The Year of Living More With Less: Catching Fire

A couple of months ago, I mentioned that I was going to try the Konmari Method of sorting and "tidying" the house. Now, here's my disclaimer: I did not read The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up by Marie Kondo. No...I read about 6 blog posts by people who did read the book. I got the gist and ran with it. Essentially you:
1. Print the list of categories that she provides in the book.

*This has been shared so many times on Pinterest, I can't find the original pinner or know who to credit.

2. Start with clothes (and according to this list, tops, specifically). Gather all of your tops. This is a little more complicated than it sounds. It involves doing the laundry first so that the tops (and really all of your clothes) are clean and ready to be sorted. The Konmari Method suggests gathering all of one category - whether it's books that are in every room of the house or laundry that is clean/dirty/laying on the floor of various closets. Bring all of one category together before starting and it really does help, although admittedly, it is a giant pain in the butt. Resist the urge to just start going room by room instead of gathering all of one category. Seeing ALL of your books in a pile instead of all of the books from one room will really help give you a sense of how many you have and which ones truly spark joy...which brings me to #3.

3. Sparking joy. So, even though I grew up with a psychologist mom, I still found the idea of holding something in my hands and asking myself if it sparked joy to be a pretty big pile of quackery. There is no way that makes any difference in whether I decide to keep or toss something. Except, IT TOTALLY DID. How do I know? I make a major purge before and after every move. This will be our 6th move in 8 years. That's a LOT of purging - more than most non-active duty households, I would presume. And there are items that I've carried with me since our first move and some things I've moved since high school. That is something like 23 moves. Like this...

A bin of journals that I wrote in between 1990 and 2000. There are no profound words of wisdom in there. They do not contain the next great American novel. They are filled with teenage/college angst and over-analyzed conversations with boys (this was mostly before He's Just Not That Into You was written...what a blessing that book would have been to my teenage self). I only had to hold one journal while asking myself if it sparked joy to know that they decidedly did not. In fact, it sparked anxiety and sadness. I tossed every single one of them in the trash.

I can't explain why the question Does this spark joy? works. It just does. It shouldn't be any different than looking at something and wondering if you like it enough to keep it. But asking yourself if something sparks joy overrides the 2 reasons I've kept a lot of stuff: I paid money (sometimes a lot) for it and someone gave it to me. Spending money on an item or the idea that someone else spent money on it has been the deciding factor for keeping a lot of what I've lugged around since I was 17. But when I hold it in my hands and ask the question, I know immediately; yes this sparks joy, or no it doesn't. It doesn't have anything to do with whether I *like* an item. DOES IT SPARK JOY? It has to be that question. (And it helps if you are doing this in silence, although I've had to keep working, even on snow days and weekends, so if there's some 5-year old chatter in the background, it is still possible to hear your own answer.)

Now, I've been mocked somewhat ruthlessly for adhering to this aspect of the method. And that's probably fair because I've ruthlessly mocked others for the same thing. But if you are serious about scaling down, whether you want to live in a tiny house or just clear physical space so that the mental space can be cleared as well, this step is imperative.

My first category, per the list, was my tops and it looked something like this:

Step 1: Gather all the tops in one place. 

Step 2: Hold each one and ask yourself if it sparks joy. Here are some things I learned regarding my tops:

1. I have a shirt from one of the last times I saw my friend, Traci, during a Making Strides for Breast Cancer walk. It says "Traci's Pink Brigade". When I hold it, I don't think of the fun we had at that event; I think of saying goodbye to her as she passed and how deeply I feel her absence from my life. I never wear this shirt because it just makes me too sad. And Traci would be pissed if she knew I was keeping something that made me so heartbroken that I couldn't even bring myself to wear it. Worse, I had shoved it to the back of the drawer because I couldn't even bear to look at it. So, I donated that shirt. And I didn't feel bad about donating it because then I made a little album of photos I took of us, from the time we met until the Oztoberfest in Kansas. And that album sparks so much joy that I actually feel her sitting next to me as I flip through it. I still miss her, but I feel so blessed to have those memories with an amazing woman of God.

2. I own one black shirt, which I bought in Kentucky on one of my trips home. It says something about Kentucky girls and bourbon, but I never wear it because the neck is tight and it's black and black makes me look like I've been rode hard and put up wet. So, even though it appears in this "sorted" picture, it didn't make the final final cut. And now I don't buy black t-shirts...not even the school carnival one last week - even though the money was going to a good cause. I would rather just give them the money.

3. Even I was a little surprised by which shirts sparked joy and which ones did not. I haven't been able to participate in a Wings for our Troops event for quite some time, but I still love wearing the American flag angel wings and thinking of everything my friend, Tami, is doing to help Servicemembers see family members before and after a deployment. But I have to reiterate, holding a shirt and asking myself if it sparked joy resulted in an immediate and strong reaction: either it did or it didn't. It was really that easy. Whether I had gotten my money's worth out of a shirt or whether I would offend someone by getting rid of it really didn't factor into my decision at all...and that's how you declutter a house.

And that left me with this:

Except that's only 1/2 the pile. In that stack are not only clothes that are worn out, but also sweaters that I've only worn once and a few that still have the tags on them. Getting dressed in the morning is so much easier now that my eyes don't have to block out the clothes I don't love. And I have worn more clothes that I love but had forgotten about because they were pushed to the back of the drawer. (Like my "Not everything that starts in Missouri ends in dysentery" t-shirt. If you get that reference, we can absolutely be friends.)

The next step is to decide what to do about the discard pile. In general, if I bought it at Goodwill, back it goes. If it still has the tags or is in excellent condition, it goes to the yard sale (which I am DREADING but is, I suppose, a fact of life if you ever want to get any money back). Some things were so far past their prime that they just went into the trash. It would be an incredibly thrifty thing for me to cut them up and make them into rags but I have actual rags for that. At this point, the KonMari Method says I should thank each item for the role it played in my life.

Yeah. I didn't do that. I barely thank my husband. I'm certainly not thanking a Mossimo v-neck.

Lastly, #4...putting away what's left. The KonMari Method suggests a certain folding method that involves standing up your clothes so you can see them better. I found that I actually prefer rolling them, which is still a change from my previous practice of folding everything. Rolling my shirts, especially my t-shirts, allows me to see them quickly, side-by-side, and choose the one I'm most in the mood to wear.

Although I didn't photograph the entire process, so far I've completed the list up to "office supplies". I even took a week and went through my crafting supplies. I'm serious. It took a week. Scrapbook paper, stamps, pens, embossing powder, beads, Cricut cartridges...I almost gave up. But I kept what sparked joy and donated the rest to a local crafting store. That alone probably makes this move 50 pounds lighter. I also found some lost gems...

Proof that I was a University of Louisville Cardinal before I was a University of Kentucky Wildcat. I vaguely remember making this ID but I can't remember why, except possibly because we were bored and looking for some way to entertain ourselves that didn't involve illegal drugs or pulling a fire alarm.

And...

My Muscular System Manual from massage school, complete with tabs for easy access. A lot of our tests in massage school were open-book, but also timed, hence the tabs. I removed the tabs and kept the book because a lot of things in this world change constantly, but the skeletal system does not.

I'm still working through the rest of the list and I'll show the complete pile of stuff that we are getting rid of when I'm done. I have less than 3 weeks. I should probably get back to work.



 

Bringing Up the Boy

This week has been brutal. Winter storm Toby dropped 8" of snow on Wednesday, resulting in a day off for all of us. Normally, that would mean snow ball fights and hot chocolate but all it meant this week was that Blue was underfoot for 8 hours, trying to salvage everything I was trying to get rid of. Packers will be here in 31 days and we are losing 1600 square feet and a basement. Some stuff has to go. I lost count of how many times I said, No, you don't need 17 leis from your first birthday party. We will get rid of 16, you can keep ONE. This was followed by a lot of foot stomping, yelling about what a terrible mother I am and general huffing and puffing. Replay that scenario about 39 more times and you have a pretty good idea of how my Wednesday went.

But life with Blue has been rough lately. Neal and I were ready to blame it on 5-year old testosterone, but one of our neighbors mentioned yesterday that her kids just need to get outside and play. It's been so cold and snowy for so long (really since November) and this area of PA only has a few indoor places where cooped up kids can run it off. Even a jump and bounce place is a sorry substitute for God's playground. But Blue hates the cold and hates to layer. We can't get to CA fast enough. I'm hoping by the time we move back to PA, he'll be a fan of winter.

So, there have been a lot of time-outs, a lot of screaming and slamming of doors and yesterday at the farmer's market, Blue kicked me in the shin while I was chatting with the family who runs the produce stand. He's angry, aggressive and making terrible choices. I've hugged him, disciplined him, got down on his level to talk, put him in time-out, taken away toys and TV tickets and tried to love him through it. But I can only take so much. When Mom's patience tank dings empty, it's probably best for everyone if they just step away slowly. Neal brought home a liter of Cabernet last night. That works, too.

And perhaps it really is just a fierce case of cabin fever. But what if it's not? As a first-time mom of a boy (a mom, I remind you, who really wasn't around kids - much less boys - until I had one), I'm constantly second-guessing the situation. It feels like every phase is going to last forever. I worry that my parenting is going to come back to bite me when he's in middle or high school. We don't have cable but we do have AirTV so we've been watching some ME TV at night and on the weekends. That means he's now familiar with Andy Griffith and Beaver, but he also knows about Bonanza. There's a lot of "shoot em up" in Westerns, but my general belief is that my husband grew up watching it and he turned out just fine. But we had to have a long talk with Blue about how he can't act out scenes from Bonanza at school. I was hoping Marcia Brady and Opie Taylor would offset the adventures at Ponderosa Ranch. That may have been wishful thinking.

All we were doing was trying to find entertaining TV to watch during an especially blustery winter but what we've got now is a shit storm of pent-up energy and aggressive behavior that he's picked up from the likes of John Wayne and the Cartwright family.

Parenting is hard. I probably deserved that kick in the shin.

I did not deserve that kick in the shin and he was swiftly disciplined which resulted in him making a scene of epic proportions on the floor of the farmer's market, but they're all Mennonites so at least I know the floor is clean.

As luck would have it, this is all fortuitously timed with Blue's first intruder drill at school and the March for Life happening this weekend. All week I've swung wildly from heartbreak about how our child is growing up in a world where intruder and active shooter drills are routine to wondering how someone who is barely over 4' tall can slam a door so hard it rattles on the hinges. (I would take the door off the hinges but then we just have to put in on again in 30 days. And by "we" I mean "Neal".)

This morning I happened to see a video posted on Facebook that featured a young woman who had the courage to stand up in front of her classmates and speak during a school walk-out. She acknowledged that many of her classmates were only walking out to get out of class. So, she took a breath, threw all of her f*&cks to the wind and said what needed to be said. She called out the bullies for creating a situation where kids finally strike back, but with bullets. And she pleaded for her classmates to simply accept one another for who they are, to just be nice. It was an impassioned plea that may have reached a few, may have fallen on a few deaf ears. Regardless, during a time of life when kids are the most cruel to one another, it was an incredibly courageous act. And it occurred to me in that moment...I want Blue to be kind...and brave.

We have ten years (or less) to shape Blue into someone who will stand on the steps and plead for his classmates to be kind to one another. When we held our hours-old baby in our arms, it felt like a lifetime. Now it feels like the blink of an eye. The active shooter drills have already started. He can barely spell gun but now he must know how to run from one. And this is how he will grow up. Our parents feared Russia's nuclear attack. We are buying bullet-proof backpacks. What did we fear growing up? I can only remember the earthquake drills.

I've been told that when Blue is out from under our watchful (and perhaps overly critical) eye, he is a helper and a friend. His teachers have told us that he's inclusive and kind. Maybe we are doing something right after all. Maybe he's building his brave and I'm taking the brunt of it. Kids should come with manuals.

As much as I want to march in DC, or even locally, tomorrow, all three of us have made commitments. Neal and Blue have the Boy Scouts awards banquet and I'm helping with his school carnival. These decisions were made months ago and while I 100% support everyone who is marching, I also don't want to set the example that prior commitments can take a backseat when something better comes along. These are the kinds of difficult decisions parents make everyday - what example am I setting? What will my child learn from this? A million tiny decisions will create a child that is brave or a bully, kind or self-centered. Yesterday, Blue proclaimed, "I'm so tired of you telling me what to do!" To which I replied, "Well, get used to it. Big Mama still tells me what to do." He thought about this for a minute and said, "When you're dead, you won't be able to tell me what to do." That's true, son. And hopefully by then, you won't need me anymore.

Also, UK lost to Kansas State last night so March has been a bit of a bust around here. I think we are all ready for April.

The Year of Living More With Less: Winter Becomes Me

When spring finally sprung in PA last year, Neal and I looked at each other and breathed a sigh of relief. Well, that wasn't so bad. But many a native Pennsylvanian was quick to point out that the winter of 2017 was mild...a little too mild. So, when double-lined ski pants, 32 Degree Heat silks and touch-sensitive gloves went on sale at Costco last October, I stocked up. They also sold this quilted coat with a fur hood that is, without a doubt, the warmest piece of outwear I've ever had on my body. The CC brand beanies are, it would seem, everywhere this year, but with good reason. Maybe it's the knitted style or just the simple fact that the noggin is now covered, but it has made a big difference in how warm I stay. I also picked up a knitted wool/fleece neck wrap from TJ Maxx and finished off my winter shopping with some $5 snow bibs for Blue at one of the fall consignment sales. We were ready for the arctic winds to blow. 

I've been mocked ruthlessly (mostly by Neal) for my layering technique, but it has allowed me to enjoy...

Christmas caroling in the town square in Lititz (I know...how very Christmas Hallmark movie of us!)

taking in the Christmas windows in NYC 

watching the groundhog emerge at sunrise on Gobbler's Knob (which has a weather all its own. 24 degrees and 20 mph winds. If there's ever a cold day in Hell, I'm sure that is what it will feel like.)

riding to the top of Pittsburgh on the Duquesne Incline at the beginning of February

having a cup of coffee at the world's largest coffee pot 

watching the snow geese migration at sunrise 

and visiting the Philly Zoo before the most recent snow had a chance to melt. 

Occasionally, I've been overdressed, as was the case last month when I layered up to make a snowman after the storm. Except it was 42 degrees and even in just my ski pants and hoodie I was still sweating. 

(This is Edna. She arrived on Sunday, lost her hat on Monday morning, her celery ears on Monday afternoon and was just a wet spot by Monday night.)

Alfred Wainwright, a British author and illustrator of nature guides, is credited as saying, "There's no such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing." I have taken this quote to heart over the past 4 months. And it has allowed me to balk at the wind, snow and ice. Although it continues to try, even at this moment, Old Man Winter can't keep me from enjoying all that Pennsylvania has to offer. It has been brutal and we are all anxiously awaiting warmer weather, but until then, all we have to do is dress for it. More year-round outdoor adventures, less cabin fever.

 

Wednesday Review: Happy Birthday, Honey. Have Some Flowers

I am not known for my green thumb. I have killed at least 3 pots of basil every year since Neal and I got married. And my best friend finally convinced me to trash the crispy orchid I had forgotten about in the guest room. I've managed to keep one shoot of bamboo from IKEA alive through 2 moves, but I don't know that it's living its best life under my care. I love to look at flowers and, someday, I hope to learn how to keep them alive for more than 3 weeks. Until then, there's the Philadelphia Flower Show.

One of Blue's preschool teachers offered us tickets last year but it always falls around Neal's birthday and by that point, we already had plans. But I had made myself a note so when it rolled around this year, I was ready. Unfortunately, it fell directly on Neal's 50th birthday this year. And if there's one thing he hates more than war, it's crowds of people in a convention hall. So, naturally I bought our tickets and then asked him to "run" into Reading Market Terminal for cheesesteaks afterward. He came back out, cheesesteaks in hands...45 minutes later. Clearly I owe him a do-over for this birthday that involves a deserted brewery in the middle of a Monday and a matinee showing of some historical fiction flick. But we both agreed...this was not your average flower show.

Once you get over the sticker shock of $35/person (with other "experiences" like the butterfly exhibit and preview days costing extra), plus parking in Chinatown, it is easier to appreciate the scale of work that goes into a production of this magnitude. Just the entrance alone felt like being dropped in the middle of the Amazon, complete with bird call sound effects.

The theme this year was Wonders of Water and while some exhibits simply used water to keep the flowers alive in their vases, some of them incorporated full-on waterfalls. But my favorite was this example of reusing rainwater for the garden.

Even the front of this landscape was breathtaking. Not only did the designers work with the theme, but they paid more attention to color than many other exhibitors.

If this was in my backyard, I would probably never leave the house.

One of my other favorites was the interior/exterior display. One side of the partition featured interior rooms (like a study or an office) decorated with plants and flowers. On the opposite side was a series of stoops, much like what you see in the Philadelphia area, landscaped by various groups. One was designed by the Orchid Society while the porch "next door" was constructed by a collection of high school students.

The Orchid Society took a more minimalist approach, but everyone around us stopped to admire the fish-shaped rain chain next to the door. What an unexpected way to move rainwater from the roof to the ground!

The Philadelphia Convention Center is massive and not only did they fit a full-size shipwreck in there

but also multiple landscaped gardens and courtyards,

a life-sized elephant decked out in moss and umbrellas,

several dedicated spaces for individual competitions (like this "fairy garden" area)

and an entire art gallery with works created using pressed flowers and plants.

By this point, we had gotten our $35 worth. On the other side of the convention hall, vendors from all over the country were selling everything from seeds to entire outdoor spaces. We did some window shopping and made some notes for handcrafted goods we want to buy in a few years when we come back and settle down. Just this past year alone I've already added an incredibly fragile piece of art that is about 20 layers of fused glass, plus a vintage clear hobnail punch bowl and platter - all of which will be hand carried 2600 miles to California. (That doesn't include my Derby mint julep glass collection, the hand-painted portrait from our wedding day done by a Kuwaiti artist in 2008 and everything from Blue's birth that is, literally, priceless.) So this exquisite blue heron bell from Old Town Wind Bells?

Will have to wait a few years. But we'll be back for you, my pretty.

At the exit of the flower show was a photo op

(clearly this was non-negotiable as it was a chance for me to finally be the fragile flower I've always felt I was AND it was sponsored by the AARP on Neal's 50th birthday) and...

a place to purchase that Hobbit Hole we've had our eye on. I'm not sure this could ever be more than a place to take a nap in the sun but if we had a few acres of land in the woods, I would just hand over my credit card, no questions asked. I feel like I could write the next great American novel in a place like a hobbit hole. That's obviously the only thing holding me back.

I'm not sure I would make the Philly Flower Show an annual affair, unless I was unconstrained by time or school bus schedule. Their target market, the AARP crowd, had the entire day to stroll down the aisles, stopping often to chat about what they liked, didn't like and would completely re-design. It is not a place that is easily navigable if you need to be in and out in 120 minutes. But we hit the highlights and I'm glad we went. It certainly gave me a new appreciation for the many ways people view flowers and how they should be displayed most creatively. And when we came out, we walked right into Chinatown, which tempted us with its smells and its sale on strawberries. 2 for $1.00 in March? Who has ever heard of such a thing?