“Honestly, it’s not as bad as the books.” Where to put them all? It’s the question about moving to a smaller place that has most troubled us. Yesterday, almost as soon as we arrived, I pulled up the long carpet in the bedroom, put pads under the feet of the bed, and swung the bed around to below the east windows. By the time Gary brought up a bookcase from the car, it was mostly done. And miraculously, he likes the new arrangement. This goes a long way toward answering the question.
We’ve been sorting and clearing for a few years. It’s gone well so far. The attics are empty. Most of my books are prioritized and the most precious of mine have moved East. We’ve talked a lot about the art and furniture that is important to us both. Gary even completely cleared his corner of the living room!
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I should never have mentioned that very popular pop star. It led to frustrating exchanges until I took the post down. Today began with positive covid tests. I am not in the mood.
Yesterday I shared a meme on my newly revived Facebook page. My friends “liked” or “loved” or “cared” that post. The meme contains a great story. I loved the story and appreciated the “truth” of it at first. But then I thought. The problem is that while the story may or may not be fiction, it certainly contains a lie.
A friend recently celebrated on Facebook that her young son had accomplished work on the family car. I cut my husband’s hair last night. I will bake bread tomorrow. I am weaving cloth. All these skills and many more—like cleaning my own home and washing my own clothing—can be hired out. Mostly, what I do is what I choose to do, not because I cannot afford to have it done for me but because I value knowing how to do it myself.
Because the tide was high this morning, I “ran inside” which doesn’t mean to me what you are probably thinking.
Continue readingPE was the hardest class for me all the way through public school. Girls were not much encouraged to play sports in the 50s and 60s, of course. Outside the school day, I rode my bike everywhere, climbed trees and a rope all the way to the top of the gym, nearly drowned in Echo Lake, and later learned to swim but not the kick-turn or water skiing (failed both). During the school day I was teased and bullied and sexually assaulted before I was ten. Ellen and I were always chosen last for playground softball. I learned shame and fear in grade school. Junior high was not much better. I was told I had ugly hands, still couldn’t throw, and the play on my name Priddy still led to many chants of “Janice Ugly.” High school was better because I liked the uneven parallel bars and a bio-feedback unit that taught us how to fully relax our body and focus/unfocus our minds. I imagine what I learned then—the only useful thing I ever learned in school PE classes—might be called mindfulness today.
It took me from “Think how the other person must feel” to “Be mindful of how you feel.”
I am about to write about detail from my real life. I ramble. I wade into shallow waters. Be warned.
Continue readingLies, damned lies, and statistics
“Lies, damned lies, and statistics” is a phrase describing the persuasive power of statistics to bolster weak arguments, “one of the best, and best-known” critiques of applied statistics. It is also sometimes colloquially used to doubt statistics used to prove an opponent’s point. The phrase was popularized in the United States by Mark Twain, who attributed it to the British prime minister Benjamin Disraeli.
—Wikipedia
I’ve been thinking about lies and opinions lately. People have lied to me, of course. My parents lied about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and I figured that out when I was five and bore them no grudge. People admire and nod in response because they think that is polite of them. I might not even want to hear the truth, but I am grown up now and almost never want the lie.
Just yesterday a workman lied to me about transgressing onto our property. And I understood his reasons. He is not well-paid and needs the work and has been told to make nice because my husband is furious about something that had they asked he probably would not have minded.
Continue readingWhen you live more than five miles from the nearest small and overpriced grocery store, fifteen miles from the nearest full grocery store (also overpriced), and thirty-five miles from Costco, shopping during the pandemic simply played on your habits of shopping rarely and large.
Shopping locally in our tourist economy meant the our monthly drive to a large city farmers’ market and even the city stores considered overpriced were relative bargains for us. Whole Foods prices were in line with or lower than what we found locally and better quality and more variety.
Now that we spend nights In Portland, we have three or four favorite grocery stores within easy walking distance. We love New Seasons, Fred Meyer is cheaper for some things, and there’s always Zupans when we want something special. But the habits of nearly forty-five years without easy access to such stores are still a powerful influence. The toughest to overcome is the most recent: ordering online.
Buying too much and ordering online are hard habits to break. Yesterday I made a vegetarian lasagna that turned out really well. I’m not pressed for time as I was when I was teaching and I am not cooking for two growing boys as well as ourselves. That lasagna will provide meals for Gary and I for three days…
During the recent perilous weather in the Pacific NW, we stayed home and I cooked from what I had in freezer, fridge, and pantry. I also ordered the organic whole wheat noodles I used for the lasagna. I have five more boxes of flat noodles in my drawer and six pounds of whole wheat angel hair pasta. I’m set for a while.
I finished a warp this month and plan to begin another this week. The overall goal is to use up much of my yarn stash, but then I ordered a skein of yarn a couple weeks ago. That gorgeous bright handspun fits in with a warp I was planning, but interferes with the important goal of cutting back my yarn stash.
I need to buy less.
It feels like I’ve done this before. Haven’t I vowed to cut back on purchases? Haven’t I actually done that from time to time?
February needs to be a no-purchase month. Food is okay. No clothing, no yarn, no fabric, no books. I have plenty of everything. I can afford to swear off all unnecessary purchases. It’s a short month. My pantry shelves look leaner and tidier from not shopping much this month. My beach closet is very lean from a recent culling. I need to continue making progress with the yarn and quilting fabrics. I can resist Liberty cottons and batik’s for a month. I can. I probably can.
Cutting back on purchases is like cutting back on food. I can recall eating as a child until my stomach hurt. And I was a thin child because I walked and ran everywhere. It’s different as an adult. It’s different as a retired adult in nasty weather where I go out but for an hour instead of three hours, and I eat because I cooked too much. I learned when I shifted over my diet to a healthier balance in 2020, that feeling a little hungry is a good thing.
There are projects waiting for my attention, and I really could learnt to cook for two if I troubled to do it. I have more books in my to-read stack(s) than I ever have had in my entire life. I can cut the shawl to make a pillow cover. I can put on the neutral warp. I can cast on the sweater I promised myself a dozen years ago—the yarn is right there. Ideas for quilts swimming about in my head do not require any fabric other than what I have stored.
April will be Camp NaNo and I will work on short stories. Between now and then I can make progress on projects: three more warps if I am quick, a knitted something, and two sewing projects. With discipline, I can avoid purchasing anything other than food for four weeks. That’s what I’ll do.
I will not buy yarn, a rosebush, black wool pants, more socks, food in bulk, magazines, books, fabric even though it love it and it’s on sale, a new chair or two, a used table for Gary’s coffee (he’s using the window-ledge in the new living room configuration), knitting notions, or anything I cannot consume within a week. I promise.
It works for me to make a promise.
An article in The Guardian details Fanny Johnstone’s experience caring for her father in the last year and a half of his life. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world’: 10 things I learned when my father had dementia.”
It is a healthy and generous story, rich with laughter and grief and kindness and family support. I wish my experience had been like hers, but it wasn’t.
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