Assortment

On Living Less | 8

 

The clay pots are set out, cleaned, and filled with fresh potting soil. A new bed is dug along the house, slowly, by hand with a pulaski because of all the rocks (a wheelbarrowful in the first 8 feet). But, no matter those aching hamstrings, because shasta daisies, echinacea, and other perennials, shared by friends who have too many, need a home here. I will make a place for them.  

In late afternoon, I walk through the moist air in the local high school's greenhouse where the FFA students have plants for sale. The tomato plants are nearly as big as trees, the peppers are already producing baby fruits, and the marigolds are in full bloom.

My heart does a flip, though, when I see lavender, that lovely perennial that I'd promised myself I'd get a bunch of this year.  

 

A box came in the mail. I'd been expecting it. Mom had told me she was sending her collection of crochet patterns and hooks that she'd gathered over the years. As I opened the box and slowly leafed through, the memories rushed back with every pattern that I recognized. So many things that she'd made when I was growing up. So many things that I'd made while I was growing up. Snowflakes and handbags, bookmarks and lace. And now all of it was mine. 

This was a treasure.

A treasure that I kept only a portion of.

I chose to keep the skein of thread, the hooks, and just three pattern books. I kept only what I knew I would actually use. Choosing to give the tangible excess away didn't diminish the potency of the memory of my mom and her craft, instead, it gave me freedom to appreciate more the small amount that I kept. It somehow removed a subconscious pressure to make it all, do it all, use it all, be it all, when I knew I realistically couldn't and wouldn't. It helped me remain steadfast in my own identity and purpose. 

I savored the memory, and chose freedom in the gift. 

The beautiful thing is, there are more memories of my mom and my childhood years woven into my life than one box of crochet patterns could ever hold. The clay pots I always use for flowers on my step and plants in my house, I use because of her. Their aged beauty and simple form were a mainstay in her garden. 

And lavender? The lavender she grew was fabulous. Mounds of purple filled our back yard flower gardens when I was growing up. The heady fragrance spoke of summer's heat and winter's sachets. 

As I think about it, I realize that I could go on and on. So much in my life is there because of her, so much reminds me of her, so much has been passed down. When I recognize this richness and treasure that I already have, passing along the extra somehow becomes easier.  

 

I buy all of it. All the lavender those students have for sale. Can you imagine? Into the beds along the house it'll go, right there with the white shasta daisies - a simple foundation planting that'll end up a little bit loose, a little bit wild. 

Just like mama's garden.

 

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On Living Less | 7

 

I open my eyes in the dim early morning light. I glance, not at the clock, but at the open window, looking to see what time it is by the color of the sky. The only sound coming through is that of the rolling creek and a wisper wind teasing the trees. No birdsong yet, and I know it's earlier than 4:30. As the clock ticks down and the dark sky lightens to grey, the conductor taps his wand, and suddenly, at half past four, an orchestra of birds responds in harmony with their morning song. It's one of my favorite times of the day. 

And here I am now, listening to the creek, the breeze and the birds, bringing you this to read today. It's a reprint of a post I wrote a while ago entitled How to Let Go. It may help a bit with that big question we so often encounter. I'll let you peruse this one today, then on Friday I'll add some more thoughts along these lines. 

 

There’s a question that’s been popping up in my email inbox of late. It seems to be a widespread thought that’s running through the minds of people who are contemplating a lifestyle change from living with more to living with less. The following is my reply to the question that reads something like this:

 

 

I want to learn to live small. Yet, it is hard to let go of "stuff". Did you face this dilemma? If so, how did you decide what to keep and what to let go of?       – a reader named Jeanie

 

 

Dear Jeanie,

Ah, this pull to live smaller and more simply is a strong one, isn’t it? For many of us, the anticipation of this lifestyle change is also full of many unknowns. Yes, we faced (and still do) the dilemma of letting go, yet we had also come to the place where we were very ready to start off loading. The liberation that we anticipated was a great motivator for us to distill our things down to a meaningful quantity.

But, where to start?

I would say, first of all, begin with your heart. I don’t mean to sound sappy or cliché, but you truly do need to have an understanding of your heart and what your convictions are, what your passions are, what your priorities are, and what your interests are. What is important to you as an individual? What is important to you as a family? A clear definition is a strong foundation on which to build and it will be a guiding force in your journey toward simplicity. For my husband and I, this defining came about very naturally and organically, through contemplation and conversation over time.  Begin to think about it and talk about it, and you will see the concrete foundation start to form.

You may then want to pick up a pen and paper, to put down in ink those things that you’ve discovered and defined. Some people are page-fillers, others are bullet-pointers; go ahead and write it your way (and know that this writing doesn’t have to be saved forever, either. Grin).

A good thing to remember as you begin moving toward the purging process is that you’re actually going to have more  with this less. You won’t have the amount of stuff and clutter to care for and upkeep, therefore, your time  and space will be more open to what is meaningful to you – a good motivator, for sure.

Now, about the actual purging. It may be good for you to imagine you and your family going on a one or two week trip where you will need clothes for warm and cool/cold weather (this will help to define how few clothes you actually need), some simple kitchen items to prepare meals with along the way, things to keep each person occupied – favorite story books, a game or two, one favorite softie for each child (yes, our boys each had one), something to draw or write with, knitting for mom, a book for dad – a laptop, and an expandable accordion file with bills, stamps, checkbook, and immediately important documents inside – a traveling office of sorts. Obviously, you’d fill in these blanks for your family’s interests and needs, but it gives you an idea of how to begin the thinking process. Then, expand from there and add in things beyond this initial inclusion, but only those things that you love or need, knowing that you’re not actually going on a two week car trip, but on a new life adventure in a small dwelling (that will most likely be much larger than a car!)

When we were in this initial planning/purging stage, I literally went room by room, and family member by family member in my mind with an eye to see what was most important to each of us. This helped to define the interests and needs of each person. Maybe it would help if I described a bit about how I did this?

Our oldest son loves to draw and he’s continually writing screenplays and working on a film production of one sort or another. In our larger house, he had a big, beautiful drafting table. It wasn’t going to fit in the little house, but we still wanted to accommodate these talents of his and give them place, so I was thrilled the day I found a small drafting table for $20 at the Habitat for Humanity ReStore that would  fit in the loft of the little house! He sold his big table and happily pocketed the money!

Our middle son learned to fly fish a couple summers ago, and built his own fly rod the following winter. He’s also interested in tying his own dry flies, so that went into the small house plan, and now there’s a table in the loft for him to do just that.

Our youngest son is the resident guitarist, which means that he plays and collects guitars (love). He’s got three, including an electric guitar and amp, and they each have a place in this little house.

Of course, in this stage (ages 14, 11, 9), electronics have become a part of our boys’ lives. They have a desktop computer with a flat screen TV that doubles as a monitor in the loft. There is a ps3 in a cabinet beside the computer desk up there, and they can listen to Pandora or iTunes playlists via the TV or the Beats Pill (love that we don’t have to have a CD collection anymore). Toys have now been replace by football gear and airsoft equipment, which has a place in the shed, but somehow finds its way upstairs and underneath boy bunks!

My husband is an outdoor guy who loves to fish, hike, hunt, boat, or throw the football with the boys. His top personal indoor interest is reading, which is easily accommodated in any house (most of our books are kept in the ‘library shed’ – our storage shed that holds all our outdoor gear and tools, plus two full-size bookcases).  

I enjoy putting words on paper, so a desk in a writing nook was planned for me. Sewing, knitting, and crochet are also interests of mine. I have one shelf (yes, just one!) in the wardrobe to the right of my desk that holds these supplies, and a basket of knitting sits on the floor next to the chair in the living room. On a shelf behind that chair (will) sit art supplies for when the boys and I sit down for sketching and painting (yes, the settling and placing of things is still happening around here).

When it came to the kitchen, I had an idea of what a basic kitchen looked like from having lived for seven months in the camper by the river. It was literally plates, bowl, cups, mugs, flatware, basic knives, a wooden spoon, a serving spoon, turner, spatula, cheese grater, two mixing bowls, cutting board, measuring cups & spoons, a toaster, coffee maker, mini blender, three sauce pots, and two skillets (I used a water bottle as a rolling pin!). For the cabin kitchen, I wanted the basics, plus a bit more. I do a fair amount of cooking and baking, so having my full set of baking pans, cookware, and tools again was like Christmas. I do not have a lot of gadgets, but prefer quality basic tools instead – things like professional knives, stainless steel whisks, and crockery mixing bowls (you may see a full kitchen tour here).

As with all the other purging decisions, my guiding point was recognizing what I loved and used and separating that from what I didn’t. I got rid of extras and doubles and most of the things that I would only use once a year. And some things, I honestly didn’t know whether to keep or toss. In this case, I boxed it up, labeled it, and waited. After living in the cabin for over a year, I now know what I’m going to do with those boxed up things (some will stay, most will go). Purging in stages is good.

For us, the reducing and paring down process was never an effort in nothingness, nor was it an experiment in coming to the fewest number of things we could own. It was finding our true selves and a clarity that gave us permission to release everything else.

It was the sweet spot of enough.

 

Wishing you the best of success in your journey toward less,

 

Carmella

 

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On Living Less | 6

 

It could be. Could be that we sort of like building campfires in the yard beside the creek.

Could be that we like whittling roasting sticks, too, until they're trimmed to a long, perfect point, the white wood pure and clean inside. Could be that Nellie must also have a stick, because she sees everyone else with one. (Sticks! We all have sticks! This is profoundly thrilling for a retriever.) 

Could be that we laughed loud with our heads thrown back. Could be that it felt like happiness in waves.

Could be that we ate every single hot dog there was. Could be that we could have eaten more. (Boys, you know.)

Could be that those boys were filling moments with every story that had been saved up for when Daddy got home. Could be that Daddy was, too.

Could be that, in the middle of all that, a bird in the green-leafed tree overhead, sang, just for us, an evening song. A serenade. 

It could be. 

 

Here, following, is a re-post of a 'day in the life' that I published last fall. It fits well here, in this living less series. If you missed it on Friday, you may want to read the prelude to this post.

 

This is where it could be easy to imagine that our daily living flows ever-so-smoothly in an idyllic harmonious rhythm without any lumps and bumps. It does not. Real life is alive and well around here, spiking our moments with saucy challenges and unexpected surprises. Perfection isn’t our goal (I remind myself); a workable flow to our days is. I’ve found that having a general rhythm, with high points build in, gives enough structure to our days to ensure accomplishment, while at the same time leaving room for when life has a mind of it’s own.

Though each day of the week is slightly different, the general rhythm of our weekdays looks something like this:

My early morning writing begins at 3:00a.m., and goes until 5:00a.m., while the rest of the household still sleeps (you can read about that crazy early rising here). At around five o’clock, I try to switch gears and read for fifteen minutes or so, then I get dressed (depending on the day, this usually means getting dressed in my running/athletic clothes). There are plenty of times that the writing goes over, the reading doesn’t happen, and I get dressed in the odd spare moment.

At 5:45, I begin making breakfast, washing prep dishes as I go. On Mondays and Tuesdays, I make oven breakfasts large enough to have leftovers that can be re-heated for a second morning, which gives us hot breakfasts for Wednesday and Thursday without any work on my part except popping it into the oven to reheat. Fridays are our ‘Big Breakfast’ days, which in boy lingo means, ‘Pancakes and Bacon’, ‘Waffles and Bacon’ ‘Fried Eggs, Biscuits, and Bacon’ or, if they’re really lucky, an entire meal of nothing but ‘Luscious, Crispy, Bacon’. Okay, just kidding on that last one, but if I offered it, I’m sure I’d be crowned Mother of the Year right then and there. 

At 6:15, with breakfast baking, I go upstairs, wake the boys, and read aloud stories from a chapter book as they lie in their beds and listen while the sleep wears off. This is one of our favorite parts of the day. (We’re currently reading Little Britches by Ralph Moody, the first book in one of our favorite series). 

About fifteen minutes later, I head back downstairs to continue with the day’s food prep, and the boys get up, make their beds, tidy their loft, and come down to do their morning jobs before breakfast. A quick loft check by a spare adult often results in a boy or two going BACK (that’s the way they hear that word, in caps) up to tidy (for real) his loft, make his bed, and THEN (that word, too, caps) come down to do his morning job.*

In his morning work, each boy alternates between feeding and cleaning up after the animals (and cleaning up after the animals, and cleaning up after the animals, and cleaning up after the animals – do you ever find yourself repeating things in the presence of boys?), setting the table for breakfast, and sweeping the floors (loft landing, stairs, bathroom, hall, great room) and wiping down the toilet and surrounding floor. They also fold and put away their clean laundry. While the boys are doing their morning work, I’m in the kitchen, preparing lunch, and prepping dinner. Or, maybe I’m not in the kitchen at all. Maybe I’m running around like a chicken with my head cut off, doing who knows what. Yeah, that.

Breakfast is at seven, eaten together as a family.

As each one finishes his meal, he washes his own dishes, and dries and puts them away while listening to Mozart. This has been a good way to teach dish washing skills without having one person loaded down with an entire meal’s worth of dishes to wash (we have no automatic dishwasher). Just kidding about the Mozart part up there. More often than not, it’s DubStep these days. I try not to associate it with the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard.

If it’s Monday or Wednesday, I head out the door for a run as close to 7:15 as I can. I’ll take 30 minutes to an hour to run, so how far I go depends on how fast I go in the time I have. The boys have free time until they head for the loft to begin their assigned chapter book reading for school at 7:45. They’ll wrestle, flop (at least it sounds like flopping), throw things that (don’t) need throwing, become extremely thirsty and need water ASAP, read for 45 minutes at which time I fall in with them and we begin our learning day together.* *

Our morning recess is at ten o’clock and lasts for thirty minutes. In that thirty, I might take a shower, switch the laundry, make sure lunch is prepped, waste time on Instagram, or do any number of things that a mama has to do.

Lunch is at 12:30. In our dreams, lunch is at 12:30. Having it pre-made helps greatly in sitting right down and getting right to it, so naturally, I’m in total love with myself on the days when it actually IS pre-made. As soon as lunch is over, the boys and I head (push ourselves?) back upstairs to finish any corrections that they might have from that morning’s school work. They complete their school day with 30 minutes of chapter book reading from books of their choice. We shoot for finishing our school day at 2:00, which is sometimes shot all to pieces and we finally finish up around four.

After school is over, the boys are free for the rest of the day. This is when I have spare time, too, for email, reading blogs, or working on projects.

Because of having prepped dinner in the morning, the evening's meal finishing is easy and fast. I like to serve dinner around 5:30, so as to enjoy the long stretch of evening that still lies ahead. In the event that there was no dinner prep in the morning, the making of the evening’s meal is neither easy nor fast, and we (I) thump around the kitchen, wondering what to make, and somehow, we finally eat something of substance at 7:00. You know what I mean.

Our evenings are wound down between 8:00 and nine. There may be Monday night, or Thursdays night football on, in season, other than that, it’s rare for the television to be on during the weeknights. We may be watching a boy play his sport or we may be taking him to or from practice. We may play board games, or I may read aloud to everyone. The boys may do computer work, and I may work on a project, while my husband reads.

Lights go out at 9:00, but we already know that I’ve long been gone by then.

 

Note: The above rhythm is one that we follow most closely during the school year. The flow to our days is a bit more relaxed when school's out for the season. Also, when I have a deadline or a project that requires more of my attention, other things are compressed or eliminated to lend more time for that. 

 

*There is, somehow, a boy who lives here who has within his bones this thing called Mostly Neat & Tidy, therefore, to loosely lump him under such a description would be terribly erroneous.

**This boy of which I’ve already spoken, who we’re quite certain got the wrong address when he arrived, also has this thing in his bones called Mostly Diligent.  So, as you know, to loosely lump him under this wrestling, flopping, throwing, thirsty description would also be terribly, terribly erroneous. That's not all. This boy, could, at this stage in his life, also be known as The Incessant Younger Brother Pesterer. 

 

Read the next post in the series.

 

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