Category: Conscious Living

To the Mattresses

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My husband and I have been sleeping on the same mattress for about 15 years. Way longer than we should according to mattress makers, but then you kind of have to consider the source. Do they recommend switching out every 8 years for their own profitability or is your back really their concern? I’ll let you noodle over that one.

In either case, it was time for a new one.

We thought something a little firmer would be good. Neither one of us has been sleeping all that great, but we’re also both “at that age” when sleep does not come as quickly or as soundly as in those shimmering days of our youth. He was convinced firmer would be the answer. I have slept on what I believe to be straw and concrete in my Indian travels and it was some of the best sleep I’ve ever had. In retrospect that may have had more to do with exhaustion + jet lag, nevertheless, firm sounded okay with me.

We went to our favorite mattress store – yes, we have one – The Original Mattress Factory, and laid on all 7 models of innerspring beds. No foam for us (I am a furnace when I sleep as it is), nothing adjustable (that’s what pillows are for), just good old fashioned springs and padding.

We were currently in possession of the second softest mattress and for some unknown reason we opted for the second firmest this time.

It was a rack. A torture device from the Spanish Inquisition. It was the floor, only a little higher.

The next day we made the immediate decision to swap out. I pined for my old mattress. It was a pillow top and it fairly hugged me when I laid down. It said, “Here, rest, read a book, I’ll take care of you.” This new guy? He said, “Lay down, shut up, don’t move.” He was much nicer in the store.

So we went back.

Why is Original Mattress Factory my favorite mattress store?

  1. There are no pushy sales people, there are no deals ‘just for you, just for today.’
  2. They have an agreeable exchange policy. You have a year to decide if you love your new mattress. If you don’t, exchange it for something else. Pay the difference if the new one is more and 20% of the original price.
  3. The delivery and set up guys are the nicest most respectful and efficient delivery people I’ve ever encountered.
  4. They recycle their mattresses. They do not sell used. The Mustard Seed takes the mattresses apart and sells off the parts to make money. This matters to me.
  5. They will send you an email every three months to remind you to flip your mattress, because honestly who remembers?
  6. AND, if I wanted to, I could walk through the door at the back of the showroom and watch them make mattresses.

There are some great mattresses and mattress stores out there. This one just feels good to me. There are also quite a few eco-friendly options now. Many memory foam mattresses are now made with plant-based materials. All natural mattresses can be found with mostly cotton fibers. And there are still plenty of old-fashioned innerspring mattresses available with environmentally friendly materials.

Sleep is so important, more and more research is being done and whole books are being published about the benefits of a good night’s rest. Choosing a mattress is key and not always easy.

To all the mattress stores out there, a suggestion: Put each style of mattress in its own room with a door, schedule 30-minute time slots for each room so that people can spend time –  without feeling like awkward fully clothed porn stars in the middle of a showroom – on their potential 8+ year sleep mate. Ok, so maybe make the doors thin so there’s no hanky panky.

Our mattress story has a happy ending: we purchased the same model we had before. The sweet talker. Order (and sleep) has been restored.

Waste Not

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I’ve been thinking a lot about trash lately. Mostly how much I produce. How many bags go out per week, how full my recycling bin is, stuff like that.

And then I wondered how different my choices would be if I had to pay or be responsible for this trash. I am already paying for its removal, as are you, it’s one of those line items in your “City of…” bill or it’s built into your rent, so paying for it is covered.

But what if I had to do something with my trash and recycles? What if I couldn’t just put them at the curb and smile in satisfaction at my clean home?

Let’s play a game… Let’s pretend we’re going grocery shopping for one day of food on the SAD (Standard American Diet).

In our basket we may find:

  • 1 box of cereal
  • 1 gallon of milk
  • 1 quart of orange juice
  • 1 dozen eggs
  • 1 loaf of bread
  • package of smoked turkey lunch meat
  • package of American cheese
  • 1 jar of mayonnaise
  • 1 box of single serving chips
  • 1 apple in a plastic bag
  • 1 box of Hostess treats
  • 1 package of hotdogs
  • 1 package of buns
  • 1 squeeze bottle of mustard
  • 1 squeeze bottle of ketchup
  • 1 jar of pickles
  • 1 jar of baked beans
  • 1 container of potato salad
  • 1 12 pack of soda
  • 1 gallon of ice cream

First of all, bleck! For your health’s sake, please eat some greens!! But moving on. Let’s take a look at the waste produced just in the packaging.

  • 1 box of cereal – cardboard box, wax paper insert
  • 1 gallon of milk – plastic jug, plastic lid
  • 1 quart of orange juice – plastic bottle, plastic lid
  • 1 dozen eggs – Styrofoam container
  • 1 loaf of bread – plastic bag, plastic tie
  • package of smoked turkey lunch meat – plastic container/wrapper
  • package of American cheese – plastic wrapper(s)
  • 1 jar of mayonnaise – plastic jar, plastic lid
  • 1 box of single serving chips – cardboard box, plastic wrap, plastic bags
  • 1 apple in a plastic bag – plastic bag
  • 1 box of Hostess treats – cardboard box, plastic wrap for each treat
  • 1 package of hotdogs – plastic wrapped
  • 1 package of buns – plastic bag, plastic tie
  • 1 squeeze bottle of mustard – plastic bottle, plastic lid
  • 1 squeeze bottle of ketchup – plastic bottle, plastic lid
  • 1 jar of pickles – glass jar, metal lid
  • 1 jar of baked beans – tin can with rubber lining
  • 1 container of potato salad – plastic container
  • 1 12 pack of soda – cardboard box, aluminum cans
  • 1 gallon of ice cream – wax coated cardboard

Now let’s say you were going to throw all of this away in one day. A lot of it could go into your recycling bin, but not all. Those lids for mustard, ketchup, pickles, etc. are usually not recyclable. Many plastic bags cannot be recycled. Styrofoam egg containers, maybe. The cardboard can typically be composted or recycled, in some municipalities.

All this sounds like good news! What’s the problem?

The problem is only about 35% of people actually recycle and only a percentage of that gets recycled. There’s too much. Recycling is a business and if there is no need for more of your trash it gets turned away. Where do you suppose it goes?

What if you had to separate all of your recyclables and take them to their individual recycling places and pay to have them recycled? What if there were no service to just pick them up? Would you make different choices?

Let’s take a look at our shopping list one more time and consider some more environmentally friendly choices that may actually be healthier for our bodies as well.

  • 1 box of cereal – purchase in bulk (purchase reusable cloth bags to buy dry items in bulk)
  • 1 gallon of milk – make your own almond milk, super easy, no waste, store in a reusable glass bottle
  • 1 quart of orange juice – buy loose oranges and squeeze your own, compost the peels, nothing like fresh-squeezed orange juice
  • 1 dozen eggs – ceramic containers are available and doesn’t everyone have a backyard chicken now? Purchase from a farmer’s market or friend, bring your own reusable container
  • 1 loaf of bread – bake your own, or let go of gluten for a while and use lettuce to wrap your sandwiches
  • package of smoked turkey lunch meat – purchase from a deli that uses paper to wrap meat and ask them to put it in your reusable glass container or washable cloth bag
  • package of American cheese – see above
  • 1 jar of mayonnaise – make your own, it’s easy and fresh
  • 1 box of single serving chips – you don’t need chips, pick up some bulk nuts
  • 1 apple in a plastic bag – ditch the plastic bag, you’re going to wash the apple anyway
  • 1 box of Hostess treats – you don’t need these either
  • 1 package of hotdogs – no, but if you must, again, get them from a deli that will wrap in paper
  • 1 package of buns – go bunless or wrap in lettuce or purchase from a bakery that will wrap in paper or use your bag
  • 1 squeeze bottle of mustard – make your own or buy an organic brand in glass – save the glass container
  • 1 squeeze bottle of ketchup – make your own, easy and fresh
  • 1 jar of pickles – you can make your own but if you’re buying glass and saving it, you get a pass
  • 1 jar of baked beans – choose a brand that doesn’t line their cans or make your own
  • 1 container of potato salad – make your own, grandma must have an amazing recipe
  • 1 12 pack of soda – just no
  • 1 gallon of ice cream – on a hot summer day make your own, this is a treat

We have ended up with a few glass containers we can reuse, paper than can be composted and maybe one tin can. Don’t you feel better?

The time it would take to make all of this from scratch is probably the same amount of time it would take to sort through all your trash and drive it to separate recycling facilities and pay to have it recycled.

Precycle. Plan ahead. Consider where the packaging will go when you make your purchases.

  • Purchase a few glass jars that seal tightly to hold bulk dry goods like rice, cereal, nuts, etc.
  • Pick up a variety of sizes of cloth draw string bags for bulk foods and produce.
  • Save all the glass containers that are already in your pantry to use for other purposes.

Set waste goals. Find a container that seems like an acceptable amount of waste and notice how long it takes to fill it. Continually try to beat your last record, slower and less.

There are so many great resources out there and inspiring people doing great things. Here are a few:

Website with tons of ideas: www.bezero.org

Website: www.trashisfortossers.com

Article with statistics: harmony1.com

 

Mattering

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I’ve been absent for about 10 days. I have a really good reason: someone close to me passed away. It was unexpected and sad, but ultimately beautiful and freeing. For her.

I, on the other hand, have been gifted the bulk of her possessions. And it’s a lot. She had a two bedroom apartment stuffed with books, creative project pieces and parts, clothes and the normal belongs of a life richly lived.

The Universe can be douchily ironic. Just as I am in the process of purging and letting go I am presented with a whole house of stuff to manage.

I am not being intentionally insensitive, it is just that I am on the business end of handling this parting. Grief comes in waves mixed with laughter and sweet memories. For now, though, the sorting of that life is the task at hand.

It’s always a process.

In sorting through the markers of her life I am both compelled to keep special tokens and simultaneously light a match and walk away.

There will be no fires.

At first glance the items surrounding me point to a life of abundance. But on closer inspection I find evidence of something more akin to lack and fear. Where one stick of deodorant would suffice I find 4. All the same. Five tall bookcases line the walls of the craft studio. They are packed with scraps of fabric, beads, books on creative endeavors, sewing materials, patterns, paper, glue. There are two computers, a sewing machine and a closet stuffed with mystery. A million tiny notes are scattered about. Half as many projects begun then abandoned.

Elsewhere in the home 3 large bookcases are full of books, sometimes two rows deep, a few photos and other mementos dot the shelves. Stacks of books rest next to the spots most frequented, magazines teeter on tables, the freezer is stuffed with food, the refrigerator the same. The walls are covered in artwork and photos with still more framed pieces leaning against walls waiting for a vacancy. And appliances requested sit in boxes unused.

It is a very accurate representation of its occupant: homey, messy in that creative way and lived in. It’s welcoming and feels safe.

But it’s a lesson. In stuff, in love, in fear, in recognizing what is necessary. In recognizing what is true.

I will continue to sort through belongings, donating many to the faceless masses, gifting some to friends of the deceased and keeping a touchstone or two.

There are boxes full of love – letters, cards, photos of trips and good times – that were perhaps felt and then forgotten. Mementos of troubleless times. (I will study these.) But they were not powerful enough to convince the beholder of her worth. Perhaps for a moment, but long term this sense of ‘not-good-enoughness’ would take a seat beside her.

Receiving things, temporarily created peace. Until they didn’t and more things would be desired, procured. She wasn’t a hoarder, but may have been heading in that direction.

The biggest gift I am getting from this experience will not take up any space in my home. It is the recognition of my own self-worth, my place in the universe. That I matter.

She mattered too, so much more than she could accept and believe. She heard the words over and over again from so many people how she had made a life-changing difference to them, how she had given them peace when they thought none existed, how she awakened in them a creative spirit they didn’t know they had. But she didn’t receive those words, she didn’t integrate them. She wore them for a short time, shared them with those close to her as external evidence of her worth, then shed them like dead skin.

In sorting and purging her things I am infected with a sense of melancholy. In purging my own things and letting go I am left bare, all raw nerves and sensitive teeth. It’s necessary. At times I am elated and giddy. It’s a cleansing with far deeper implications than a tidy home. It’s a liberation. And it’s a process.

 

 

Evidence of a Life Lived

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As far as I can tell I have about a million photos, just in my room. And 20 times more on my laptop and two external hard drives. Oh, and on my phone. And on about 3 SD cards. I guess you could say I’m a visual person.

What occurs to me as I sort through the physical photos is how much I enjoy touching them and deciding if I want to keep them or not. Putting them in piles, tossing some into the trash, then maybe retrieving one or two from there. I go from a stack so tall it threatens to topple to one no thicker than a Stephen King writing as Richard Bachman novel.

And I am filled with satisfaction.

I do not get this same high from sorting through my virtual pile of photos. I never feel like I’m complete, or that I’m doing it right. Didn’t I just put this one in the trash? Or did I move it to another folder? Maybe it’s on my desktop. It’s maddening. And yet I feel like it should be the same.

But underneath all of that the underlying cause of the distress is the fear that I will delete the wrong photos.

I am attached. I loathe to admit it.

This process, the counting and cataloging and eventual purging is revealing all my neurotic tendencies. Why are photos so precious? What if they all just disappeared? What am I truly holding onto?

Memories? Evidence of a life lived? Proof of something?

Is that what all stuff is? Is that why we hold onto things from our past? I think maybe that’s one reason. I also think guilt holds objects in place longer than they need to be. And lack, fear of never having enough. Our stuff tells our story, too. It communicates to others who we are by the selection of items we choose to live with. It’s more than just your style.

But I digress, back to the endless stacks of photos.

It hits me as I paw through one box in particular. Most of the photos are from past work events from a company and job that defined me for a while and definitely shaped my business acumen and practices. I loved working for  this company and the people I worked with. We traveled to Hawaii and San Diego and San Antonio. We had fun trainings in Atlanta and parties locally. Yet I can only name maybe half the people in the photos. The photos don’t tell the story as richly as my memories. I can let them go.

I’ve also noticed that I am quick to toss photos of things that I’m sure I felt were amazing and new to me at the time, but I have since seen or experienced whatever it is over and over again. A tiny alligator in a pond at the Kennedy Space Center 15 years ago looks trivial and silly next to the up close and personal friends I’ve made at the Orlando Wetlands. I am comparing my past to my present. Healthy? Normal?

This shows me that the photo was a novelty, not a memory. I also can’t bear to keep photos of animals in the zoo or Sea World. My sensibilities and education about such places won’t allow me to enjoy them.

I am questioning my own photo motives.

Mostly I think I just really like documenting things. I don’t know why. I’m not sure it’s just for me. I like to share.

I will continue to thin the photo herd for eventual scanning. Photo books are in my future, but will I be able to let go of the actual photos once they’re scanned? I guess we’ll see.

I’m just grateful I have not committed to counting everything I have digitally. Although that may be a worthy endeavor.

Makes me sleepy just thinking about it. Let’s deal with the tangible stuff first.

Personal History

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I am lost in a sea of personal history. Memories and emotions gently rock my present, nudging my attention this way and that.

My room: the repository of my past. Photos from as far back as 1800 and something. My great-grandparents parents photos and maybe their parents too. Some I know, some are magical ghosts of my DNA.

My room: the sanctuary of my creative aspirations. Over 20 boxes of hundreds of beads – many semi-precious stones that I could just caress for hours. I am partial to rubies, they feel mysterious and rich. Aquamarine gives me space, I can’t help but take a deep breath in when working with them. And sapphires are the keepers of  secrets. In boxes in my closet are unpainted canvases, paper cut for projects forgotten and photos I’ve taken and left to die in the back of a drawer.

My room:  the organizational nerve center. Four file drawers hold the remnants of an abandoned organizational system, files numbered and lettered but empty. Files full of bills paid, places to visit, the history of my pets and cherished documents that allow me to wander the earth.

My room: holder of tiny sacred spaces. An altar that continues to grow even though there appears to be no more room, sits atop a large bookcase. As I was counting it I thought I’d find new homes for some of the excess Buddhas and rocks, but there appears to be no such thing as excess Buddhas.

This was to be the last room on my list but something compelled me to “knock it out.” It’s been a week. More than. I’m almost done counting. That was supposed to be the easy part. But to count photos you must touch them and I don’t know about you, but I must also look at them. And as I do I am mentally eliminating some and finding purposes for others. I am sorting and organizing memories as if I can come back to them when I’m ready.

There are just a few boxes of photos left to count and then all the jewelry supplies. I have set a goal to complete the counting by the end of this week – Sunday. In the meantime I am surrounded by a mine field of unfinished projects. And it’s creating heaviness, filling spaces that I need free and open. Cards that need to be cut, photos to be sorted and culled, letters to be read and overall purging. This is just round one.

As I sort through the stuff that has built me I wonder what I am really hoping to gain by this process. My goal from the outset been space and time. I want to be able to walk into my home and not feel compelled to straighten up, but I sense something much deeper at work.

Urgency. I carry with me, deep in my gut, this sense of needing to get things done. Organizing, categorizing, sorting then storing. Get it done, check it off. But when it’s done will I be sad? Will I look for the next thing to accomplish no matter how trivial? Maybe that need will abate once things are ordered. Maybe not. This is the work of the process. This is why to abandon it or hold fast to rules would dilute the outcome.

It’s cranky and itchy, the process, but in a most informative way. It’s doing its work on me and I like, don’t like it. I think that means it’s working.

16 Tiny Buddhas

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I avoided my room like the plague when I was following the Japanese Art of Tidying protocal to declutter last year. It’s her fault, really, Marie Kondo’s. She recommended waiting until everything else was sorted and purged before beginning on sentimental items. I took that to mean craft supplies as well.

So I waited. And waited. Until this year.

My approach to this cataloging, decluttering, organizing task has me going room to room. I do like how Ms. Kondo had me group items last year and if it hadn’t been for that I would probably be in a heap at the back of my closet, murmuring, trying to rock myself back to reality.

I started on my room yesterday. When I say ‘my room’ I am referring to that space that is sometimes a jewelry studio, or a library, or an office, or most recently, a hole full of flat surfaces on which to put things to go through at a later date.

This is that later date.

I dreaded it. Knowing that there was so much stuff in there. So many little tiny things to go through and count. Craft stuff, jewelry making supplies, 2 filing cabinets, a large bookcase full of books and an altar on top hosting a meeting of the tiniest Buddhas and Hindu deities along with shells, crystals, candles and rocks. Always rocks.

But it has been liberating, as I think I knew it would be.

I wasn’t sure exactly what to count, how to count. Do I count every paperclip or just the container holding them? What about paper for the printer? Why count each piece? I decided, for now anyway, to count loose things. Pens, pencils, pads of paper, staplers, that sort of thing. I counted the containers that held pencils and binder clips and every empty file folder. I counted the furniture and artwork and the lamps. When I got to the bookcase I counted everything, down to the last tiny shell and wobbly bronze Ganesh the size of my pinky fingernail.

Altar items:

3 Elephants
6 Ganesh
16 Buddha
5 crystals
25 rocks – I really need to look into the rock obsession
1 rabbit – born in the year of
2 frogs
1 sealed container of Ganges water
1 Quan Yin
4 packages of flower petals – mostly from temples in India
1 dog
2 old Japanese guys – I’m pretty sure there’s a more eloquent term for these wise men
4 cards
2 oil difussers
1 owl – from Slovenia who always makes me smile. Get it? Who?
2 nuts – from a recent trip up north
2 fabric printing block – from India
2 Durgas – she’s my girl
4 shells
2 coral
3 feathers
1 Om tile
1 Ganesh tile
1 prayer for forgiveness
1 snake figurine
1 good fortune cat
1 angel
2 mala bead strands
1 peacock feather fan
1 framed Radha Krishna – painted by my yoga teacher
2 Balinese marriage dolls
1 strand of lampwork beads  – that I made in a class, rudimentary but pretty colors.

In all 101 items on top of the bookcase along with a lamp. Four equal sized shelves beneath it containing 120 books and myriad other trinkets and mementos. But I got to touch every one and consider its purpose, conjure its meaning and decide if it was necessary.

So often we set things where we want them then walk away. We may dust them or around them, but that can be a mindless chore – something to get through – and we don’t fully appreciate those things we chose to bring into our homes. Some of us don’t even dust our own things, some of us don’t even dust. Not naming any names.

While I was counting and cataloging I made some initial decisions and purges. I dumped quite a few magazines in the recycle bin, along with some papers I had been holding onto until I uncovered their importance. There was none. I filed papers that had been lingering in my in box that I had to rifle through on more than one occasion to look for something, which had it been filed in the proper place would have saved me lots of time. That’s part of the end game here – time. I filled a box with items to go to others and added to bags sitting in the garage intended for Good Will or some other thrift store.

I also made note of further culling that needed to take place: files that needed thinning, books that could be appreciated by others now that I’ve absorbed what I could from them. I made some decisions about making jewelry and crafts that surprised me and glanced at the boxes and envelopes of family photos – dating back to the 1800s – I have yet to further organize and scan.

This room has been so many things, so many colors and sometimes a complete design and organizational conundrum. I think I may have made some decisions about that too.

I will tackle the rest over the weekend. It will be completed, the first round of purging and cataloging. That will feel like an accomplishment.

Letting go of what I don’t need so someone who does need it can have it feels noble and sometimes scary. What if I need that someday?

Like a coloring book. Purged 11 of those. Still have 9. I think I’ll be okay.

It’s Written in Hindu, in the Stars

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A few months ago, I had my Vedic Astrology chart done. It was infinitely entertaining and confusing. In spite of that, I learned a few things about myself that may explain some of my behaviors. But isn’t that how these always go? We fit our story into the fortune to create a reason from which we gain insight.

In addition, I have been writing my book on India (for four years now, but just recently with for real earnestness) and a few of my traits are being revealed to me here as well.

Stay with me, this all relates to the purging food organizational structure trying to find peace phase I’ve been going through the past 50 years or so.

In the astrology chart it shows that my ruling deity is Yama. He is the god of death. This excited me. What I have learned in this journey is death of anything makes room for new beginnings, new life. The death of an idea, a habit, yes, even a person, creates space. I do not wish to end the lives of others, I do however like to complete things. Moment to moment our inhale dies to the exhale, day dies to night and is reborn 12 hours later. The birth of a child is the death of the pregnancy. One year dies to the next and so on.

This chart also proclaims my dharma (the thing I was born to do) as “carrying things away.” This too, made sense. My favorite creature on the whole planet is the vulture – nature’s humble janitor. THEY CARRY THINGS AWAY. Stuff we don’t want, dead stuff, so we don’t have to deal with it. It’s noble.

The writing has revealed my tendency to live my life in fragmented sentences. Grammatically this would look like … To be continued, more to come, stay tuned. Which is completely counter to carrying things away or ending them.

Balance? Harmony? Insanity?

I rush. I cram too much stuff in. I’m learning to let go of a few things on my schedule.  I’m better at prioritizing. But there’s still a lot I don’t complete.

I noticed this as I was writing about an experience in the desert of India when I was on safari with a group. We were at a park looking for interesting animals and such. When I felt we had seen everything there was to see, I was ready to go. The yoga guru I was traveling with, chose that exact moment to lay down on the hard cracked earth, knees bent, hands folded on his belly. What? Why? C’mon! I walked back to the jeep like a spoiled child denied a treat.

The pouting lasted about 10 minutes. I walked back out to where he was and stood there willing him to hop up, clap his hands and say, “let’s go.” Instead he waxed poetic about all that he could see. For about 20 more minutes. I surrendered – mostly because I didn’t have a choice. When we finally did make it back to our jeeps to leave, the sky turned a brilliant orange. The setting ball of fire filtered through unseen pollution created a magical show for us. That we would have missed had my Vulcan mind meld worked.

I’m great at beginnings. I am an ideator, an instigator, a starter. Initiation is my wheelhouse. Implementation so-so. Completion? Let’s just call that an area of opportunity.

This purging, ordering, organizing, cataloging seems like a reaction to this fragmentation and a fulfillment of my dharma all at once. I am carrying away the stuff I no longer need. Or want. The physical and the energetic – if you believe in that hokum – are being distributed among friends, thrift stores and ebay.

It’s another project started that I intend to see through.

It seems the less stuff I have the more space there will be to complete those sentences. To sit still and notice. To be where I am when I am.

To stay for the sunset.

 

 

I Touch My Stuff

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Still counting. Not even close to the end. Completed so far:

Master Bedroom: 1174

Master Bathroom: 228

Linen Closet: 225

Guest Bath: 102

Laundry Closet: 28

Back Patio: 367

Back Yard: 65

Hallway: 22

Grand Total: 2,492 things…so far

There’s something reassuring about handling every single thing in my home. I have begun to purge a few things as I’m going through them, and as much as I’d like to halve the number of items that belong to my husband, I am leaving that up to him. With a few pointed questions, sarcastic faces and “whatever you think” kinda tactics. It works for a while.

When I think about counting the next space my whole body droops a little, but once I start something happens. An appreciation and sense of gratitude for all that I do have softens everything.

The guest room is quite possibly my favorite room in the whole house. It’s light and clean and has a lot of my most beloved things. There’s a hutch with a recessed glass upper cabinet and lower cabinet with solid doors. Oak, I think. Not my favorite wood, but it’s dark and feels sturdy and strong. It was in my Great uncle’s home and when he passed I got my pick of anything. This piece just speaks to me.

Inside the glass cabinet are all those curios that have no real place anywhere else:

  • Dolls my grandmother made and some she brought back from exotic locations
  • A stuffed representation of our schnauzer growing up with his actual collar.
  • A mug from Italy that belonged to the twin brother of the uncle who left me his stuff.
  • A carved cigarette holder that belonged to my grandmother. I can see her holding it and laughing with her head thrown back, a highball in the other gloved hand, Auntie Mame.
  • A house that doubles as a music box my dad brought me from Bermuda.
  • Some random items we have picked up because they spoke to us, that we will likely pass along soon to make room for new treasures.

img_3948The bottom of this piece holds a trove of other items with no permanent home.  These will likely be purged down to a more manageable few.

The things that we are attached to, even for just short time, deserve a place in our lives, in our homes, if they bring us joy and help us recall a special time or person.

This was never about blindly tossing non-essential items. It is about being mindful of what I decide to keep. Mindful of who I pass things along to. And especially mindful of anything I choose to bring in.

I expected to find things that clung to my ankle as I walked out on them and they are showing up. Especially here in this room. They may just stay. At least some of them, at least for a while.

I didn’t count the hangers the hanging clothes were hanging on. In the interest of thoroughness the total is now up to: 2,661.

 

 

 

About 90% Committed

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I decided to do the Whole 30 “Abridged” version.

Which is to say, I’m cheating already.

In my defense, I have a nearly full carton of organic half and half just sitting in my fridge and since I no longer waste things, I have to use it. There may have also been a couple pieces of chocolate left too.

I’m also not completely prepared. I need to purchase a few provisions to make this as easy as possible.

What’s interesting to me, is that the Monday after Thanksgiving I quit it all: dairy, alcohol, grains of any kind, sugar. And it was easy. A switch had been thrown that would not allow me to stuff garbage into my pie hole.

That lasted nearly a month. Then someone found the switch and threw it in the other direction.

How does this happen?

I jumped off the junk train then because I felt disgusting and lethargic.

I no longer gauge if something is working by the scale but how I feel. What my energy level is. If I’m sleepy mid-day I know there’s way too much sludge in my veins and they need a nice clean-out with some juicing and/or water. NOT coffee or chocolate, as much as it pains me to write that out loud. And longer term, just better, cleaner eating habits.

I tripped back onto the sugar bus because I clearly wasn’t paying attention. I forgot that I was feeling great. Or, more likely, I succumbed to the ideal that a little won’t hurt.

But I’m back. And committed. 90%.

I have been reading the front of the Whole30 Cookbook and I’m becoming inspired. Enough to order the original Whole30 book with all the secrets for moral support. Thus far, it sounds suspiciously identical to the 21 Day Sugar Detox + 7 days. Either way, just reading about it will help me stay on task.

And either one of them will get me back to that energy sweet spot.

Next Monday 100%.

I’m gonna need all that sustained energy to finish counting all the things in my house.

 

Hey There, Cupcake

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Why is that every time I fall off the healthy food wagon it’s right in front of a bakery, or a cupcake shop? Why don’t I ever get dumped out at a Farmer’s Market?

I have thought about food my whole life, at least as far as I can remember, and not in that foodie kind of way. More in that food-is-the-enemy kind of way.

We start out less than, us girls, never quite measuring up. Fortunately there are ads for diet food and diet pills and Weight Watchers and Jenny Craig and Lean Cuisine right next to the heroin-chic super model. It’s criminal. But accepted.

Ten years ago I thought I got it. I stumbled onto this website for a nutrition school in New York City. There were signs that I was to go and so I went. And there, I figured it all out. I lost weight, I felt great, I had it licked.

And then… I don’t know. Snacking flirted with me. A warm melty brie made promises. Ice cream welcomed me back. And some other friends. It was so, so subtle.

What I do know is that I’m done trying to figure it out. I’m just going to eat tiny amounts of whatever I like.

I have most recently been gluten-free – that’s actually helped on many levels including some you’d probably rather not hear about. But at Christmas I ate apple pie. And nothing happened. No bloating, no stomach ache, nothing.

I have given up dairy more times than I care to count. Then I went to India where everything has a bit of paneer or milk in it. Their milk is blissfully different and better than ours, but still, no reaction. I felt amazing the whole time I was there. (I’m pretty positive I have been an Indian in a previous life.)

Legumes – my latest foe. None for me thanks. No lentils, no beans, no dal, just no. Had some hummus, all good here.

Meat was the issue, I was sure of it 20 + years ago, so I stopped eating it. I remember intentionally going to Wendy’s (don’t judge) for a single with everything and cheese, French fries and a coke. Last meal. No red meat after that for over 10 years. I added it back in had incredible energy and lost weight.

Wine gives me acid reflux issues. Ok, too much wine.

Now sugar. Sugar is a problem, of that I am convinced. I notice that I have incredibly low energy if I consume too much sugar, which is to say more than the teaspoon in my coffee. I get heart palpitations and bitchy. My face breaks out. I’ve isolated it. You know on those days when I eat nothing but bits of dark chocolate, sweet tea and anything else that has sucrose in it.

Whole fruit, it should be noted, does not have the same effect.

Through many years of experimentation I am armed with the information that I am probably not allergic to, or intolerant of, any whole group of food. I know if I eat too much gluten my joints ache – Italy: so worth it. If I have too much dairy I get congested and my hands get puffy. Salt sorta does the same sans the mucus. Too much meat is not good for anyone (especially the animal) and there is no one that can’t benefit from more vegetables and water.

Whole 30, Sugar Detox, More Fat, Less Sugar, Ayurveda, Blood Type Diet, Macrobiotics, Juice Cleanse, Green Drinks, sure, let’s try it all. But I already know what to do. Don’t we all? So why don’t we do the good things? Why are habits so hard to break?

Let’s see where this takes us. Conscious eating. Conscious living. That’s the focus this year. Right?