Simple Joys: Tiny Bubbles

Since we got rid of most of our dishes over a year ago I do most of my dishes by hand.  It's a more pleasant experience.  The warm water.  The suds.  Instant gratification.

And the tiny bubbles.

I don't remember seeing these before.  I've done dishes by hand many times in the past.  I think it might be the bottle.  Nearly every time I pick up or set down the bottle of dish soap, tiny bubbles shoot out of it and float around the sink.  About the size of my fingertip.  And it makes me happy.

Bubbles are one of life's miracles, if you ask me.  They're just magical, no matter how old I get.  Watching them float.  Wondering if they will survive the landing.  Trying to catch them without popping them.  They are a wonder.

They take me back to a simpler time with my children.  Every time I see them I remember the summers spent blowing bubbles so my children could chase them.  I remember helping my children learn to blow them.  I remember when the magic of bubbles was enough to solve most unhappy days.  Long before dating woes, driving stress, and worries about grades and graduation and college.  Just me, the kids, bubbles, and sunshine.

They also take me further back in time.  Every time I see them I hear the song "Tiny Bubbles" in my head.  I remember the first time I heard that song.  It wasn't Don Ho.  It wasn't on a ukelele'.  It was an old man on a guitar.  With his partner on a banjo.  I went camping with my grandma to an annual gathering called The Blackhawk.  As the summer evening was winding down, people were socializing and relaxing.  People were playing music together, rocking in lawn chairs by their trailers, singing.  And these two old men created heaven.  A moment that still brings me peace when I think about it.  Just a still, quiet summer evening filled with the beautiful harmony of two old friends.

A time when I had no worries.  There was nothing left for the day except to enjoy the company of those around us until it was time to go to bed.  I was with my grandma, my angel on earth.  And with people who had all the time in the world just to be.

Washing my dish makes me happy.  It brings me joy in a most simple way.  (And just in case it is the bottle -- it's Dawn and it works best when the bottle is mostly empty.  I want you to find happiness washing your dish, too.)

Simple Joys: My Bed

I was the only girl in my family, so I was the outlet for anything feminine for my mom.  Decorating.  Shopping.  Clothes.  Whatever.  And that's why I grew up with a beautiful canopy bed.  Dark wood.  Yellow and white canopy, bedspread, and pillow sham.  It was beautiful.  With or without the canopy, it was the only bed I used from the time I was four until I got married.

When we first got married we tried using his twin mattresses and my twin mattresses to make a bed on the floor.  That didn't work out very well so we ended up buying some very used queen mattresses (kind of gross now that I think about it).  We were grateful for them, even on the floor. 

Through the years we got a frame, a headboard, new mattresses, and eventually a big beautiful bed.

This bed was glorious!  Queen size mattresses, but the bed itself was larger than a king size.  I remember when we saw it on the showroom floor.  Dark red wood.  Very regal.  Throne-like.  Imperial.  I liked it; my husband loved it.  Then we got it home and realized our bedroom was no where near as big as a showroom floor.  It fit, but there wasn't much room to spare.

It kind of became an albatross around my neck over the years.  But my husband still loved it so we kept it and just tried to arrange the room around it.

A few years ago when we decided we needed separate rooms, I wanted him to have that bed.  But his room is in the basement and there is just no way it would fit.  So I kept the bed I didn't really like because it seemed the practical thing to do.

And then I finally came to a place where I was ready to be true to myself, practical or not.  I didn't want the bed.  I still wanted to use my queen mattresses, but wanted something much less gaudy.  Something you could barely tell was there.  And I remembered an old bed in my parents' basement.  My bed.  My first bed.  The one before the canopy bed.

It's iron, painted white.  Chipped.  It was a full-size when I had it as a small child.  At some point it had been given to a neighbor who promised to give my parents first dibs if they ever got rid of it.  A few years ago they were ready and contacted my mom.  She said she'd love to have it back.  And it turns out that they'd altered it so it was now queen size.

My parents used it for a while in a spare room, for when family visited.  But they have since downsized and didn't have a place for it.  It was just being stored.

My mom was thrilled when I asked for it.  I think it belonged to a great-aunt or something (the story is debated).  And it's perfect.  A supportive iron frame connected to a sparse, white iron headboard and footboard.  Almost invisible in the room.  And I recently acquired a chenille bedspread similar to the one I remember stroking as I lay on it as a child.  It brings me tender joy every time I see it.

Fortuitous, destiny, divine intervention.  However it came to be, I'm just glad to have my bed back.

Simple Joys: My Bowl

My posts have been heavier lately because my life has been heavier.  And while nothing has really changed, I need a little bit of light.  Just some light writing about things that bring me joy.  So I decided now would be a good time to begin a series I've been pondering.  A series about simple joys.

A while back I wrote about finding minimalism and feeling like I was finally home.  Since then I've written about not liking stuff, getting rid of hundreds of books, only keeping one set of dishes for each member of the family, and what to do with all the trophies.  In my efforts to minimize I have taken thirteen trailer loads to the dump or the thrift store.  It's felt great.  And, yes, there is still so much to do.

But one of the best things about getting rid of stuff is what I keep.  Deciding what matters to me and what doesn't.  Letting go of emotional attachments that are more guilt than love and everything kept just in case.  The things I intentionally keep bring me joy.

One of these things is my bowl.  It's ceramic.  It has about a three cup capacity.  It's deep.  It's good for a small bowl of cereal or a big bowl of stew.  It's the only bowl I use.  And it brings me so much joy.  Every time I use it.

There is something about the heft of it.  It's kind of heavy.  I like that.  It feels solid in my hands.  It has a wonderful little chip in it that serves as the perfect place to rest my thumb as I hold it.  It is kind of a dark blue with a snowman head -- wearing a hat and a scarf and a big smile.  It also has white dots scattered sparsely around the bowl.  Raised dots.  I love texture.  The added texture of those dots on my bowl makes me happy.

One day it will break and I will have to fall in love with another bowl.  That's okay.  I've found that the fewer things I own the easier it is for me to love them.

For now I have it and it brings me a ridiculous amount of joy.

Not Doing the Dishes

Some of you may remember that six months ago I got rid of most of our dishes, see The Dreaded Dishes.  This is the follow up.

I love it.  Not just a little.  A lot.  It is working fabulously! 

A couple of my kids still think it's weird and swear they aren't going to do it this way in their own homes.  What do I care?  My kitchen stays clean (almost always).

To answer a few questions/address a few issues --
     *  I haven't parted with the china yet.  Or some stonewear.  Or some crystal tea sets.  Or some dessert dishes of my grandma's.  But they are packed up high, in cupboards too difficult to reach to be convenient.  And since I got rid of a lot, there is plenty of space for them.  And I have used some of them.  I pulled out the crystal tea sets for the Oscars last year, along with wine glasses.  My family felt spoiled!  It was fun.  I also used the dessert dishes when we had some young women over around Christmas.  It isn't any fun to own these things if I don't use them.
     *  I absolutely think you can get 2 and 4-year olds started on this!  Kids love to play in warm, sudsy water.  Get a stool and put them to work.
     *  Our dishes were rather eclectic to begin with, so we all have a different plate.  Most of us have different bowls and cups.  Some of us even have different silverware.  And for anything questionable -- Sharpies!  I had planned to take everyone shopping to get their own complete, matching set once we were fully converted.  Guess I better follow through on that soon. 

When I wrote my first post on the dishes, I didn't have a plan for the dinner prep stuff.  I've got that worked out.  There are seven of us in our home.  There are seven days in a week.  Each person is in charge of dinner one day a week.  People are too hit and miss on Friday (everyone here and there), so Fridays are fend-for-yourself.  That means I don't have a night to cook dinner.  Instead, I do the dinner dishes.  If you cook something and it's just for you, then you wash the pan and whatever else you used.  If you cook for more than yourself, I wash them.  This encourages my kids to be more polite and giving to each other, but still allows them the freedom to choose.  Also, if someone knowingly uses someone else's dishes, the offender is assigned dinner dishes for a week. 

Although I am more likely to stay on top of the dinner dishes than anyone else, sometimes I don't feel well and don't do them the same night.  Sometimes it's a few days.  If someone wants the pot before I get it done, they know how to wash it.  If they ask, I'll usually wash it.  But things don't back up too often.  And if they do, I run the dishwasher.  I run it once a week, regardless; dishwashers need to be run or they stink.  If I don't get behind and use it for that, then I'll wash everyone's dishes and the dinner dishes in the dishwasher on Sunday.

It only takes a minute or two to wash all of my own dishes by hand and usually less than five minutes to do all the dinner dishes.  I can feel with my own hands that they are clean.  I don't usually fill the sink, unless I'm washing a bunch of things.  I wet the dish and use a few drops of soap directly on the dish.  Then I scrub it with a brush, rinse, and dry.  (I think we've gone through two bottles of dish soap and two of dishwasher detergent in the last six months.)  We have two brushes and a couple of scrapers to wash with.  I've never understood using cloths or sponges; they just end up stinking and getting nasty.  The brushes really don't.  Once in a while I run them through the dishwasher on the top rack.  I have a draining rack next to the sink that I leave there all the time, unless we have company.

I had to teach my kids that paper towels are for messes and the dishtowel hanging on the fridge is for clean things.  Not everyone complies, but most do.  There has been some confusion about which silverware is whose.  It seems to get worked out.  No one is starving.  And I sometimes have paper plates and cups, but not always.

As I mentioned above, since I got rid of so much stuff we have lots of extra space in our cupboards.  Each person has their own spot in the cupboard to store their stuff.  With a nametag and everything.  They even have a little basket for their silverware.

I did run into one problem.  McDonald's was giving out Coke glasses for a while.  My husband is a McDonald's fan and a Coke fan.  Suddenly I noticed one in his cupboard, one in the drying rack, and found one still wrapped in the car.  We had a conversation and I asked him which glass he was going to get rid of in trade for the Coke glass.  And what was he going to do with the other ones.  He looked at me sheepishly and admitted he hadn't noticed that he was collecting again.  (Our deal is that he can collect only one thing, since he has hoarding tendencies.  He has chosen DVDs.  He has to pay for them from his budget and store them in his room.)  He ended up convincing a couple of the kids that they wanted one.  They each had to give up a cup in exchange.  He took the leftover cup to work.

I have a suspicion that a few other things have sneaked into the cupboards.  We'll do another check before too long.  Until we do, as long as it fits in their space and my kitchen stays clean, I can live with it.

All Sorts of Trophies

I have recently been in the process of gutting my house.  Getting rid of the superfluous.  Ditching the things that don't matter but are taking up space in my home and my life.

Last week I focused on the living room. 

I know some people have big homes and the living room is kept nice and rarely used.  That's not us.  We live in a relatively small home, the living room is the first room you walk into when you enter the house, and it's where we live.  It's where we congregate.  It's where we hang out.

And, when I got sick, it started to stack up.

Every horizontal surface was covered with stuff.  Boxes of things were stacked in corners.  It was a dizzying array of our lives on full display for everyone who walked into the room.

Most of it was easy to deal with; it just took time.  Throw it away.  Put it away.  Anyone know what this is?

But there were other things that were tougher.  One category that I've struggled with is trophies.

In our living room there were 28 trophies, 33 medals, and 1commemorative pin.  None of them belonged to me.  Or my husband.  They are our children's.  They are for softball, baseball, basketball, soccer, wrestling, track, piano, band, choir, math, writing, and art.  And there are more in some of my kids' rooms.

There are just so many.  And they serve no purpose.  Or do they?

I asked my kids if they wanted to keep them.  They each said they did.  I told them they'd have to make room for them in their rooms.  They said they'd think about it.  I ended up putting them all in a box in storage.  Maybe after they've been out of sight for a while they will decide they don't need them.

And I asked myself why they are so desirable.

When I coached there were times we bought trophies for the kids.  They cost about four dollars each.  They usually have a solid base and incredibly cheap plastic moldings of some sort on top.  They also usually have a nameplate of some kind.  They are pretty, but whittled down to their basic materials they aren't really worth much.

They have value because of what they represent.  Trophies represent a victory, like the trophy of a hunt.  They say, "Look at this cool thing I did!"  And through this they say that at one time we were great, maybe the best.

And I think that's why we hold onto them.  We all have moments when we doubt our worth.  But we can look at these and see that there are (or were) things we are good at.

And there are all sorts of trophies.  I think that's often what the big, beautiful library is.  It shows that we read all those books.  That we conquered.  That we are of value.  Or the trophy wife which shows that a man was chosen as superior to other men.  Or the trophy car.  The trophy home.  The trophy title.

There are so many trophies in our lives.  Why do we want them?  Why do we keep them?  Isn't knowing that we won enough?

When my kids ask, "What do I get if I win?" and I say "bragging rights" or "the knowledge that you won" it doesn't always cut it.  The world seems to ask, "Why is it worth working hard if I don't have a prize to show for it?"

But I'm going to keep trying.  I'm going to keep teaching that even when the thing that marks the accomplishment is gone, the accomplishment isn't.  That doing great things is shown in the people we become, not a cheap piece of plastic.  That many friends and a life you can be proud of are the best trophy.

The Fallacy of Getting Organized -- Smartly

I have a new essay up today over at Smartly.  I tackle The Fallacy of Getting Organized.  I don't think it's the cure-all some people think it is.   You should check it out.

The Dreaded Dishes

I have a confession to make.  I hate doing the dishes.

No, that's not the confession.  The confession is that I hate doing the dishes so much that I bought more dishes so I could go longer without doing them.  My husband hates doing the dishes.  My kids hate doing the dishes.  That means we need more dishes so we don't have to fight about them as often.

Right?

Wrong!

As part of my efforts to live my minimalist desires, we have gotten rid of most of our dishes.  We used to have 2-3 plates per person, probably 3 bowls a piece, and I'd guess at least 5 glasses each.  We have seven people in our family.  You do the math.  That's a lot of dishes.

And when you hate doing them as much as we do, that means you don't do them until you absolutely have to -- when you run out of dishes.  So when you finally do them there are a lot of dishes to wash.

We now have only enough dishes for each of us to have one of each.  Each person has a spot in the cupboards.  This is where they keep their dishes.  They have a plate, a bowl, a mug, a small cup, a large cup, a table knife, a fork, a large spoon, and a small spoon.  There are a couple of extras.  One person got to keep her hot cocoa cup.  One person traded a large spoon for a fork.  But basically that's it.

And this is what that means.  Each person is responsible for his/her dishes.  Some of us wash them right after we eat, so that they are ready the next time we want to eat.  Others stick them in the sink, but end up washing them soon anyway because that's all they have to eat off of.  We wash them by hand because we are washing one or two at a time.  This means less running of the dishwasher (which wasn't as effective anymore anyway since the law required changes in dishwasher soap).  It means fewer dirty dishes stacked in my kitchen.  It means no one is relying on someone else to do their chores before they have clean dishes available.  It means fewer dishes left throughout the house.  It means no more tracking down strange smells because a dish that still has food on it is left somewhere in the house.  It means a lot more personal responsibility.

My kids are older (13 and up) so they can easily do their own dishes.  And they all know how to use the dishwasher so I don't feel like I am neglecting their instruction.

When I first presented the idea my family thought I was insane.  I planted the idea about a month before it was implemented (due to my energy level).  Then one day we went through the cupboards and pulled everything out.  People chose their stuff, it was placed in their spot, and everything else was boxed up and put away.  It's not gone yet.  Not because I'm not committed, just because I haven't made another run to the thrift donation area.  Soon.

Everyone's biggest concern was about guests.  What if we want to have someone over for dinner?

Okay, seriously, we rarely have anyone over for dinner.  When we do it's usually just one person.  I let my daughter keep an extra plate because if someone is going to be here when we eat it's probably her boyfriend.  If it's someone else, they can use his stuff.

We also kept a picnic set.  This is a plate, bowl, and cup for each of us along with silverware.  It's stored in a carrying case that is packed away.  These are emergency settings just in case and will be used when we go to a church function and are supposed to bring our own dishes.  They won't be used often.

I have not solved the problem with the dishes used for cooking.  Since we no longer have a lot of dishes our old assignments for dish washing don't quite fit.  I'm working on a plan for that.  We already don't own a lot of food preparation dishes.  That means that even if people don't wash as they go, things don't stay dirty long. 

We've only been living with this setup for about a week, but so far it seems to be a great success.  People are happy with it.  I haven't heard a single complaint.  (Before, yes.  Since, no.)  It's working.

And how can you argue with the system when it works?

A Big, Beautiful Library in My Home

I grew up wanting walls of books.  A room where each wall was floor to ceiling with them.  Maybe a small den area with a fine oak desk and a great leather executive chair and a bay window with pillows to read in.

The wonderful room I saw in so many movies growing up.  I was in love with the magic of this imaginary room.  I knew that I would one day have one in my home.

And so, as my life progressed, I accumulated books.  I believe strongly in the power of reading.  A love of reading.  And in order to facilitate this for my children I made sure to have lots of books.  Lots for them to read at every age.  Lots for me to read, since it's important for children to see their parents reading if they are to catch the reading bug.  And because I like to read.

But I learned that books are mostly a one time deal.  You read them once and move on to the next adventure.  Maybe little kid books are read over and over, but even then it's only a select few.  We own hundreds, if not thousands, of books.  I would estimate that the ones that have been read more than once are fewer than five percent.

So why do I still have them?  I've been pondering this for quite a while now.  How many books that I own do I love enough that I would save them from a burning building?  Truthfully, none.

The reasons I came up with for still having them are interesting.  I have them because I spent money on them and books are good and noble things to have.  I have them because I enjoyed them and would like to have them to loan to friends or suggest to my kids.  I have them because I always wanted that big library.

None of those reasons are good enough to me anymore.  The magic is not in the big, beautiful library.  The magic is in gaining a love of reading.  Taking my kids to the public library is an adventure.  It's magical.  The library has more than I can possibly ever offer.  They can keep up with my kids' changing tastes.  They have all the newest books.  And they store them so I don't have to.

I'm not going to lie.  It's tough.  I consider this sort my first.  I know I will sort again and get rid of more.  Right now if I struggle to decide, I keep it.  Or if one of my kids feels strongly about it, I keep it.  And I'm boxing some up for my daughter who is going to teach high school English; she'll have a good collection of classics in her classroom without having to buy them.

There are a few that I really enjoyed that I considered keeping.  But I'm imagining that there are others out there who would enjoy them too.  I am ready to pass them on, knowing I can always get them from the library if I really want to read them again.

I'm keeping several for my grandma days.  I want to be the grandma who reads with the kids.  And who encourages reading when they visit.

But the tough ones.  Oh, yes, there are tough ones.  I have many books that were given to me after my grandma died.  With inscriptions.  To her from her father.  The book is not something I will ever read.  I have many other keepsakes from her.  And yet, I can't just donate them.  I'm cheating and giving them back to my mother.  I'll probably have to face the decision again when my mom passes away.  For now, they can live at her house.

There are also some that are quite old.  I have several from the 1900s and a few from the 1800s.  Some in good shape, some not so much.  I can't seem to part with the ones that are over a hundred years old.  Whether I would ever read them or not.  Even if the binding is falling apart.  I still might donate them, but I would want to donate them to someone who would know how they should really be cared for.  Someone who could preserve their beauty.

I've made lots of progress.  I've got a few boxes ready to go.  I'll be getting rid of more as I continue to clean and sort through my house.  I'll let some friends go through them and take what they want and then I'll donate what's left to the public library.  I'm ready to let these old friends have a new adventure with a new home.

Most of them, anyway.

Let's Talk About Minimalism

A few months ago I wrote about finding my kind.  Finding my place.  Feeling at home.  In the minimalist movement.

Much of that post talked about getting rid of stuff.  And having less stuff is certainly a big part of minimalism.  But minimalism is so much more than that.

It would take many posts to give you an accurate idea of the current minimalist movement.  I'm sure I will write about it again to cover various areas and how they fit into my life.  But for now, I would like to offer a small introduction to minimalism of today.

While there is a push toward minimalist architecture and decorating and design, that's not really what I'm talking about.  The minimalism I'm talking about is a lifestyle change. 

As with any lifestyle generalization there are many different interpretations on what it means to be a minimalist.  There are probably as many interpretations as there are people trying to live this lifestyle.

A few of the things I've seen people working toward:  owning fewer than 100 things; 33 items in their wardrobe; quitting their regular job; becoming location independent; giving up their car; traveling the world with nothing but their backpack and a laptop.

I do not anticipate doing any of these things.

More commonly I read about people who are getting rid of stuff, rethinking commitments, challenging the ideas that they've been told for years, defining what they want out of life and making it happen.

My definition:  Minimalism is about creating space for the things you love.  Maybe that's physical space and you're focusing on clutter.  Maybe that's time and energy and you're adjusting your work week.  Maybe it's emotional space and you are letting go of relationships that are draining.  Whatever.

It's not about living without.  It's about only having what you need and what you love, realizing that anything extra takes away from the joy of life.  It's not all about thrift shopping.  Maybe instead of ten cheap pairs of pants I want to own three really nice ones. 

It's about choosing what I want in my life, what feels good in my heart.  It's about knowing when I have enough.  It's about living with intent.  It's about slowing down.  It's about making this very moment important, no matter what I'm doing.  It's about not choosing things based on what other people say I should want.  It's about listening to my own heart and letting it help me find myself.  Chipping away at all the garbage the world has buried me in.

It's about thinking.  Choosing.  And enjoying.

It's Just Stuff, part two

Minimalism is about so much more than getting rid of clutter.  It's about a mindset, a life philosophy.  But it usually starts with clutter.

So I've been following a bunch of minimalist blogs lately.  I love their thoughts and hearing about their progress.  I love feeling like I've found people who understand how I feel.  And they inspire me.

One of the ideas I am trying to implement is to not have anything in my life that I don't use or love.  No more hanging on to things just in case.  No more keeping the old one as a backup after we've got a new one.  No more keeping things I don't like just because someone gave them to me.  No more storing things in the cupboard for a special occasion when that special occasion never seems to come.

Shortly after high school I was somehow convinced that I needed to get china, stoneware, and crystal.  It was expensive.  I begged my mom into helping me purchase four settings of each.  They are beautiful!

Now ask me how many times I've used them.  Um.  Hm.  I'd bet it's fewer than five times.  And I've been married twenty-one years.  For twenty-one years they've been sitting in my cupboard.  I've packed and unpacked them every time we've moved.  I've dusted them.  I've displayed them.  And I do love them.  But we just don't use them.

So as I was planning to gut my kitchen cupboards (just planning, the true gutting hasn't occurred yet), I saw those dishes.  And my heart seized up.  I never use them.  I should get rid of them.  But they cost so much money.  We never use them.  But I love them.  Okay, then use them.

My kids are older.  Theoretically we should be able to use fragile dishes and not break anything.

This was just before the Oscars.  We like to do a family evening for the Oscars.  Special treats.  Everyone completing a ballot before hand.  Prizes for the winners.  So I decided to make the night extra special by bringing out some of these precious dishes.

Actually, I used some glass tea trays (which we also never use) and the crystal.  They were placed on the table with the snacks.  My kids' faces lit up when they realized they were going to get to use them.  It was fun pouring Sprite and Diet Coke into wine glasses.  Even more fun drinking out of them.  I was glad I'd done it.

The night was going well.  I was winning (I always do).  Everyone was having a good time.

Then I heard a crash.  A very distinctive crash.  I knew instantly that it was one of my precious wine glasses.  The light blue ones that we displayed at our wedding.  The ones we drank fake champagne out of to celebrate our first anniversary.  The ones I loved.

My heart seized again.  But only for a moment.  I saw my kids' faces tighten as well.  They were waiting to see if it was going to ruin our night.  And I wasn't going to let it.

As it turns out, the cat had gotten up on the table and knocked off one of the glasses.  It was my fault for placing them there.  And as I cleaned up the crystal my focus was different than it would have been in the past.  There was the momentary "if only," but that passed quickly.  I wanted to get it cleaned up so I could get back to my family.  It was only a thing.  I wanted to be with my family having a good time instead of worrying about a piece of glass that I only see when we move.

I got it cleaned up and got back to the party.  It was never mentioned again.  The evening ended on a good note.

I call it a rousing success; three cheers for me:  Huzzah!  Huzzah!  Huzzah!

But then I was tested again when my daughter hit a pole with the new car.  That is a story for another time.

Watching Clouds Dance -- Smartly

I have a new essay up on Smartly.  It's a moment out of time, a moment of freedom.  Of peace.  Blue sky and one little cloud.  Spend some time with me Watching Clouds Dance.

It's Just Stuff, part one

I grew up with the mentality that if I had something that I didn’t need or wasn’t using, and someone else did need it, I should give it to them (or at least lend it). It was just a thing. Getting rid of things was easy.

I also grew up in a home where we had enough. I never worried about having food or a home. I never worried about my parents being able to afford to pay for the things I needed. My parents may have struggled and sacrificed when they first married, but by the time I was aware of money they had more than enough for me to be able to do the things I wanted. If something broke, we had enough money to fix it or replace it. If someone were injured, we had good health insurance and enough money to see that they were treated. If an unexpected expense came up my dad might grumble, but there was enough money to cover it. If there was a school activity or sport I wanted to participate in, I only had to ask. I do not remember ever being told that we couldn’t afford something. I do not remember ever going hungry because we didn’t have money for food. I don’t remember hearing much about money except when my dad complained about how much my mom spent shopping. On worthless stuff.

So I came into my marriage believing that stuff was of little value. That it wasn’t worth worrying about.

When we got married, we were poor. We had debt. We couldn’t live like we had when we'd lived with our parents. If something broke, we may or may not be able to replace it. We couldn’t afford to do all the things we wanted to do and still pay our bills. This was an adjustment period for me, to be sure, but luckily I was not an overly materialistic person. I didn’t need lots of stuff. I wasn’t a big shopper. We didn’t have a lot, but we were okay. For a while.

Then we went through periods of unemployment. Over the course of twenty years of marriage my husband was laid off ten times; he was our only source of income (I was a stay-at-home mom). That makes it difficult to build any kind of base to work from. The longest time he was out of work was seven months. We had been keeping our heads above water before this. Then the bottom fell out. He got a severance package and we tried to manage that well. We hoped for this time of unemployment to be of short duration like in the past. It wasn’t.

Before long we were in a difficult place. If we didn’t change things soon it was going to get ugly.

We sold an old, small motor home we owned. We sold our boat. We cancelled the satellite service. We quit eating out. We got rid of any extra expenses that we could. This helped, but it wasn’t enough for long. We eventually ended up turning to others for help. Our parents. The governenment. Church welfare. We had to have others help with our debt and pay for our food. We used food stamps, Medicaid, and other services. We did without. (As difficult as it was to ask for and accept help, I am so grateful it was there.)

I believe that when you have to do without it sometimes changes your perception of stuff. You no longer take stuff for granted because you don’t know if it will last. You hate to let anything go out of fear that you might need it again in the future and don’t know if you will be able to replace it.

These difficult times altered the way I saw stuff. When someone offered hand-me-downs I never considered refusing. I knew we couldn’t afford to buy new clothes, so we’d better accept what was offered. People frequently gave us stuff because they knew we were struggling financially. I found myself accumulating more and more even though I wasn’t shopping. Accumulating didn’t seem so bad when I wasn’t buying it.

But then we found ourselves in a position where we had enough. In fact, we had more than enough. Maybe not financially, but materially. We were overflowing with stuff.

And my old feelings reasserted themselves. I saw all the stuff and how it was taking over my life. I felt suffocated by it. I didn’t need it. I didn’t want it. I didn’t even like most of it. Why was I letting it into my life?

I’ve been systematically trying to change those behaviors. I’ve been trying to get back to my minimalist mentality toward stuff. I’ve been trying to get rid of all the stuff that’s come into our lives over the years. It takes time.

And I have noticed that when I try to make a major change in my life, when I’m sure of my choice, something always happens to challenge that decision. To see if I will stick to my guns. It happened this time, too.

The Ugly Materialist

Once upon a time there was a very ugly duckling.  Only it turned out that it wasn't a duckling after all.  It was a young swan.  He didn't fit in because he wasn't with his own kind.

Have you ever wondered how that swan felt when he realized where he belonged?  When he found his own kind and felt like he was home?  He was okay.  There was nothing wrong with him.  In fact, he was glorious and beautiful, despite what he'd been told.

I found a little bit of that home-ness recently.

For years I would go through and purge my house at least twice a year.  Gut the whole thing.  And get rid of trailerloads of stuff.  Spring and fall.  I would send my kids away with my husband for the day and just pull everything out of all the closets, all the bedrooms, and chuck stuff.  As my kids got older this got more difficult.  They had more stuff and noticed when it disappeared.

Then I went to bed for a year and a half.  I'm still not really sure what made the bottom drop out of my world at that time, but it was not pretty.  And I got behind on the gutting (along with so many other things).

You should know that my family likes stuff.  And my mom has a shopping problem.  To the point where she used to show up at my house three or four times a week with stuff she bought for us.  Nothing we needed usually, just stuff.  It's tough to say no when you know it's given out of love.  Or when your kids see it and want it because it's shiny and new.

But I got buried.  My house got deeper and deeper in stuff.

And then I got a job and found out I can easily be a workaholic.  I was working 50-60 hours a week while parenting five active kids.  Basic housework didn't get done; forget about purging.

Then my health plummeted again and I had to quit my job.  My kids needed me and I just didn't have enough energy for them and work.

So I came home.  And I was happy about that decision.  It's where I needed to be.

But I still have all this stuff.  And I'm six or seven years behind in the gutting.  And I want it gone.

Did I mention that I don't like stuff?  I'm not a fan of possessions.  I do not want to be the one with the most toys.  I see very little value in it and they just add to the weight I feel in life.  More stuff to worry about, clean up, take care of.  Ugh!  Not the life I want.

And then it happened.  I found my kind.  I found the minimalist movement.

It's kind of a big thing right now.  Lots of people are doing it.  And that usually would keep me from doing it because I hate going along with the crowd.  But I can't turn away.  I can't resist the pull.  I want less.  So much less.

I'm not one to push a cause.  I'm not interested because it's good for the planet.  I don't care if anyone else chooses to do it.  I don't plan to get rid of all my possessions and live out of a box.

And I don't think there is anything wrong with people who like stuff.  Materialists.  I am just not one of them.

I am a minimalist.

Making my life what I want it to be will take a long time.  Even for people who feel well it sometimes takes years to make the change.  And because I don't feel well I'll have to take it slowly.

But I'm okay with that because I finally know the way home.

I Hate Shopping!

I know, I'm going to have to surrender my girl card.  I'm pretty sure I was disqualified on shoe grounds a long time ago (I only own five pairs - *gasp*).

I've never understood window shopping, unless I was doing actual research for something I was preparing to buy.  I've never understood the need to shop for therapeutic reasons; you know, retail therapy to cure a bad day.  And I do not understand the mall.

I'm not talking about grocery shopping. I don't think anyone likes that, except the overworked mother of young children who uses it as a temporary escape.

I am talking about buying things just to have more stuff or newer stuff.

I am of the wear-it-out philosophy.  It's only new for a minute.  Then it's used.  And when it's new I just worry about it; if something happens to it, it won't look new anymore.  When it's used or worn in, I'm not as concerned if someone damages it or if it gets lost or stained.

And I swear on a stack of bibles, I HAVE MORE THAN ENOUGH STUFF!  I can't get rid of stuff fast enough to keep up with all that comes into my house.  Why on earth would I want to contribute to the problem by buying more stuff I don't need?

I don't actually like stuff.  I don't get joy from stuff.  I find stuff utilitarian.  If it's useful, great.  If not, I don't want it.

And yes, I know, everyone who has ever given me a gift is now saying, "Well, I won't do that again."  And that's okay.  I would so much rather we use the money to go to lunch together.  Or out for some other activity.  Even one that's free.  (I promise, they will not kick you out of America for not wanting to spend money.  They'll want to, but they won't actually do it.)

My lack of interest in stuff causes me relationship problems.  To me, the best gifts are gifts of time and effort.  I would so much rather someone clean out and wash my car than give me jewelry.  So I am afraid I don't show appreciation for tangible gifts well.  And there are people in my life who do like stuff.  For holidays and birthdays they do want stuff.  So if I make an effort to serve them and spend time with them, they still want to know where their present is.

Oh, well.  I will keep stumbling along trying not to hurt feelings and trying to stay ahead of the constant influx of stuff.  It's the world we live in and it's a tough fight.

As for shopping, I do have two weaknesses.  I could spend hours in office supply stores and hardware stores.  I love seeing all the different solutions for everyday problems.  Who knew they made something that could do that?  Seriously, put me on the hinge aisle or in the knob section and I become a kid in a candy store.

And back to the girl card, I'm not sure I was ever actually issued one.  I was too busy learning to open my own jars.