I'm not going to mark National Thrift Shop Day by suggesting that everybody out there should go and buy something at a thrift shop (although you know that's one of my favourite things to do).
I'm not even going to mark it by suggesting that everybody should donate something today (although you know how much fun I have unpacking books at the MCC store. It's Christmas every week).
I'm going to suggest something far more radical.
Non-profit thrift shops...in spite of all the good they do by raising money for the ministries and charities that run them and by giving lots of stuff a potential second life...reflect something about our world, our culture, our attitude towards buying and un-buying stuff, that isn't a good thing. In a perfect world, ministries that run thrift stores would have to find another way to raise money, because people would be buying just what they need, using things longer, fixing what's broken, trading what's outgrown, borrowing what they can, re-purposing things themselves. And those organizations wouldn't totally mind that, I think, because any one of them accepting donations of Stuff must deal with an Increasingly Big Headache of Responsible Disposal.
So keep the thrift store of your favourite charity in mind today by not buying one particular new thing (besides food or other consumables). That way, when that one unbought thing doesn't arrive at the hypothetical end of its usefulness to you, you won't have to drive it to the thrift store. Nobody will have to unpack it; nobody will have to price it and hang it on a rack; nobody will have to pay the cost of the computerized cash register system and the credit card fees; or (if it sits unsold) nobody will have to bale it up and figure out where to send it next. By not buying something new today, you've created one less future thing-in-thing-out decision for a crew of staff and volunteers. Wasn't that easy?
(But you could also send the charity a financial contribution.)
Showing posts with label Simplicity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Simplicity. Show all posts
Saturday, August 17, 2019
Friday, August 02, 2019
Quote for the day: Charlotte Mason says we can but do what we are able for
Eliminating schedule clutter and online overload is a popular theme these days for minimalist media people (for instance, the book Digital Minimalism). In this quote from a chapter on Loyalty, Charlotte Mason points out that we may have to risk being thought "unamiable" if we say "no" to certain requests.
"Thoroughness and unstinted effort belong to this manner of Loyalty; and, therefore, we have at times to figure as unamiable persons because we are unable to throw ourselves into every new cause that is brought before us. We can but do what we are able for; and Loyalty to that which we are doing will often forbid efforts in new directions." ~~ Charlotte Mason, Ourselves
Wednesday, April 17, 2019
Charlotte Mason was a minimalist decorator?
"It is worth while to remember that space is the most precious and also the most pleasing thing in a house or room; and that even a small room becomes spacious if it is not crowded with useless objects." ~~ Charlotte Mason, Ourselves, p. 177
(Guessing that she was not a fan of Victorian decorating!)
Saturday, January 05, 2019
A year of KonMari tidying here
Marie Kondo seems to be getting more popular than ever--she now has a show on Netflix (which I can't watch because we just unsubscribed). The word most often applied to her personally is "cute," but she also has her firm side. In one You-tube video, the owner of a messy pantry shows her a package of spoon-shaped cookies, drawing appreciative coos from Kondo but followed quickly by a pointing out of their months-old expiry date. Cute cookies aren't worth much if you don't eat them.
In 2017, I read The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, and described some of my early experiments on the blog. Someone commented (kindly) that it would be interesting to know how long I'd stick with it.
Well, it's been a year-plus since I made my first t-shirt stand up straight, so I guess that's long enough now to call a habit. The food in our storage room has remained organized (and the wrapping paper I used on the bins has held up pretty well). The bathroom has stayed uncluttered. We had already gone through a lot of decluttering, during our downsize to the apartment. I had also done quite a lot of putting things into containers, and containers within containers, before I read Tidying Up.
What I think KonMari added to our vision for a newer, cleaner space here was a sense of aesthetic pleasure, an extra bit of harmony. One of the odd bits I picked up from Kondo's books was the idea that containers and boxes with clashing labels and random printing may contribute to a sense of info-overload. They can feel like commercials that never get turned off. Solutions to garish containers include peeling off a label, painting or covering the box (as I did with the very miscellaneous pantry bins), or emptying the contents into a jar or something else neutral. If it's a shoebox or something to be repurposed as a drawer organizer, then the outside printing doesn't matter. But if the storage container is going on a shelf, you might want to pretty it up a bit. That doesn't mean crocheted cozies for the toilet paper, but just keeping in mind how what we look at every day can boost moods (or bring them down). If we have to look at words in our homes, let's make them important and beautiful words.
I appreciate Kondo's encouragement to use whatever you have instead of buying new (often plastic) storage goods. One thing she does like are the sets of large plastic drawers for closets, partly because they keep storage behind closed doors. I don't have any, but I've compromised by treating a couple of under-bed baskets as if they were drawers. (We don't get as many dust-bunnies here as we did at our old house, so under-bed storage is workable.)
Another KonMari idea that I found useful was sorting by categories, especially with seemingly miscellaneous stuff. Not that we hadn't already done a lot of that, but I appreciated her emphasis on its usefulness. It helps us know not only where things are in the apartment, but also when we need to re-stock.
Finally, Kondo's knack for turning even an underwear drawer into a sort of Bento box array should lead not to obsession with one's undies, but to appreciation and gratitude for what we have. This is something we can share with and model for children. Look--we have socks! They're nice colours! They're clean! They're (mostly) hole-free! Let's take care of them! Even small things arranged carefully can make our days brighter, and that echoes Edith Schaeffer's thoughts on tabletop flowers, sandwich plates for hobos, and writing little notes to cheer people up.
I still don't talk to my shoes. But I'm glad for the help KonMari has given us.
In 2017, I read The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, and described some of my early experiments on the blog. Someone commented (kindly) that it would be interesting to know how long I'd stick with it.
Well, it's been a year-plus since I made my first t-shirt stand up straight, so I guess that's long enough now to call a habit. The food in our storage room has remained organized (and the wrapping paper I used on the bins has held up pretty well). The bathroom has stayed uncluttered. We had already gone through a lot of decluttering, during our downsize to the apartment. I had also done quite a lot of putting things into containers, and containers within containers, before I read Tidying Up.
What I think KonMari added to our vision for a newer, cleaner space here was a sense of aesthetic pleasure, an extra bit of harmony. One of the odd bits I picked up from Kondo's books was the idea that containers and boxes with clashing labels and random printing may contribute to a sense of info-overload. They can feel like commercials that never get turned off. Solutions to garish containers include peeling off a label, painting or covering the box (as I did with the very miscellaneous pantry bins), or emptying the contents into a jar or something else neutral. If it's a shoebox or something to be repurposed as a drawer organizer, then the outside printing doesn't matter. But if the storage container is going on a shelf, you might want to pretty it up a bit. That doesn't mean crocheted cozies for the toilet paper, but just keeping in mind how what we look at every day can boost moods (or bring them down). If we have to look at words in our homes, let's make them important and beautiful words.
I appreciate Kondo's encouragement to use whatever you have instead of buying new (often plastic) storage goods. One thing she does like are the sets of large plastic drawers for closets, partly because they keep storage behind closed doors. I don't have any, but I've compromised by treating a couple of under-bed baskets as if they were drawers. (We don't get as many dust-bunnies here as we did at our old house, so under-bed storage is workable.)
Another KonMari idea that I found useful was sorting by categories, especially with seemingly miscellaneous stuff. Not that we hadn't already done a lot of that, but I appreciated her emphasis on its usefulness. It helps us know not only where things are in the apartment, but also when we need to re-stock.
Finally, Kondo's knack for turning even an underwear drawer into a sort of Bento box array should lead not to obsession with one's undies, but to appreciation and gratitude for what we have. This is something we can share with and model for children. Look--we have socks! They're nice colours! They're clean! They're (mostly) hole-free! Let's take care of them! Even small things arranged carefully can make our days brighter, and that echoes Edith Schaeffer's thoughts on tabletop flowers, sandwich plates for hobos, and writing little notes to cheer people up.
I still don't talk to my shoes. But I'm glad for the help KonMari has given us.
"Yet it was chiefly her body that was tired now; her mind, which had been so weary and fretted in London, had been wonderfully rested by this house that was now her home....[Nadine] stretched out a hand and laid it upon the paneled wall beside her; it was warm in the sun, as though it were alive....This house was maison-dieu [a house of God], and the stripping away of all that was unworthy and the building up of new beauty was in the nature of a crusade. And the house had agreed and collaborated." ~~ Elizabeth Goudge, The Herb of Grace (Pilgrim's Inn)
Thursday, January 03, 2019
Project 333, Winter 2019: A Quieter Space
In a recent article for Simplify Magazine, Myquillyn Smith described a New Year's ritual at her house. She chooses a room to "quieten," and removes everything but the basic furniture. (If you've ever read Myquillyn Smith's home books, you know that her decorating style is not bare-minimalist, so this is an undertaking.) For a short period of time, that space is allowed to just "be," giving it a fresh start. Stripped to essentials, does it feel bigger? Lighter? Is it easier to think in a clean space? The accessories and art are re-introduced gradually and carefully, with appreciation but also with deliberateness.
Courtney Carver's Project 333 could be called quieting the wardrobe. When you empty a closet, what goes back in?
Scarves aren't essential (or quiet), but they're nice!
Do two pairs of pants and one skirt make us feel unburdened, or too limited? How many shirts or sweaters do we need until the next load of laundry? Do some of them suddenly feel like excess? Which things are fine in themselves, but don't work well with others, don't fit our current lifestyle, or (we finally admit) don't look wonderful on us? Pared down to the essentials, what shines through?
I thought about all of this. I realize I could get along with fewer clothes, but:
1. It's winter. I need enough clothes to stay warm.
2. I like most of what I'm wearing, and wear most of what I have.
3. So a good general clean-out seemed like enough this time, rather than trying to pick this over that. I do have a bag of no-that-didn't-work things headed for the thrift store.
Tuesday, November 27, 2018
The Intentional Thrifter: Three years of culling the closet
About three years ago, I went "back to school" on getting dressed in the morning. The only thing I was sure of was that I wanted to stop wearing black jeans with everything. I was also tired of freebie clothes that I'd stretched as far as I could. Even when I did buy the odd new sweater or blouse, I couldn't figure out what to do with it...except wear it with black jeans. Or blue jeans.
Over those three years, I've shamelessly cycled a large number of thrifted clothes into my closet and out again. It wasn't hard to get rid of what I didn't like; it was harder settling on what I did. My life does not normally require me to make a business impression or dress like something I'm not, and I'm grateful for that. I've admired photos of expensive (to me) new clothing, but, especially lately, I often get pulled up short by finding something nearby and secondhand that does just as well.
On time spent shopping, I think I spend an average amount, maybe more than some (because quite a few of my friends don't have the time or inclination), but less than women who spend hours browsing malls. I do like reading a few style websites for fun, and there are a couple of You-tubers I follow, so I guess you'd count that as shopping-thinking time, even if they're not selling anything. Treehouse readers know how often I post photos of new things, but those are usually found in a quick few minutes after a thrift shift.
I've learned to be cautious of fast-fashion fabric, new or used. Mass-market "modal" can be just as cheap and disappointing as regular stretchy synthetics. But thrifting is a good antidote for synthetic blahs, especially if your limited budget keeps you away from more inventive (read $$) makers. Used clothes often span a wider variety of price points and fabrics.
I've discovered I'm old enough...and young enough...not to have everything machine-wash-and-dryable. We've always done a lot of line-drying, but I tended to avoid hand-washing when our household was bigger--too much fuss. Like many jobs that initially sound too time-consuming, it's really about having the tools in place to make it a habit. For me, those are dishpans, a timer, and drying racks, plus those extra hangers I mentioned. I think I've ruined just one white top by handwashing it, and that's because it accidentally picked up pink stains from something else.
I've bought some bright colours, but I'm finding I like certain neutrals (grey, off-white, not-too-dark navy) just as much. I've learned that oversized isn't my best friend, and neither is beige of any sort. I keep hoping those beige caterpillars will magically turn into beautiful taupe butterflies, but it's pretty hopeless. I've also learned to stay away from crispy menswear, and pants designed for retirees.
The biggest thing I'm learning recently is to cut the closet fat a bit more, or at least slow the train of comings and goings. As time goes on, I'm recognizing more long-haul clothes "friends," and I feel less like shifting them off to make room for others.
And finally, thrifting isn't just about clothes. Recent book finds:
Over those three years, I've shamelessly cycled a large number of thrifted clothes into my closet and out again. It wasn't hard to get rid of what I didn't like; it was harder settling on what I did. My life does not normally require me to make a business impression or dress like something I'm not, and I'm grateful for that. I've admired photos of expensive (to me) new clothing, but, especially lately, I often get pulled up short by finding something nearby and secondhand that does just as well.
The $2 scarf I bought last week and wore today.
On time spent shopping, I think I spend an average amount, maybe more than some (because quite a few of my friends don't have the time or inclination), but less than women who spend hours browsing malls. I do like reading a few style websites for fun, and there are a couple of You-tubers I follow, so I guess you'd count that as shopping-thinking time, even if they're not selling anything. Treehouse readers know how often I post photos of new things, but those are usually found in a quick few minutes after a thrift shift.
Silk and linen navy blazer with 3/4 length sleeves (I think). It's a size 14 petite, which should be totally not my size, but it it's a perfect fit. The accompanying pants, however, seem made for a giant. Sometimes you have to buy the package and use what you can.Things I've Learned
I've learned to be cautious of fast-fashion fabric, new or used. Mass-market "modal" can be just as cheap and disappointing as regular stretchy synthetics. But thrifting is a good antidote for synthetic blahs, especially if your limited budget keeps you away from more inventive (read $$) makers. Used clothes often span a wider variety of price points and fabrics.
I've discovered I'm old enough...and young enough...not to have everything machine-wash-and-dryable. We've always done a lot of line-drying, but I tended to avoid hand-washing when our household was bigger--too much fuss. Like many jobs that initially sound too time-consuming, it's really about having the tools in place to make it a habit. For me, those are dishpans, a timer, and drying racks, plus those extra hangers I mentioned. I think I've ruined just one white top by handwashing it, and that's because it accidentally picked up pink stains from something else.
I've bought some bright colours, but I'm finding I like certain neutrals (grey, off-white, not-too-dark navy) just as much. I've learned that oversized isn't my best friend, and neither is beige of any sort. I keep hoping those beige caterpillars will magically turn into beautiful taupe butterflies, but it's pretty hopeless. I've also learned to stay away from crispy menswear, and pants designed for retirees.
The biggest thing I'm learning recently is to cut the closet fat a bit more, or at least slow the train of comings and goings. As time goes on, I'm recognizing more long-haul clothes "friends," and I feel less like shifting them off to make room for others.
And finally, thrifting isn't just about clothes. Recent book finds:
I'm looking forward to reading Our Native Song as an addition to our local CM group's music study.
This one's a CM-era relic.
Wednesday, September 19, 2018
Frugal finds and fixes, and some letting go
Fixing: Besides fixing the jean buttons yesterday, I'm trying to cure a bad case of salt stains that afflicted my old-but-otherwise-okay winter boots. I gave them a spa morning on the balcony, with repeated vinegar-water spraying and wiping, and it did help quite a lot. I may give them a return appointment if tomorrow's sunny again.
Fun find: Another mostly-there craft pad of punchouts and boxes.
Money well spent: A doorbell for the apartment, ordered online. Beats listening for people politely tapping. You can even change the ringer from ding-dong to tunes, if you're in the mood.
Still blessedly free, more or less: Radio stations. Watching monarch butterflies migrate past the balcony on September evenings. Wearing fall clothes you already have but that it's been too hot to wear since May.
Letting things go: I do make thrifting mistakes, or end up with too much the same, or trade up to something I like better or that's a better fit. So I'm filling a bag with clothes and books to re-donate.
Fun find: Another mostly-there craft pad of punchouts and boxes.
I like printed bits and pieces for gift tags and card making.
Still blessedly free, more or less: Radio stations. Watching monarch butterflies migrate past the balcony on September evenings. Wearing fall clothes you already have but that it's been too hot to wear since May.
Letting things go: I do make thrifting mistakes, or end up with too much the same, or trade up to something I like better or that's a better fit. So I'm filling a bag with clothes and books to re-donate.
Saturday, February 10, 2018
Quote for the day: Abundance
"To believe in abundance is to believe that we have enough...This thinking is a stretch of the imagination. It envisions social relationships in a different world, in a manna-based culture. It's a sharp contrast to a culture organized around commerce, a market ideology based on scarcity and the central premise that we cannot believe in sufficiency. It declares that we can never be satisfied with what we have, with the effect that customer satisfaction is truly an oxymoron." ~~ Peter Block, Walter Brueggemann and John McKnight, An Other Kingdom: Departing the Consumer Culture
Friday, November 10, 2017
Something to read today: why neither less nor more will make us happier, and why happy maybe isn't the point
Some thoughts on the question of whether the trend toward minimalism and simplicity is a worthwile pursuit for Christians.
Tech Warning: This two-page article appears on the Christianity Today site in a "preview" format. You can only access the story once, unless you have an account there. That's why I wasn't able to include the quote I liked from the end of the article: it's disappeared on me.
Can We Declutter Our Way to Christ?
Tech Warning: This two-page article appears on the Christianity Today site in a "preview" format. You can only access the story once, unless you have an account there. That's why I wasn't able to include the quote I liked from the end of the article: it's disappeared on me.
Thursday, November 09, 2017
KonMari Closet, or, I'll try anything once (photos)
This wasn't so much a declutter as a reorganization and folding spree.
One thing I didn't like about the way things were was the big plastic bin full of summer clothes. I've never quite trusted it; I had the feeling it made things smell funny. The bin is still there, but now it's holding some other non-clothes stuff (that still needs sorting). About half the summer clothes (like t-shirts) came out and got put with the other clothes; the rest are in the blue fabric bin on the top shelf.
The hanging shelf used to be scarves but is now t-shirts plus winter gloves and hats.
Bin of pullovers and sweater dresses. I had the dresses hanging up, but decided to fold them since they're really long pullovers.
Basket of scarves. I seemed to have a mess of scarves, so it was nice to corral them. I am donating a few that didn't spark-so-much-joy.
Drawer of folded tops
(I did do the socks etc. etc. too, but no photos--sorry.)
Thursday, November 02, 2017
About home stuff: something to read today
Blogger Leah at StyleWise has a post up about the way homes have become, more than ever, public fishbowls for our "image." It might not be a bad image; it might be a very sharp minimalist or delightfully retro image. The point is that what you had in your house didn't matter so much in years past, any more than what your lunch looked like. Now there's a push to keep ourselves on display, and even to keep changing and updating so that "our" social media pics don't get stale.
I put "our" because even that idea is a bit contrived. Probably only a handful of people you know in real life worry about those things. Contrary to expectations, not everybody has a phone-plus. Some people I know don't even have email. Gasp.
But the push on expectations is there, and we're probably going to run into it or up against it. Like our family story about taking a Squirreling to the fast-food indoor playland for a birthday party, and discovering that it was no big deal for her little friends, who were probably there every week. Or like inviting people over who Just Don't Get It.
Well, it happens.
But read the post anyway.
I put "our" because even that idea is a bit contrived. Probably only a handful of people you know in real life worry about those things. Contrary to expectations, not everybody has a phone-plus. Some people I know don't even have email. Gasp.
But the push on expectations is there, and we're probably going to run into it or up against it. Like our family story about taking a Squirreling to the fast-food indoor playland for a birthday party, and discovering that it was no big deal for her little friends, who were probably there every week. Or like inviting people over who Just Don't Get It.
Well, it happens.
But read the post anyway.
Saturday, October 28, 2017
Minimalism: sometimes it's hard to count on
I've said before that my "second Bible" during our early married life was the 1990's Tightwad Gazette. Amy Dacyczyn wrote about her life as a dedicated yard-saler, stuff-stretcher, dupe-it-yourself-er, and occasional do-without-er. She described her wardrobe at the time as consisting of three pairs of jeans (this year's, last year's, and the year before's), and three pairs of sneakers (ditto).Like Amy, I have a mostly-casual lifestyle, so for a long time, I was pretty happy to follow suit. Or rather, jeans. If it came along, fit more or less, and was cheap enough, I would probably wear it. (I drew the line at mustard and orange.)
A couple of years ago, after a period of too much black stuff, I dumped almost everything and started from scratch. I also noticed the growing trend towards minimalism of all kinds. Japanese. Ecological. Inner-peaceful. What that meant for me was zeroing in on a few clothes I really liked and that fit, rather than trying to deal with my previous thrifted and freebie mishmash.
The funny part was that, once I started looking a little harder at my favourite thrift stores, I kept finding stuff I liked. (Was it all there before? I don't know.) Following the Project 333 tiny-wardrobe plan, plus our move to a smaller space, helped to keep a limit on what was hanging in the closet. But I wasn't sure if I could or should aspire to Courtney Carver's level of non-self-consciousness about clothes. (Been there, done that.) It's possible to say that time spent shopping and figuring out what to wear is, essentially, time wasted, because (Courtney asserts) nobody really notices or cares what you wear. But for me, that negative side of minimalism feels like the equivalent of "nobody notices what you cook" (well, sometimes that's true), or "nobody cares what you say." Why bother?
I find it to be the other way around. I think about and enjoy what I'm wearing, the texture of a corduroy skirt, the shade of a scarf, the way my boots fit. I like the furniture and art that we've arranged in our apartment, the flowered teapot we found on an antiquing trip, my grandfather's little chair, the doily a friend crocheted, Mr. Fixit's electronic works-in-progress spread on the table. I like the poetry books, including Wendell Berry's Sabbath poems that I found for sale along with beeswax candles and essential oils in the "hemp cafe." (I bought the book and a vegan brownie, left the rest.) I like the unexpectedness of late corn on the cob from the farm stand, and the bowl of red grapes that's waiting for dessert tonight.
My conclusion is that sometimes I just like to bother. I am happier bothering. The mistake would be if I counted on clothes, food, or other stuff to fill the empty places. Or if I started keeping score of compliments, or worrying about negative remarks.
And for that reason, I decided two things. First, I pulled out my few extra non-capsule clothes, and added them to the closet where they can be responsible for any bouts of wardrobe indecision I may incur as a result. (I'm not too worried.) Second, I won't be posting a new clothes page for the winter. I feel like I've barely gotten started wearing the fall clothes, and anyway I don't own any others to rotate them with. Snow boots, maybe, but that's it.
So: fewer numbers, less planning, at least for the next few months. Less guilt if I add in a thrifted sweater or two (I could actually use one), or wear a top I thought I wouldn't see for awhile. A little more freedom to bother...so I won't have to bother.
A couple of years ago, after a period of too much black stuff, I dumped almost everything and started from scratch. I also noticed the growing trend towards minimalism of all kinds. Japanese. Ecological. Inner-peaceful. What that meant for me was zeroing in on a few clothes I really liked and that fit, rather than trying to deal with my previous thrifted and freebie mishmash.
The funny part was that, once I started looking a little harder at my favourite thrift stores, I kept finding stuff I liked. (Was it all there before? I don't know.) Following the Project 333 tiny-wardrobe plan, plus our move to a smaller space, helped to keep a limit on what was hanging in the closet. But I wasn't sure if I could or should aspire to Courtney Carver's level of non-self-consciousness about clothes. (Been there, done that.) It's possible to say that time spent shopping and figuring out what to wear is, essentially, time wasted, because (Courtney asserts) nobody really notices or cares what you wear. But for me, that negative side of minimalism feels like the equivalent of "nobody notices what you cook" (well, sometimes that's true), or "nobody cares what you say." Why bother?
I find it to be the other way around. I think about and enjoy what I'm wearing, the texture of a corduroy skirt, the shade of a scarf, the way my boots fit. I like the furniture and art that we've arranged in our apartment, the flowered teapot we found on an antiquing trip, my grandfather's little chair, the doily a friend crocheted, Mr. Fixit's electronic works-in-progress spread on the table. I like the poetry books, including Wendell Berry's Sabbath poems that I found for sale along with beeswax candles and essential oils in the "hemp cafe." (I bought the book and a vegan brownie, left the rest.) I like the unexpectedness of late corn on the cob from the farm stand, and the bowl of red grapes that's waiting for dessert tonight.
My conclusion is that sometimes I just like to bother. I am happier bothering. The mistake would be if I counted on clothes, food, or other stuff to fill the empty places. Or if I started keeping score of compliments, or worrying about negative remarks.
And for that reason, I decided two things. First, I pulled out my few extra non-capsule clothes, and added them to the closet where they can be responsible for any bouts of wardrobe indecision I may incur as a result. (I'm not too worried.) Second, I won't be posting a new clothes page for the winter. I feel like I've barely gotten started wearing the fall clothes, and anyway I don't own any others to rotate them with. Snow boots, maybe, but that's it.
So: fewer numbers, less planning, at least for the next few months. Less guilt if I add in a thrifted sweater or two (I could actually use one), or wear a top I thought I wouldn't see for awhile. A little more freedom to bother...so I won't have to bother.
Thursday, October 26, 2017
How's that simplicity going? (An update of sorts)
Have you ever heard that quote from the senior citizen (sometimes it's attributed to a man, sometimes a woman) who said "Sometimes I sits and thinks, and sometimes I just sits?"
Last weekend I was at the L'Harmas (Charlotte Mason) retreat, and the word "simplicity" came up in one of the talks: not as a question of how many wooden spoons and pairs of shoes you have, or what you wrap your avocados in, but more as a contemplative, even agrarian, old/new set of values; something that people are looking for but not finding. The title of a much-maligned expensive magazine comes to mind.
The idea of a retreat implies slowing down, unplugging, renewing. At L'Harmas, we often find ourselves asked to slow down in ways that are out of our "ordinary." If we're homeschoolers, we might be used to reading poems to our children, or showing them how to do a craft; but it feels different, even uncertain somehow, to have someone asking us, the grownups, to try Swedish drill. Or to have someone read a poem just for us, or show us how to needle-felt with those scary-looking barbed needles. Yes, I know needle-felting has been popular for ages, but some of us have never tried it (preferring our nice safe crochet hooks).
Or (at last year's L'Harmas), singing The Gypsy Rover, learning about ladybugs in greenhouses, and making a paper box, Sloyd-style.
To hear something different, to try something new, we have to slow down, listen to the words or the instructions, make our hands, voices, or bodies do something they don't normally do. We re-discover a place where the reading, the making, the singing come from our own initiative. This is the complete opposite of pushing a button or clicking an icon.
Those are the things I bring back from such a time away. Where do they lead?
Since returning, I've also sat in a church workshop on conservative Mennonite choral traditions, watched clouds from our balcony, spent a morning sorting books at the thrift store, baked a new/old gingerbread recipe, thrifted a cardigan, put away a few last summer clothes, picked up bananas and chocolate rolls at the discount store (because I can walk there), hand-washed my sweaters, and thought through the counting-clothes, capsule wardrobe problem again. (Post coming on that.) Tomorrow night will be our local Charlotte Mason study night; we're working through School Education.
I have been listening to a CD of hymns and the radio jazz station, and discussing retirement finances with Mr. Fixit. We have an at-home daughter doing late-night essays and wondering what to wear for Halloween, and grown-up Squirrelings dealing with work, sick pets, and other life issues.
I'm reading a book by Madeleine L'Engle where she muses on a similar variety of this-is-life happenings. In the first chapter, she's awake in the middle of the night, watching out the window, listening to the night sounds. Sometimes that's the best place to find quiet and think about simplicity.
Some of the minimalist writers are big on saying No. I would like to turn it around and say more Yes. Yes, I can come help. Yes, that thrifted purse would look nice with a dress.Yes, I'll make time to read that book. Yes, I will talk to someone instead of doing something else that I thought was going to be important (and it wasn't). Yes, I will try that new thing.
Because simplicity allows us to refuse, but also to choose. And Yes can be a good choice.
Last weekend I was at the L'Harmas (Charlotte Mason) retreat, and the word "simplicity" came up in one of the talks: not as a question of how many wooden spoons and pairs of shoes you have, or what you wrap your avocados in, but more as a contemplative, even agrarian, old/new set of values; something that people are looking for but not finding. The title of a much-maligned expensive magazine comes to mind.
The idea of a retreat implies slowing down, unplugging, renewing. At L'Harmas, we often find ourselves asked to slow down in ways that are out of our "ordinary." If we're homeschoolers, we might be used to reading poems to our children, or showing them how to do a craft; but it feels different, even uncertain somehow, to have someone asking us, the grownups, to try Swedish drill. Or to have someone read a poem just for us, or show us how to needle-felt with those scary-looking barbed needles. Yes, I know needle-felting has been popular for ages, but some of us have never tried it (preferring our nice safe crochet hooks).
Or (at last year's L'Harmas), singing The Gypsy Rover, learning about ladybugs in greenhouses, and making a paper box, Sloyd-style.
To hear something different, to try something new, we have to slow down, listen to the words or the instructions, make our hands, voices, or bodies do something they don't normally do. We re-discover a place where the reading, the making, the singing come from our own initiative. This is the complete opposite of pushing a button or clicking an icon.
Those are the things I bring back from such a time away. Where do they lead?
Since returning, I've also sat in a church workshop on conservative Mennonite choral traditions, watched clouds from our balcony, spent a morning sorting books at the thrift store, baked a new/old gingerbread recipe, thrifted a cardigan, put away a few last summer clothes, picked up bananas and chocolate rolls at the discount store (because I can walk there), hand-washed my sweaters, and thought through the counting-clothes, capsule wardrobe problem again. (Post coming on that.) Tomorrow night will be our local Charlotte Mason study night; we're working through School Education.
I have been listening to a CD of hymns and the radio jazz station, and discussing retirement finances with Mr. Fixit. We have an at-home daughter doing late-night essays and wondering what to wear for Halloween, and grown-up Squirrelings dealing with work, sick pets, and other life issues.
I'm reading a book by Madeleine L'Engle where she muses on a similar variety of this-is-life happenings. In the first chapter, she's awake in the middle of the night, watching out the window, listening to the night sounds. Sometimes that's the best place to find quiet and think about simplicity.
Some of the minimalist writers are big on saying No. I would like to turn it around and say more Yes. Yes, I can come help. Yes, that thrifted purse would look nice with a dress.Yes, I'll make time to read that book. Yes, I will talk to someone instead of doing something else that I thought was going to be important (and it wasn't). Yes, I will try that new thing.
Because simplicity allows us to refuse, but also to choose. And Yes can be a good choice.
Wednesday, October 25, 2017
Wednesday Hodgepodge: Mixing it up
1. What's surprised you most about your life or life in general?
To go with a cliche, how fast it goes. Also how long some things (material things, friendships, circumstances) last, and not always the ones you'd expect. I made gingerbread this morning from a 1977 magazine recipe, in a plastic mixing bowl Mr. Fixit's mother gave him when he moved out from home. I used vintage measuring spoons of his grandma's, a recent-vintage silicone scraper, and a 25-year-old Pyrex measuring cup; and I baked it in a pan we got free this year with a pair of new cookie sheets.
To go with a cliche, how fast it goes. Also how long some things (material things, friendships, circumstances) last, and not always the ones you'd expect. I made gingerbread this morning from a 1977 magazine recipe, in a plastic mixing bowl Mr. Fixit's mother gave him when he moved out from home. I used vintage measuring spoons of his grandma's, a recent-vintage silicone scraper, and a 25-year-old Pyrex measuring cup; and I baked it in a pan we got free this year with a pair of new cookie sheets.
2. Sweet potato fries, sweet potato casserole, a baked sweet potato, a bowl of butternut squash soup, a caramel apple or a slice of pumpkin pie...you have to order one thing on this list right now. Which one do you go for?
Any of them except the caramel apple: too sticky.
3. What's a famous book set in your home state? Have you read it? On a scale of 1-5 (5 is fantastic) how many stars does it rate?
How about Lucy Maud Montgomery's The Blue Castle, I think her only novel set in Ontario? Those who love it would give it multiple stars.
Valancy got her John Foster book--Magic of Wings. "His latest--all about birds," said Miss Clarkson. She had almost decided that she would go home, instead of going to see Dr. Trent. Her courage had failed her. She was afraid of offending Uncle James--afraid of angering her mother--afraid of facing gruff, shaggy-browed old Dr. Trent, who would probably tell her, as he had told Cousin Gladys, that her trouble was entirely imaginary and that she only had it because she liked to have it... Valancy slammed the magazine shut; she opened Magic of Wings. Her eyes fell on the paragraph that changed her life.
"Fear is the original sin," wrote John Foster. "Almost all the evil in the world has its origin in the fact that some one is afraid of something. It is a cold, slimy serpent coiling about you. It is horrible to live with fear; and it is of all things degrading."
This is the cover of the edition I first read in the 1970's
No, I haven't bought any gifts or other holiday things, except for a nativity silhouette we bought in the summer from Ten Thousand Villages.
5. October 26th is National Tennessee Day. Have you ever lived or spent any time in Tennessee? Is this a state you'd like to visit one day? The top rated tourist attractions in Tennessee are-
The Great Smoky Mountain National Park (Gatlinburg area), Elvis's Graceland (Memphis), Birth of the Music Biz (Memphis and Nashville), Dollywood (Pigeon Forge), Tennessee's Military Heritage (many battlefields), The Hermitage (Andrew Jackson's home), The Parthenon (Nashville), Oak Ridge American Museum of Science and Energy, Chattagnooa and the Tennessee Valley Railroad, Downtown Knoxville, Lookout Mountain, The Titanic Museum (Pigeon Forge), The Museum of Appalachia (Clinton), and The Lost Sea Adventure (Sweetwater)
How many on this list have you seen? Which one on the list would you most like to see?
My family stayed at a KOA campground in Tennessee, when I was ten, on our way to Florida. Elvis was still alive and living in his house, and Dollywood didn't exist. That's all I remember!
6. Insert your own random thought here.
Can I make an unsolicited plug for the digital Simplify Magazine? For any digital magazine (it seems) to last more than a couple of issues is a good sign, and they're already working on the third. It's enjoyably diverse, occasionally even unexpected, and well written.
Linked from The Wednesday Hodgepodge at From This Side of the Pond
Monday, October 09, 2017
Christmas Countdown with Charlotte Mason, Week 2 of 12: A primrose, a worm, a beggar, a prince
Happy Canadian Thanksgiving!
Yesterday at church, this quote was shared from John Ortberg's book When the Game is Over, It All Goes Back in the Box:
“Gratitude is the ability to experience life as a gift. It opens us up to wonder, delight, and humility. It makes our hearts generous. It liberates us from the prison of self-preoccupation…Without gratitude our lives degenerate into envy, dissatisfaction, and complaints, taking what we have for granted and always wanting more.”
"A Child is Humble––...Our common notion of humility is inaccurate. We regard it as a relative quality. We humble ourselves to this one and that, bow to the prince and lord it over the peasant. This is why the grace of humility does not commend itself even to ourselves in our most sincere moods. We feel that this relative humility is hardly consistent with self-respect and due independence of character. We have been taught to recognise humility as a Christian grace, and therefore do not utter our protest; but this misconception confuses our thought on an important subject. For humility is absolute, not relative."It is by no means a taking of our place among our fellows according to a given scale, some being above us by many grades and others as far below. There is no reference to above or below in the humble soul, which is equally humble before an infant, a primrose, a worm, a beggar, a prince."This, if we think of it, is the state natural to children. Every person and thing commands their interest; but the person or thing in action is deeply interesting. 'May I go and make mud-pies with the boy in the gutter?' prays the little prince, discerning no difference at all; and the little boy in the gutter would meet him with equal frankness." ~~ Charlotte Mason, Parents and Children, Chapter 26: The Eternal Child
In the spirit of Charlotte Mason
Would you be very impressed by meeting a celebrity? Do you care what the Queen of England eats for breakfast? Do you ever get a chance to go and make mud-pies with people outside of your usual social circle?
Do we take enough notice of primroses and worms? Sunrises? Raindrops? Black walnuts in their squishy green coats? If you haven't been outside enough lately, consider taking an October walk or bicycle ride, through a park or down a trail.
Would you be very impressed by meeting a celebrity? Do you care what the Queen of England eats for breakfast? Do you ever get a chance to go and make mud-pies with people outside of your usual social circle?
"If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much...(Rudyard Kipling, "If")Most holiday advertising is built around the need to impress others...especially those who shouldn't "count so much," or at all. If something doesn't add more beauty or love...why are we doing it?
Do we take enough notice of primroses and worms? Sunrises? Raindrops? Black walnuts in their squishy green coats? If you haven't been outside enough lately, consider taking an October walk or bicycle ride, through a park or down a trail.
Thursday, September 28, 2017
Quote for the Day: The outpouring of a human heart
"The Christian religion is, in its very nature, objective. It offers for our worship, reverence, service, adoration and delight, a Divine Person, the Desire of the world. Simplicity, happiness and expansion come from the outpouring of a human heart upon that which is altogether worthy. But we mistake our own needs, are occupied with our own falls and our own repentances, our manifold states of consciousness. Our religion is subjective first, and after that, so far as we are able, objective. The order should rather be objective first and after that, so far as we have any time or care to think about ourselves, subjective." ~~ Charlotte Mason, Parents and Children, Chapter 26: The Eternal Child
Friday, May 26, 2017
Quote for the day: The beauty in a working home
"Thus I find myself dreaming of the day I can go up to the checkout stand and see [my imaginary] Working Home magazine, with pictures of real people in their gardens, the old wooden tools and the bursting eggplant alongside the real gardeners...showing what life looks like in a real and functional home. There is so much in the rich potential for beauty in made-over and made-do, in homegrown and home-cooked, in mended and patchwork, in home-built and fresh-made, and the art of hybridity--the transformation of an ordinary suburban ranch or an apartment in the Bronx into a place that is full of art, and life." ~~ Sharon Astyk, Making Home
Saturday, February 25, 2017
"Go live those things"
It's funny, how many things eventually fall into much the same patterns.
When you've been around Charlotte Mason education long enough, you start to find the phrase "Charlotte Mason education" awkward and redundant; there is simply education, the principles and practice and goal of true education, whatever name you put on it. Education is a discipline, an atmosphere, a life.
In Christianity, you start to hear the idea that there is no "Christian life": it's just "life." That can be an unsettling one. Some may protest that it's splitting hairs, playing with words; but it begins to make sense. Christ came not that we might have Christian life, but that we might have life.
One of the most interesting blog posts I read this weekend is "Beyond Minimalism," at Simplicity Relished. Daisy, the blogger there, makes some of those same points. Nobody wants to be a minimalist just so that they can be more of a minimalist, right? Cleaned-out closets are not an end in themselves. In attempting to separate the tool of minimalism from the goal of meaningful living, she says,
The simplest response is that we're individuals, and we take truths and express them in our own ways. The DHM at The Common Room posted today about Charlotte Mason education (or just "education"), reminding us to "mix it with brains." There are important foundations, key principles, examples and guidelines; but no precise recipe.
We just have to go live it.
When you've been around Charlotte Mason education long enough, you start to find the phrase "Charlotte Mason education" awkward and redundant; there is simply education, the principles and practice and goal of true education, whatever name you put on it. Education is a discipline, an atmosphere, a life.
In Christianity, you start to hear the idea that there is no "Christian life": it's just "life." That can be an unsettling one. Some may protest that it's splitting hairs, playing with words; but it begins to make sense. Christ came not that we might have Christian life, but that we might have life.
One of the most interesting blog posts I read this weekend is "Beyond Minimalism," at Simplicity Relished. Daisy, the blogger there, makes some of those same points. Nobody wants to be a minimalist just so that they can be more of a minimalist, right? Cleaned-out closets are not an end in themselves. In attempting to separate the tool of minimalism from the goal of meaningful living, she says,
"Minimalism doesn’t hold life-giving purpose. It can lead us in a good direction– but somewhere along the way we have to find the actual source of purpose. We need to identify what it is that matters more than the items we clear out of our lives. More than stuff, more than busy-ness, more than useless information, more than meaningless social engagements. And then we have to go live those things."Daisy also has a gorgeously-photographed post about using a variety of fair-trade jewelry on a simple dress. (She says she's building "an accessory arsenal.") Other minimalist writers urge us to curtail accessories, don't have more than one pair of earrings, one scarf, and so on. Is one approach more valid than another? Daisy's sleeveless wool dress might be simple, but it's not cheap; does that make it a more or less minimalist choice than the somewhat-similar navy cotton dress I found recently at the thrift store?
The simplest response is that we're individuals, and we take truths and express them in our own ways. The DHM at The Common Room posted today about Charlotte Mason education (or just "education"), reminding us to "mix it with brains." There are important foundations, key principles, examples and guidelines; but no precise recipe.
We just have to go live it.
Tuesday, December 13, 2016
Clutter Free (Book Review)
Clutter Free: Quick and Easy Steps to Simplifying Your Space
by Kathi Lipp
Harvest House Publishers, 2015
Probably the worst time to read a decluttering book is the middle of December, and the worst place to do it is in your living room or wherever you put the majority of your Christmas decorations. Christmas, even if we don't buy lots of Stuff, is still, often, about Stuff. For our family, Stuff is the vintage collectibles that are part of our daily life, and the extra helping of them that we bring out at the holidays. Stuff is the extra Crockpot that we picked up at a yard sale in the summer, that is the same vintage and type as ours but looks nicer. We don't buy backups of every appliance (no extra toaster ovens sitting around), but we do pick up Crockpots. Stuff is the gifts that we will give each other, new or used. It's the four-pack of sticky tape I grabbed at Walmart (although I didn't buy any new giftwrap, and our stickers and cards came mostly from yard sales and charitable freebies). It's the several packages of variously-flavoured baking chips and two cans of Eagle Brand milk in the pantry; they're there, and we're going to use them. It's pretty hard to have Christmas without any extra Stuff. (I'll stop with the George Carlin intonation now.)
That said, I don't exactly identify with the shop-o-manic reader Kathi Lipp often seems to be addressing in this book. If you don't regularly go crazy at warehouse stores, or if you don't understand why she buys duplicates of things she already has at home, you may wonder what she has to say that you don't already know.
Like the Bob Newhart "Stop It" skit she describes near the beginning, the real answer to clutter is "Don't do that." If something's going to cause financial or space problems, or otherwise make a mess of things, the sanest response is just not to do it. However, human beings don't always act sanely, and you may find yourself coping with your own or somebody else's past or present clutter problems. Lipp, being a Christian writer, would also point out that bad stewardship is a form of disobedience (and can include covetousness, dishonesty, and stealing), and that the hoarding of Stuff, which we might justify by calling it prudence, is not God's best for us. I appreciated her thought that simplicity is not all about "one size fits all." For instance, she has no problem with keeping a certain number of physical books around (whereas some clutter guides will happily assume that everything one wants to read can be gotten from the library). Lipp sees value in cultivating her interest and skill in cooking, and therefore spends time and space on that; on the other hand, as a poor seamstress, she has little use for a sewing machine. The takeaway I get from her book, rather than Newhart's stern "Stop It," is a gentler "It's Okay." It's okay to let go. It's okay not to let sharp advertising pull your dollars in the wrong direction. It's okay to say you're already okay (and don't need more).
If you need an "It's Okay" to help get things back on track, Clutter Free may speak to your heart.
Probably the worst time to read a decluttering book is the middle of December, and the worst place to do it is in your living room or wherever you put the majority of your Christmas decorations. Christmas, even if we don't buy lots of Stuff, is still, often, about Stuff. For our family, Stuff is the vintage collectibles that are part of our daily life, and the extra helping of them that we bring out at the holidays. Stuff is the extra Crockpot that we picked up at a yard sale in the summer, that is the same vintage and type as ours but looks nicer. We don't buy backups of every appliance (no extra toaster ovens sitting around), but we do pick up Crockpots. Stuff is the gifts that we will give each other, new or used. It's the four-pack of sticky tape I grabbed at Walmart (although I didn't buy any new giftwrap, and our stickers and cards came mostly from yard sales and charitable freebies). It's the several packages of variously-flavoured baking chips and two cans of Eagle Brand milk in the pantry; they're there, and we're going to use them. It's pretty hard to have Christmas without any extra Stuff. (I'll stop with the George Carlin intonation now.)
That said, I don't exactly identify with the shop-o-manic reader Kathi Lipp often seems to be addressing in this book. If you don't regularly go crazy at warehouse stores, or if you don't understand why she buys duplicates of things she already has at home, you may wonder what she has to say that you don't already know.
Like the Bob Newhart "Stop It" skit she describes near the beginning, the real answer to clutter is "Don't do that." If something's going to cause financial or space problems, or otherwise make a mess of things, the sanest response is just not to do it. However, human beings don't always act sanely, and you may find yourself coping with your own or somebody else's past or present clutter problems. Lipp, being a Christian writer, would also point out that bad stewardship is a form of disobedience (and can include covetousness, dishonesty, and stealing), and that the hoarding of Stuff, which we might justify by calling it prudence, is not God's best for us. I appreciated her thought that simplicity is not all about "one size fits all." For instance, she has no problem with keeping a certain number of physical books around (whereas some clutter guides will happily assume that everything one wants to read can be gotten from the library). Lipp sees value in cultivating her interest and skill in cooking, and therefore spends time and space on that; on the other hand, as a poor seamstress, she has little use for a sewing machine. The takeaway I get from her book, rather than Newhart's stern "Stop It," is a gentler "It's Okay." It's okay to let go. It's okay not to let sharp advertising pull your dollars in the wrong direction. It's okay to say you're already okay (and don't need more).
If you need an "It's Okay" to help get things back on track, Clutter Free may speak to your heart.
Sunday, November 20, 2016
Toning down the trimming up (Do-Vember #20)
Do-Vember
Popping up on Pinterest: The Holiday Decluttering Guide to Make More Room For Comfort and Joy. This is a post by minimalism advocate Courtney Carver, founder of Project 333. A few interesting links and thoughts for those feeling too busy, too bothered, or just "too." (Please note that doesn't mean I endorse every suggestion. Take what you can use and let the rest go.)
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