Out With the Old...

As the year draws to a close, I would like to continue with a few thoughts on simplifying and ordering our lives and spaces. This post is devoted to the idea that you cannot have it all... or more accurately perhaps, you cannot KEEP it all. Unless you live in a huge house, with tons of closets, an attic and basement, and maybe a barn or two, you cannot hang onto everything that makes it way through your doors. Even if you do have that place, it is remarkable how quickly you can fill up even the giant house. If you are like me, you may live in smallish homes, with less than adequate storage space, and awkward configurations of rooms. Many of you have expressed your frustration with the overflow of stuff that seems to have taken over every nook and cranny of your homes. To this I say, you must be ruthless. There is no other way but to get rid of a good deal of it.

For me, there were several issues in play. The first issue was my lack of maturity. I hadn't had the chance to try a million things and discover what I was truly passionate about. I was young, and full of energy. I wanted to be passionate about gourmet cooking, and heirloom sewing and quilting. I wanted to grow my own herbs, and raise chickens and goats, and make my own cheese. I wanted to scrapbook all my photos, and play the guitar, and learn to cane chairs. I wanted to homeschool my children, and use cloth diapers, and...and....and.....you get the idea. Now I am old and mature, and I realize that I cannot be passionate about everything. I certainly can't use my aptitude as a measuring stick for what I should be passionate about, because I can do many things well. Far too many things to have passion for all of them. Over time I have winnowed down the list to a few things I really love or need to do. All the rest have gone away, and with them, all the gear and geegaws needed to perform them. The few things I really DO, I let myself have the good stuff, like a really nice sewing machine, which has earned its bit of real estate inside my teeny bedroom closet. Or the bins of excellent quality fabric stored under my bed. Like the chocolate molds that eat up the whole cabinet over my refrigerator. Like the books that line soooo many of my walls. But so many other things have disappeared. Some things I have sold, some given away to a friend who would use it, some donated. I don't miss the things that are gone.

Maturity and experience have also taught me that I do not need many of the things I once thought I did. Neither do my children. We live with far less clothing and linens. I do laundry every single day. We do not need one of everything for every child. They can learn to share. I do not need to own things I can borrow or rent. The list goes on and on, and applies to nearly every area. But in the beginning I thought I had to have it all.

I have a system for ongoing purging. Usually I purge the house deeply, twice a year. One of the best times is right before the holidays, but after the New Year will work too. Pre-holiday is ideal, because I clear space for incoming gifts, and mentally tally who has what, and make mental notes of what they may want or need. The whole rest of the year, I do constant maintenance purging. I cycle through the whole house, room by room, cupboard and drawer, closet and bureau. I always have a donation bag or box set up, and am constantly adding to it. Anything beyond repair goes into the trash immediately. Outgrown clothing, unwanted books, unused toys get dropped into the donation box. Another bag or box is set up for "things that don't live here". This is for items that belong to other people...things that got left behind, or borrowed items, or things we plan to pass on to a specific person. When I plan to pass the thrift store, I drop off the donation box. When I plan to see a person who owns something in the other box, I try to remember to give it to them.

I have other boxes too. I have a "wait and see" box. This is where I store things I am unsure about. Things I think I want to get rid of, but still have doubts. If I don't go back for it in a few weeks, it's probably safe to let it go. At times I have had "yard sale" boxes. Right now I live in the sticks, so it is not practical to have yard sales. If you really will carry through and have the yard sale, and you have the space to store the stuff until you do it, by all means, have a yard sale. We have made lots of vacation spending money this way. Currently I have E.bay boxes, because I have had success selling certain items using that forum. Another tip I would offer, is that I put my boxes out in a visible, and mildly annoying location. This inspires me to keep the stuff moving out the door, rather than sitting buried and forgotten somewhere. (Kind of like the laundry baskets in the middle of the living room floor inspiring me to fold it and put it away.)

Another sticking point to paring things down, is the children. Children and their stuff take up a lot of space. Especially if you homeschool them. In some ways you have to relax a bit about this, because everything about them is always in a state of flux...a messy state of flux. They are always growing, and so their closets and drawers need constant supervision, rotating out that which is outgrown or worn out. If you are passing clothes along to younger siblings, you must decide how much you can reasonably store. In the past, I found myself storing everything, in fear that I would "need" it. I stored ugly clothes that I did not like. I stored very specific clothing that had nothing to match it, or would hardly ever be worn. I stored clothes that suited one child's body type, but would never suit their younger sibling. In other words, I wasted a lot of precious time and space, because I was afraid I would be found lacking later on. Now I only save that which is in top condition, that I know for a fact will be used. I am also constantly sorting through their toys and books, weeding out the ones they have outgrown. I only save that which is classic and beloved. Things that they have passed over for newer pursuits go into the donation box. I used to save every homeschool book and teaching aid. Those things are crazy expensive, and what if I find myself teaching at that level again? But as that has happened again and again, I have found myself not returning to the materials I had previously used because I found something that worked better for me, or for a different learner. Now I use the materials, and if I don't have specific plans to use them again soon, I pass them on to other homeschool moms.

I have only touched on a few areas, and made a few suggestions. You must figure out what works for you. The most important thing I have learned along the way, is that it is an ongoing process. You will purge, and it will feel good. Then you will purge again, more deeply, and it will feel even better. Spaces will open up, and you will feel freer. Eventually it will become routine, and you will feel as though you are just skimming bits off the top. But you will never arrive at some place of perfect order. There will always be things you are toying with getting rid of, things you are aware will need replacement soon, things you wish you had. For me, it has been getting to a place of calm and contentment about this ebb and flow. I feel like I am controlling it to some extent, rather than being washed away by it.

A Place of Your Own

It's hard to decide where to begin, when you feel as though everything needs to be done, but a beginning must be made. I can't really remember where I began, but I am certain it is not where I am sending you first. That is because I can learn from my mistakes. I strongly suggest you begin in your own bedroom. This may seem crazy when the rest of the house feels like it's in shambles, but trust me. You need a quiet place, away from the clutter and noise. You cannot easily gather your strength each day, if your own space makes you cringe. I am sending you to your own bedroom (and bath and closet) because this is where I should have begun my journey.

I would suggest a day just for stripping the room down and deep cleaning. Consider paint, curtains, and bedding later. A clean room is instantly more lovely, and you will have time and peace to ponder making changes or purchases over time. Take separate days for the closet and bath. But keep forging on. As you strip the room down, area by area, pluck out everything that does not belong in your room, and put it outside the door. Set up bins or boxes if need be. Let me suggest a few items that do not belong in your room. Outgrown children's clothing does not belong in your room. The ironing or mending pile does not belong in your room. Children's school work has got to go. Piles of miscellaneous junk definitely do not belong. Last year's taxes and Christmas ornaments from a year and a half ago? Come on! Be ruthless, and don't worry about the growing pile outside the door. As Scarlett O'Hara says, you can worry about that another day. I have rules for my room, and perhaps some of them may work for you. Here's a listie!

1. Every morning I make my bed. I do it for me, and no one else. It instantly makes my room look neater.
2. I always fold/hang my laundry neatly in the closet. I never leave laundry piled or laying about my room. Ever. Actually, I pile all my clean laundry in the middle of the living room, because it inspires me to fold it and put it away. When I carry the piles into the bedroom, I place them on the (made) bed, because I cannot go to bed without putting them away.
3. I do not allow anything related to the children to migrate into my bedroom. In fact, I don't allow the children to migrate into my bedroom. They may knock at the door, and only step inside if invited.
4. We don't generally eat in the bedroom, though we do occasionally snack. All garbage and dishes are cleaned up promptly in the morning when I make the bed.
5. All clutter is picked up and put away each morning, the shade is pulled up to let in the sun (or not), and the rug is gone over with the sweeper.
6. Nothing distracting is allowed in my room. Nothing stress inducing is allowed in my room. Nothing messy is allowed in my room. Nothing stinky is allowed in my room. No half done projects or "To Do" piles are allowed in my room.

I think you get the idea. And yes, I do allow my husband in the room, though he has been known to be messy, and even stinky on occasion. But not in our room. You see, back in the old days, I used to allow my bedroom to be a dumping ground from elsewhere in the house. If I didn't know where to put it, it went in my room. If I couldn't get around to it, it went in my room. If I hated it, but felt too guilty to pitch it...into my room. When I cleaned up the house, my room was the last room on the list, and I hardly ever got there. I had pregnant dust bunnies. I never got around to making my bed. I hated my room.

Then I read something somewhere, about how your bedroom should be a restful oasis. The author even advocated that there should be no photographs or book shelves to intrude. Just clean, comfortable, spaces. I tried the no photo/book thing for awhile, and decided a few small photos and piles of books did not detract from my restful state...so I put them back. But I learned my lesson about the distracting, stress and guilt inducing clutter. And about putting my room first. Amazingly enough, when I made time to clean up my own space, I was more inclined to keep after the other spaces. But above all else, if the other spaces (or people) got overwhelming, I always had a refuge to retreat into.

To be honest, I could cheerfully make my room with nothing more than a mattress on the floor, and piles of books, but over time I have collected bits and pieces that make me happy. We sleep on my great-grand's antique bed, and I lay there and wonder who may have been born or died in it. There's an antique shelf that came from a barn we once owned. Most of the furnishings have been collected over the years, from consignment shops and yard sales. The accessories are gifts. I made curtains, and covers, and pillow cases. The books just find me. I say all of this because you need not break the bank "decorating". Cleanliness and order add grace and beauty to any space. Take time to actually live in it, and decide what you would really like to have, and then wait for it to come to you. When you know what will be just right, you will come across it and know. Don't worry if you have to wait some time. It will be worth it.

One final note. Always look on your closet and bathroom as extensions of your bedroom. Keep them with the same care and attention as your sleeping space. My closet has a place for everything, and so I always put it back in its place, and I never lose anything in there, though it is a cramped, wretched little space. I rarely leave my bathroom without picking up any misplaced item and putting it away. Consequently, it never takes more than a moment to make it perfect. I scrub the whole thing down only weekly, with little touch ups as needed, and it never gets too horrible. But the cupboard is always tidy, the trash emptied each day, and everything is in its place. Lest you are picturing a luxurious master bath, let me say no. Picture a postage stamp, that I share with Beloved Husband, Hippie Boy, and Baby Boy. Make no mistake, I am not whining about my small bedroom, smaller bathroom, or teeny closet. I have come to love them, as I have worked hard to make them work for me. It takes time, thought, and work...and it is so worth it.

Love Stories

This china doll belonged to my grandmother as a girl. She named her Vivien. For many years she lived with my Aunt, and now she lives with me. Some day my children will fight over whose house she will go to live at.

The other day, my friend Christine blogged about the fact that everyone has a story, and that until we understand this, we should be slow to stand in judgment. I believe that this is indeed true, and I have been thinking about it a great deal. Something that has come to mind, is this; we must be careful when "hearing" a person's story, to understand who is doing the telling of it. I suppose it's often best to hear the story first hand, but this isn't always practical. Some people just won't tell you their story, and others can't.

My grandmother died this past week, and I have been thinking about her story; the parts she told me, and the parts that I have been told. I realize that I never really knew my grandmother all that well. She was one of those who never told much of her own story. She told you her opinions about things, and she had quite a few. She told you stories about things that had happened far into the past, but she never revealed much about her own story. The story of my grandmother mostly came to me through the telling of my close family members. Her story was not told with love, and so it came like this. "Your grandmother is a nasty, opinionated woman. Don't get on her bad side or she'll write you a nasty letter." Or like this. "Your grandmother is a greedy, selfish thing. If you give her something nice you'll never see it again. She'll just hoard it away." Or this. "Your grandmother doesn't like to spend time with you. She just wants chat you up, to find out what's going on here at home, behind closed doors. She's nosy."

As I got older, I learned to question this steady flow of information, but I never had anything with which to replace it. Then, several years ago I talked at length with someone who told my grandmother's story with love. The story went like this. "Your grandmother cares very much for you. She prays for you often, and loves to hear about what you are doing." And like this. "Your grandmother is afraid a lot. She lived through a lot of hardships, and was mistreated by people who should have cared for and protected her. She is afraid to enjoy the nice things she is given because she is afraid of not having enough later on."

This is what I know about my grandmother. I know that when I was a child she always made me something beautiful every year for Christmas, on her old treadle sewing machine. I know that she always made me "Cambric tea" and Lornadoones when I would come to visit her. She would spend hours walking our family through her gardens, and she grew the most beautiful peonies. She always had dogs, so her house always smelled a little doggy, and she treated them like they were her babies. She put plastic on everything, to keep it clean from the dogs and "your grandfather's smelly pipe". She even had plastic lace curtains in her bathroom. She had everything in her kitchen wrapped up in a plastic bag with a twisty tie, and everything she ever bought, she labeled with the date and the price. I suppose I might have joked with her, that they have medicine for that, if I had known her better. She had marvelous taste in fabric, and I have many of her unused pieces in my bins, marked with the date and price, of course. She always wore her hair long, twisted up into a crown of braids on top of her head, covered up with a kerchief, and she was quite vain about her trim self, her hair, her teeth. She would cover her mouth like a school girl, and giggle when she thought something was funny, self consciously, as if she was afraid to be noticed too often. She never wanted to hold babies, but would sit with her purse clutched on her lap, watching their every move. I could never picture her holding her own babies, or taking care of little children.

Now she is gone, and in the next few days I will travel to her funeral. I am certain I will hear more of her story, from those who loved her, and those who did not. I hope that when I am old, folks will know my story because I shared it freely with them. I hope that when I cannot do the telling, that it will always be told by someone who loves me.

Stitches of Love

This entry was originally posted on January 30, 2009 on a blog I am gradually closing down. If this is a rerun, feel free to skip. If not, enjoy.

This is a post about why I don't quilt (much) anymore. Once, long ago, back when I was younger, more energetic, had stars in my eyes, was much more insecure, when time hung heavy on my hands, and I had not yet acquired so many children...I used to make quilts. I had this idea that quilts equaled love, and all the endless hours I spent meticulously cutting, piecing, tying, quilting, were evidence of my deep and abiding affection. I had visions of my loved ones feeling my embrace every time they wrapped themselves in my creation. I foresaw into the future a day when my offspring would be telling some grandchild, or great grandchild, how I had made this beautiful enduring quilt, and maybe they would make cookies, and tell stories about what a great Mom/Grandma I am (because you don't think I expect to be dead already, do you?). I also have to confess that I really liked to impress people. I liked the idea, that when people came into my home, they saw these expressions of my skill and love, displayed at the foot of a bed or over the back of a rocker. Wow! What a Mom. You guys sure are lucky.

But time marches on, I have become the Mom of more children, and I don't find myself pulling out the quilting supplies very often. In fact, none of my adopted children have a quilt, made with love, by me. Partly this is because I can't EVER get involved with anything that does not in some way involve them, and dragging out my sewing machine is just a signal for them to set their hair on fire. And partly this is because they don't place a whole lot of value on things like that. They blow through belongings like they are disposable, and a Disney Princess blanket from Target makes them happier. Also, it is partly a time issue. My life is busy right now, just keeping the basics rolling along, and at the end of the day I'm more tired than I used to be, so I go to bed instead of sewing.

But there is something deeper still. I no longer care if I am impressing anyone with my mothering prowess. I realize this about myself, that I spent hours hunched over a cutting board, or a sewing machine, or with needle in hand...and all the while I was trying to escape my children. I would be snappish and withdrawn, and I would expect my children to suffer that gladly because I was making them love and a heritage. And of course no one could fault me for this because I had all this beautiful, tangible evidence of my love draped all over my house.

I still love the quilts I once made. We use them every day. I still love beautiful fabric, and every now and then I get a creative itch. I see a day in the future when I will not be buried in child rearing, and laundry, and therapy. A day when I will once more sit down and create beautiful things with love. It will be nice then, because I will not hold onto the things like trophies. They will not have strings attached that say, "You better appreciate all I do for you, you ungrateful little punk." And I will only ever give them to the people I wish to, and I will never feel pressured or obligated to give them to anyone else. I will probably need more therapy before that day comes.