simplicity pattern, simple seams and facings, the hum of the old Singer, the click of the lever as I raised the foot up and down to hold the material for sewing, then to release it, the snip of the scissors, the way my bare foot would find the bulky brown floor control under the table, the way the bright lightbulb of the machine lit up the tiny motes released from the fabric, the twirling of the spool of thread as it unrolled.
Time grew meaningless as I concentrated on my task and I was at complete peace.

There is no wonder that even now, all these many years later, being alone is not a hard thing for me but in fact, is a thing I crave, a thing I need on a fairly regular basis. As much as I love my husband, my family, my friends, there is still something about being completely alone which is the most soothing, most truly comfortable thing for me. I almost never feel lonely and in fact, have felt much greater loneliness in a crowd, even one made up of people I love.

I feel some shame in admitting that but it's the truth. And as I have often said, if I knew that being alone was a condition I knew there was to be no end to, I know I would not cherish it the way I do. When the children were little and I had no help but that from my husband when he would return from his very long hours of work, I resented mightily his absence when he would go away to fish or to hunt but oh! how time has changed that. Now it is a goodness. I know that he is off, happy at doing something which brings him joy and I am happy at home, left behind to do nothing but the simplest of tasks, no one to dictate my schedule in any way, no one to please or to worry about but myself. No one to feel guilty about for appearing to ignore if I want to sit and write or read.

I used to think I was selfish, to feel this way but I don't believe that any more and even if I am, I am at peace with that. I understand more about myself, about what it means to be an introvert. To understand that some of us have to have these uninterrupted stretches of time to think and to rest from the demands of human encounters and even from the most tender and loving of relationships.

I have thought so much today as I walked, as I cleaned, as I kneaded bread and washed dishes. I have thought about my grandfather and also about my mother. When I hung the towels on the line I turned the laundry basket upside down and leaned it against the post of the clothesline the way she did so that if it rains, the bottom of the basket will not get wet. I acknowledged her training even in that simple act and it was a nice thing. I find that with her gone I am able to more fully appreciate the good things she did teach me, the ways in which she was a positive influence in my life, and I can cherish that without the presence of her unhappiness, her suffering, the toxic and hopeless reality of our encounters to intrude. I am sorry it is this way just as I am sorry for much that went into our relationship but again, it is simply the way it is, the way it was, and if I can find this goodness now, after she has died, then there is nothing to be ashamed of in it. Better for her absence to soften me than to make me even more angry, more brittle, more despairing.

It is only in the blank spaces of aloneness that I am truly able to think about things like this. To turn them over and over in my mind and to be able to see things from all sides without interruption, to finally feel the weight of them in my hand, now smoothed and warm, ready to be set down for a time, complete within themselves.

I wonder how much of our culture's need for antidepressants and anti-anxiety medications come from a lack of alone-time? I wonder how many people there are who would be so much happier if they were given long stretches of time to just be, to think, to do whatever it is that makes them happy? I wonder if we, as a culture, suffer from a constant overload of noise and encounters and hurry and rush and a need to make every moment count? I know that there are many who thrive on that sort of life and I understand that.
But as I grow older, I understand that I am not one of them.

I sit here on my back porch and watch the day put itself to bed. I can hear the water pattering on the garden, the little birds twittering as they settle down for the night. My house smells of Fabuloso and sourdough bread and I have all the time and space in the world to write these words, to let the thoughts I've had all day find their way through my fingers. I have used and I have rested my body and my mind today. I have tended my house and myself. A lone female cardinal is at the feeder, I can hear the flap of Elvis's wings as he settles into his sleeping place in the henhouse. I can think of the peppers and onions and mushrooms I am about to cook, the bed which waits for me when it is time to sleep, the book upon it, lying in wait for that precious time of reading before I turn out the lights and close my eyes.

Tomorrow my husband will be home, sunburnt and bursting with life and fishing tales and fresh, good grouper. I will go to town and tend my grandsons for awhile. I will talk to other people, I will touch people I love, tenderly and with purpose. It will be fine and it will be good.

But oh! How much I have loved today with my aloneness.

I think of my fourteen-year old self, sitting at the sewing table, taking pins from a garment as I stitch it into being. That is a childhood memory which brings me peace and I am at peace tonight. I have stitched myself together again today. And cleaned the refrigerator too.

Doesn't sound like much. Doesn't look like much. But for me, it is enough. For me, it is has been bliss. In a way, I feel as illuminated and bright as the light in the refrigerator when I open it and at the same time, as easy on the eyes as the way the sun has painted the sky to the west in shades of palest peach and pink.

Nothing much is plenty.
Nothing much is everything.

At least for today and tonight, I let it be.






22 comments:

  1. This is a perfect piece of writing, so full of illumination it envelopes me all the way north of you, in such recognition and peace. There is just so much here to chew on. I am happy for your day and basking in the goodness of it. Good night, sweet Mary. Good night.

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  2. Beautifully written...as usual.

    Carol D

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  3. Hello, I see you back again :) Nice writing tonight, and I hear your voice.

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  4. Angella- I wonder if you have any idea how, when I write, I think of you? You inform me. You have become a muse.

    Carol- Oh, thank you. So much.

    SJ- You know me to my toes, to the very cockles of my heart. You know my voice. I am glad of that.

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  5. Good for you, enjoying and savoring your alone time.

    I get it.

    You can say things the way I wish I could.

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  6. I too like my time being solitary. I don't isolate but need to have time to be alone. So I totally understand what you write here.

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  7. A perfect blog, Mary.....all the ideas exquisitely expressed.

    I share almost everything you have said about the joy and the NEED to be alone and I too have felt lonely in a crowd of my loved ones and not at all when I am alone. After being with people I need time alone to recharge my batteries....it is as simple as that.

    I wish you enough alone time to recharge yourself.

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  8. Mother Mary sings to me, simple words of wisdom, let it be. Let it be.

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  9. Its good to hear you sounding so at ease and content.

    The words are flowing and weaving beautifully.

    Sleep well.
    xo

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  10. I think the best days are those "nothing much" days, when enjoying ordinariness is at the heart of our experience. I can so identify on the need for alone time. I think all writers can. I don't understand people who don't like to be alone, or who need the TV on for "background noise," who can't become absorbed in a task like your simplicity dress. (How did it turn out, by the way? Did you ever wear it?)

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  11. I too crave being alone and vastly prefer it - I love my daytime interaction with co-workers but also very much love my nighttime alone time.

    I am glad that your thoughts of your mother are less painful to you now, and that they are softening as you put it.

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  12. Nicol- Just say 'em! That's how I do it.

    Syd- I guess I do isolate. Is that bad?

    Lo- Life always bursts back in on me. I suppose that is why the time alone is so precious.

    Elizabeth- Aw. One of my favorite songs ever. Thanks.

    Ms. Fleur- I slept well. Thank you, dear.

    Steve- I did wear that dress. A lot. We all made a lot of our own clothes back then.

    Jill- It's funny how that is working out, the memories of my mother. I am grateful.

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  13. I love this line: "I sit here on my back porch and watch the day put itself to bed." So lovely, so poetic. I know what you mean about being alone. I feel the same about it, and my husband cannot understand why I need time all to myself. I figure most people are happier in a crowd.

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  14. I am so struck by that image of you sewing. Very beautifully written.

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  15. Angie- I think that society makes us feel as if we are supposed to be happiest in a crowd. And some people truly are. But not me.

    Jo- Thank you. It is a very strong image in my mind.

    Stephanie- I miss you when you're not around.

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  16. This is lovely and echoes so many of my thoughts throughout the day. It's strange how doing those menial tasks is the perfect alone time to rest our minds .... even though we class it a chore.

    I definitely feel that, in today's hectic world, not enough people take the time out to be alone and not enough partners recognise the power that those small periods of times can have on their loved ones.

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  17. Wayne- If one partner is a more of an extravert than the other, it is hard sometimes for an understanding. But as the years pass, it grows easier to simply understand that there is a need and it is a good thing for the relationship in the long run. I think.

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  18. Ms. Moon,
    This is my first time leaving a comment here. I have popped in a few times from over at Steve's to read after having seen you over there nearly each and every day.

    The beauty of your words in this post sent my fingers flying over the keyboard to leave this comment ... finally.

    What beautiful writing. I especially loved the part about sitting at your mother's sewing table. I felt like I was right there beside you across space and time.
    (Even if I can't sew and I made a lavender print dress for Home-Ec one year that was atrocious.)

    Lovely. Simply lovely. I just had to tell you.

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  19. I'm catching up. I LOVE this post! Love it! You've described exactly how I feel. Thank you!

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  20. Lynne- Thank you so much. I'm having a hard time this morning and your words helped me more than you can know.

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  21. heartinhand- And you, dear. Thank YOU.

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