The Minimalist Life

 In preparing to sell my Chicago condo, I was encouraged to create a minimalist vibe.  "Less is more," my realtor advised.  I cleared off every horizontal service.  My kitchen counters held only a toaster, and sugar and flour canisters.  The basket of fruits and vegetables that don't get refrigerated was tucked into a cupboard (and resulted in me nearly forgetting I had bananas to be eaten!) My recycling bin was stuck under the sink.  All of my toiletries that were normally stored on the vanity counter were either stuck in drawers or into a small basket that I could stow in the linen closet.  TV remotes were in a side table drawer (luckily that table had a drawer!)  My free weights, yoga strap, and yoga blocks were in a storage ottoman.  My desk was clear, no papers, no pens, no mail.  My dining room table had no salt or pepper shakers, no paper napkins, no placemat.

It was bliss.  

I've been through this before, after refinishing the floors or painting rooms.  I am seduced by the zen-like feeling of space and openness. I vow to keep this minimalist style.  But, slowly, things creep out of hiding. It is easier to keep the dish towels on the oven door handle than under the sink. It is easier to keep a pad of paper and pen on the table so I can make lists and notes than to continually get them out and put them away.  So far, I've managed to keep the remotes in the drawer, the exercise equipment hidden, and the toiletries in a basket (although it sits on the counter, not in the closet). Maybe these small steps will carry forward.

And, while I decluttered I did not necessarily discard.  Much of what was on the walls or shelves, in the cupboards or closets, is now in boxes in storage.  Some things will make their way to my new home, and I have donated boxes and bags of belongings, but others are destined to outlive me in boxes.  Yet, I find it difficult to part with them.  How can I get rid of the favorite picture books I remember reading to my sons?  How can I throw out their kindergarten art work?  Souvenirs from my trip to Russia in 1978?  Play programs from high school musicals? Photos of houses where I've lived?  I don't need to see them everyday, even every year, but I like knowing that they are there, somewhere.  Those things help me tell the story of my life--the Mother's Day cards I made when I was 3, the Mother's Day cards my sons made when they were 3, and now the Grandmother cards from my grandson. Marie Kondo I am not.

Truly Random Thoughts

 1. I must be aging, I now prefer Girl Scout Trefoil cookies.  As a scout, I could never understand why someone would buy these bland, flavorless cookies.  It seemed they sold best to old ladies....like me.

2. Dealing with a chronic disease takes up too much time. I don't have time to be sick right now.  Monthly dr. appointments that take about 1/2 a day, periodic tests and scans, who has time for this?  I'm trying to plan treatments around vacation time and made this elaborate calendar, but nothing fits right.  I should bite the bullet and miss some work.  Who will notice?

3. Selling a house is a hassle. The realtors ask you to move everything out before you are even ready to move!  I no longer have throw rugs and my cutting boards are in a cupboard. I hope it sells quickly, because I can't live like this.

4.  Having a woman come to clean my house every 2 weeks is the best thing I've ever done (besides investing in inexpensive "bralettes" to wear during Covid work from home). Kristina is wonderful and my bathroom is like a jewel.  Plus, it forces me to pre-clean before she comes!

5. Sitting in my office is a cross-stitch duck I started before my grandson was born. He is 2.5 years old. The duck has no head.

Counting

 Ever think about all the ways to say “lots”?

Innumerable

Many

Numerous

Multiple

Several

Extensive

How do you feel?

Grief feels like

• having barely enough energy to move the suitcase from the entry to the bedroom
• filling and refilling the sink with hot water three times and still not doing the dishes
• getting up, having breakfast, and going back to bed
• struggling to find something that you want to eat
• trying not to throw up after you eat
• looking around at all that needs to be done....and lying down on the couch
• imagining the effort required to go down 2 flights of stairs, walk to the garage, open the trunk, and carry back up boxes...and lying down on the couch
• feeling like every physical movement requires great effort
• having a brain that can't focus on anything for more than 10 minutes
• watching the emails pile up....and lying down on the couch

Like a park

The house where I grew up sat on about 3 acres of land on a dead end road.  About 1/3 of the property was "lawn," the rest occupied a hill and swamp leading up to a small river as the northern edge of the property line.  As kids, we did spend some time playing in the swamp and river, but mosquitoes and stinging nettle made that a largely unattractive area. At least for me.

Since many of our family friends lived in more suburban, or even urban, areas, our house became the location for numerous Memorial Day, Fourth of July, and Labor Day family barbecues.  We had plenty of room to spread out and since there already was a passel of kids living there, a few more didn't make much difference. I remember some of the mothers commenting about how it was "just like living in a park."  I didn't really get it.  It was a yard, not an unusually big one by the neighborhood standards.  There were trees and bushes, some weeds, a few flower beds and a sometimes vegetable garden, but it seemed like a pretty ordinary spot to me.

Throughout my life, with the exception of time in college and a few stints in rental housing, I've lived in a semi-rural area.  I have always had an acre or so of land surrounding my house. It was what I was used to.  For the last six years, I've lived in the city.  Some would argue that my neighborhood of a mix of single family and small condominium units doesn't really count as "the city," but it is definitely urban.  I hear the L train rumble by a few blocks away, nightly I hear sirens and my neighbor snoring.  My stamp sized lawn hardly requires mowing. I am enjoying city life.  I love being able to walk to stores and movie theaters, to use public transportation (okay, that may be changing in the current times), taking advantage of all the shows, plays, concerts, and restaurants.

But, lately I've spent some quiet days back at the "old homestead."  I must admit that there is a peacefulness and serenity there that I miss.  You can sit and hear the birds and watch the shadows move across the lawn.  The other day a wild turkey almost walked right up to me and deer don't even startle when you open a door. I appreciate now what those mothers of 50 years ago saw.  It is like living in a park.  I guess it takes a bit of perspective for me to truly appreciate what I had.

Everybody touch somebody

The other day I was listening to one of my favorite radio shows and podcasts, This American Life. It was a "rerun" of an early show and featured stories about sports, something that isn't happening live right now.  One story dealt with a high school football team in Mississippi (Alabama?) after Hurricane Katrina.  Despite the devastation, lack of a full squad, and homelessness, the high school team rallied to play a game against their rivals. 



I'm not an athlete, I've never played competitively on any sport team.  On occasion I've been involved in co-ed or intramural sports, and I have served as a guest "faculty coach" for teams at colleges where I've worked and been part of the pre-game locker room rituals.  All teams seem to have the tradition of a "huddle" where the players gather tightly together and chant before heading to the field.  I've heard coaches and team captains call this maneuver by variously saying "huddle up" or "bring it in" or "all together now."  However, this high school coach said, "everybody touch somebody."  The phrase was repeated a few times throughout the radio episode and each time it struck me as particularly poignant.  Even though I couldn't see the team, I knew they were huddling.  But "everybody touch somebody" feels more intimate, more personal.  And such a good mantra for life outside of sports. 

Everybody touch somebody.

Virtual Commencement

Graduation day is probably the highlight of the year for me.  I love meeting the families and friends of our graduates and sharing in their pride.  Our graduates are happy, everyone is a little nervous, and the energy in the room is palpable.

This year we couldn't hold an in-person ceremony, but instead taped congratulatory remarks and student speeches that were streamed today. In some ways it was even more intimate, since the speaker seemed to be speaking directly to you.

After watching the ceremonies for my departments, I sent emails to those graduating students I had advised or had in class.  I wanted to try to extend the personal touch that I would have been able to deliver in person.  I had not expected what I would get in return.....

"Thank you very much! I really appreciate that you are reaching out to me.
I really appreciate everything you have done for me as an advisor! Thank you for everything. I hope you have a great summer!"

"Thank you very much! I hope you are doing well. Sorry I couldn't see you in person. Thank you for everything you have done for Lewis College and for an enjoyable LCHS 100 class. That class was kind of the point where I really felt I could make something out of myself as a Global Studies major. Once again, thank you for everything!"

"Saw the ceremony, thank you! I wouldn’t be here without your support as well as IIT in general. Thanks again, hope to see you again one day!"

"I feel so honored to have received this personal congratulatory message from you.  Yes I heard your wonderful message and I am proud to be getting my degree from the Lewis College of Human Sciences’ Psychology Department!
I hope to see you soon.  Thank  you again, for all of your kindness and well-wishes."