Tag: enchanted living

Giving Up

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I am in danger of letting it all go. Taking a giant energetic eraser and wiping my stuff slate clean.  Instead of a POD, a dumpster. I’m going to put all the pretty breakable things I own on the kitchen counter and let Kitty Andersen have her way with them. I’m over it.

I am in danger of quitting. Holding on to what’s left, petting it, apologizing to it for casting out its friends. I’m itching to skulk around antique and thrift shops looking for something I didn’t know I needed then squeezing it in between other items without meaning.

I am in the process of purging.

Everything is energy and everything has energy – a bit of magic formed of memories and wishes. A rock collected from the Long Island Sound. Or was it the banks of the Ganges. Maybe someone gave it to me. A tiny Buddha living among others of its kind on an altar with things that, when held individually, seem to lose most of their meaning and charm. Where did he come from?

If I don’t know where they came from how can they have meaning?

It is this energy or connection I am becoming very sensitive to. It was most telling when I was moving my altar items to a box for safe keeping whilst I hurricaned about the place. I considered every piece of preciousness and of the 253,876 items, maybe 10 elicited a knowing smile. The rest more of an exasperated sigh at my ridiculous assignment of meaning to every rock and every feather I have ever found. (More on altars later.)

I am both burdened by this stuff and buoyed by it. It brings me joy and sometimes peace and it frustrates the hell out of me.

I can tell you that being able to take my time with my stuff has been mostly a positive experience and I’m grateful to be able to do this my way. It gives me great pleasure to hand over items that have meaning to me to others that can find new life for them. But I am doing this without attachment or condition. If I personally hand a book to someone it is always with the permission to “feel free to regift, recycle or do whatever you’d like with it.”

I am, of course, holding on to some very precious things, but I am trying to make those items the exception. And I’m even questioning those things.

Because Larry and I have a few antique spaces between us I am afforded the luxury of cycling some items through and possibly recouping my initial investment or even making an extra buck or two. An old radio flyer wagon, for instance,  with peeling red paint that sits atop my (almost empty) TV cabinet. I like the addition of color and the stories of the children it must have held. One day I’ll tire of it and pass it along. Sell to someone who can make up their own narratives.

Currently my house is once again in turmoil, this seems to be the cycle. Pull everything out from its hiding place, paw through it, roll eyes, sort, toss, pile, purge. Then do it all over again. Until there are just no more hiding places. From my perch on the sofa I spy:

  • 2 boxes of CDs waiting to be delivered to new homes
  • 6 stacks of CDs yet to be sorted through (down from about a million)
  • 3 stacks of magazines (one with paint color ideas, one to be given away to a friend  and one yet to go through – a short stack)
  • 1 looming stack of books to be priced and sold
  • 3 stacks of books to go to the studio for adoption
  • 4 empty boxes waiting to be filled for Good Will (at least 50 boxes have been transported so far)

But all these piles, while causing momentary shortness of breath and heart palpitations, can be moved into their proper places – outside my home – by end of day tomorrow and I can vacuum and dust and space clear and do a happy dance until the next time.

The goal again, for me, is to whittle all of my possessions down to just what I can see, just what I love or has beautiful inspirational meaning or what is useful. And not to restart the cycle of collection and purging. But it’s in stages and steps. (More on my process coming soon.)

For now, stuff is moving out, space is being revealed. The math is working.

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.

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.