Stuff that Stocking Stuffing

It's almost Christmas, Minimalists!  And you know that means --  your list is a mile long and you're frantic about getting "stocking stuffers"!  What. The. Hellfire.  

Who exactly decided on the stocking stuffer concept?  I presume it was the same evil triumvirate who established the "Treat Bag" phenomenon at kid parties. (Click here to read my Treat Bag Mom entry) If my historical knowledge serves me, SANTA CLAUS brought your presents and put them in your stocking, right?  That means a dolly, a toy car, and maybe an orange in the toe (always in my family) and a candy cane out the top.   And that was enough.  From Santa.  He brought that stuff.  Elves made it.  Not Dollar Tree.  

Why was that not enough?  When did entire aisles at Target be swamped with little boxes of poorly made crap, designed to delight for six seconds at 5:00 am before your kids leap into your bed and insist on opening their "big present"!!  And for adults, too?  (I ironically buy socks for my Hubby -- stockings in the stocking, you see...)

If the products are consumable, I can wrap my head around it.  Candy gets wolfed down; Star Wars bubble bath gets bubbled.  A little fun on your Christmas morning and something that your kid would be disappointed to open as his "big present". But when we start buying a marble game for someone's desk at work, or another coffee mug for grown-ups?  It just seems a little excessive and a waste of your funds. 

I realize this year, I may be too late for you to adjust your traditional Christmas morning stocking-palooza, nor should you change your plan if the stocking reveal truly adds value to your family's 5 am fun.  But, if the stuffers-search is a painful chore, if the items in the stocking find themselves in the trash or bottom of the toy box by December 27,  and you find yourself $50-$100 poorer for filling said stockings, then maybe it's time for a new plan.  

Christmastime is so very hard to be minimal.  But I think that if you seek out some ways to cut the crap, you will indeed add value to your and your family's holiday.  It's like pruning the hedges.  You can finally appreciate the architecture you've been obscuring.  

Merry Christmas, Minimalists.  There's joy in every day.  

Black Friday Lives Matter

If you're reading this, it means you survived Black Friday.  That may mean that you didn't end up in the emergency room with a sky high blood sugar after eating six helpings of pie, or it may be evidence of your skillful bob and weave at the electronics counter at Target, snatching that 4K television from the clutches of an innocent 10 year old.  

Either way, congrats.  You made it.

Black Friday declares itself as the antithesis of minimalism.  Joshua Becker of "Becoming Minimalist" says there is nothing you can buy on Black Friday that will make you happier than you already have chosen to be (now I would argue that because I got an amazing deal on a printer, which I needed and made me very happy because my previous printer had died... but I digress).  Did the 10 DVDs you bought at $4.99 make you happy in a week? Now you have to search for an organizer to store all those discs!

I used to LOVE Black Friday.  Facebook reminds me of that every November in my memories tab.  My kids were small, and I bought crap.  I bought crap to organize my crap.  I nagged my kids about organizing their crap. Sounds like a slice of heaven, right?

One of my friends (forgive me if you're reading this, but hey, names were changed to protect the innocent) texted me a photo of her kitchen cabinets and said help!  I need your services! Aaaaand then she went out to Black Friday shop on Thanksgiving, in search, she said, of more Pyrex containers on sale at Kohls.  Facepalm.  I told her I would be right over with trash bags and shelf liner (but she wasn't home). 

Don't misunderstand me about bargain hunting -- I love that, too.  Hanging on to my cash to spend it on a great vacation is priority one, so saving money on that printer was a huge success. But ask yourself if consumerism is really the hobby you want to be known for.  I also understand that Black Friday family bonding is a good time, especially if you don't watch football.  But consider next year skipping the need to acquire and just sit down and play Monopoly or watch Lifetime movies, enjoying each other's company away from the parking lots and grabby Starbucks-toting moms (yep, did that too). 

Because I love vintage trailers and dream of downsizing one day to a teeny trailer and wandering the planet, I often ask myself before a purchase, "would this mean enough to me to come with me in Martha (my trailer)?  Or would I leave it behind?" If I take more than five seconds to ponder that question, then it doesn't get to come home with me.  I would bet you don't see a lot of Airstreams parked at the mall on Black Friday weekend.  They are by a stream somewhere resting quietly, happy in their minimalist comfort. 

Here's hoping you read this before Cyber Monday, because the UPS guy will be cursing your name by Thursday when he delivers all that crap you bought from Amazon (hello, dear spouse). 

Tradition Schmadition

In my last post, I proposed sending holiday traditions up the proverbial river, in an attempt to minimize the pressure and stress of ThanksgivingChristmasNewYearsEve (all one word as it's all one thing) planning.  These include the perfect family holiday photo in matching LL Bean plaid or (God forbid) white shirts, jeans and bare feet (did that), the annual tree-cutting-down journey, or the collecting every darn one of the Hallmark NFL ornaments since 1994 (did that too).

I suggest to ask yourself this one true-to-minimalists' hearts question:  Does it (this tradition) add value to my/my family's life?  If the answer is no, or uhhhhh.... then quit that shit.  Stop wasting everyone's time with force feeding them trips to the mall to see Santa because you HAVE DONE IT EVERY YEAR AND THIS YEAR WILL BE NO DIFFERENT, YOUNG LADY! I know Mama, you care, it DOES add value to your life, because you're desperately trying to keep the family traditions going even through the spouse/kids just go along with it so you won't lose it in line at Target like last year.

It's ok.  I hereby grant you permission to not give a shit either.  Your kids will still love you.  Your spouse will likely love you MORE because he didn't have to get up from the Thanksgiving football game to don a matching outfit, force the dog into his matching one, and rally the kids for the annual photo.  Trust me, we all know none of you actually WEARS the ensemble you're sporting on the card. So save your efforts on your picture, and post one on Facebook where you're all eating chips out of the bag and still in your jammies at 2:30 pm on Sunday.

Same with Santa.  I know you have all those consecutive years of Santa pics framed and proudly displayed to boast about how "we go EVERY year".  We get it.  The Christmas lover's OCD dream. But then you realize 2007 was the year the whole family had the flu the week before Christmas and DAMMIT if the mall wouldn't extend Santa's stay just ONE extra day, so you would get your freakin picture done!  I digress.   Value added to your life?  Probably notsomuch.

What if you collect nutcrackers/snowmen/angels/nativity scenes?  I mean, I get one EVERY year!  I always add to my collection!  My collection is amazing!  Have you ever SEEN such a complete set of reindeer/Santas/Hallmark ornaments?  Now, if your heart leaps each and every time you look at all your nutcrackers and their nuts they crack, then, by all means, please enjoy your collection.  It won't be me stealing your holiday joy.  BUT.  If you are annoyed to have to painstakingly unwrap and re wrap those little buggers again after Christmas is over, and you don't take time to enjoy them, perhaps have a one-sided conversation with each one about his provenance, nut cracking skills and style, then quit it.  Just abandon those exponentially growing collections.

Christmas is about giving love and moving mountains to praise Christians' savior and His birth.  I am reticent to interpret anything in the good book about sales, collecting Santas, and credit card debt. My biblical knowledge is sketchy at best, but it looks like we are so far away from Christmas' meaning here in Consumerville.

Don't worry about your broken traditions, incomplete collections, or the fact THIS year we had enchiladas for Christmas dinner instead of ham.  Your people will still sit down to feast with you, share the meanings of Christmas with you, and if you're lucky, wait in line with you at the Returns counter.  Happy Thanksgiving, Minimalists.

Minimize Holidays (a little) and Maximize Cheer

End-of-Daylight-Saving Greetings Minimalists!  

Did you use your extra hour to get rid of extra crap after Halloween?  Perhaps not, but there's still time before anyone shuns you because your pumpkins are still on the porch.  But they ARE rotting now, so maybe head over to your compost bin and dispose.

About the beginning of November, we all start our heads spinning with worry over holiday budget, where Aunt Gladys will be spending Thanksgiving, and what we will wear to the office Christmas party (what DOES "holiday cheer" mean as a dress code??).  Don't do this, people.  Don't.  Spending nearly 1/6 of your year all in a fuss over this shit that NO ONE will remember after January 1 is stupid.  It just is.

My foursome likes to skip Thanksgiving.  Not the hanging out together part, because it's great that the office is closed and my babies are off school, but the forced family and turkey part.  We have found we are MUCH more thankful when we are just together, maybe at a ski lodge or even watching tons of football while eating chips and salsa.  NOT turkey.  Ick!?!  There is a reason people don't cook these birds all year: they aren't that tasty, and the leftovers go on forever.  Quiet the yam/sweet potato debate and skip it entirely.   There are many ways to be thankful that don't involve fam-sanity.

Another post will discuss Black Friday shopping, as I can't even begin to think about it yet.  It's also known as "Anti-Minimalism Day".  Come celebrate with us.

Regarding Christmas, last year I read a suggestion on theminimalists about decreasing how many decorations you put out.  We often feel pressure from the Griswolds to deck the halls and all that jazz, but think about all that sweat equity you expend that isn't earning you interest.  You put a lot of your decor outside where you/your family doesn't see it.  Does this make sense to you? (I do realize I am speaking as the wife of a man who bought a 13 foot Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man to display this Halloween.

What about the boxes and boxes of ornaments?  Takes all your Thanksgiving break to set that tree up and then does anyone care about the ones facing the wall?  Does anyone LOOK at them again before you take them off the tree December 26?  Not judging here, just asking.  I'm guessing probably not.

And here is one puzzler: "It's our tradition.  We always do that, so we have to this year".  The hell you do.  If your family groans/eye rolls about your ice skating trip to the same pond 30 miles out of town because "we have gone every year since Trixie was a baby and we are going this year if I have to drag all of your skate-shod asses in the minivan!" -- I really recommend you skip that.  It's not a good use of your limited time on the planet.  "Making memories" is a myth.  Don't try so hard. Memories happen. They happen just sitting around talking about that year the dog knocked the tree over and everyone stood in stunned silence wondering how long before Mom was going to lose her shit (Five... four.... three... two... ).

Ponder how you can reduce your holiday frenzy this year.  The Christmas crap is already in the stores (I feel super sorry for all you retail folks who are forced at gunpoint to ignore Thanksgiving altogether), so you too can get a jump on how you'll deal with holiday cheer.  Start small.  Cut out some bullshit obligations and make room for some low key spending time with your family (or friends, if you don't like your family) with NO agenda or built-in traditions.  I would wager that you'll make some memories right there.

Happy Fall, Minimalists!

Two Weeks in the Tiny House

Ah, summer.  How we love thee.  I just returned from being "on holiday" as the Brits say in my remote cabin at Christina Lake, British Columbia.  It's my two weeks of true minimalism, workin' it in the Tiny House.  There, we get by with only what is necessary and usable.  And it helps me realize half the crap in my life is superfluous.  Maybe even 75 percent.  

Some background:  my grandparents bought the property the cabin sits on some 60 years ago.  It has undergone several transformations, most recently in 2012 after a fire brought the place down.  To its knees.  That tragedy brought about two revelations.  One, that material things really aren't what is important; two, my Daddy's fortitude and resilience rival that of the most decorated generals in history.   But that's another blog topic.  After my grandparents and my parents died, my sister and I took over ownership of the cabin, which I nicknamed The Phoenix. 

The cabin is now significantly more amenity-laden than it was in my youth, when we would haul water up the hill for dishes and drinking (it's on a real lake, y'all, not the man-made variety of Texas).  We used an outhouse and never gave that a second thought.  There was no phone and definitely no internet access.  We didn't even have electricity, as everything was powered by propane that we also hauled up the hill to hook up.  In Tiny House 4.0, we still have propane, but now it fuels a hot water heater that is connected to the shower in the bath house/potty just a few steps from the main cabin. Such luxury! 

We are also blessed with electric light and power outlets, although we have to produce our own juice with solar panels and an occasional boost from the gas powered generator.   All this combined with no road access - you can find us only by boat from the marina across the lake - makes for a rustic retreat.  We have two bedrooms (large by tiny house standards!) and the other room combines the kitchen, eating area, and game playing/reading/napping futon.  It's truly perfect.  

I can function pretty well with no microwave (there are stove top directions on packages people actually use?) and no Netflix.  Verizon actually made things a bit easier permitting me to use data now at less than astronomical fees.  But no wi-fi.  If there is yet another mass shooting, I am days away from hearing about it.  A definite added benefit.  

I plan meals with more efficiency and efficacy because fridge and freezer space is at a premium.  There isn't a fast food joint for miles, and in Canada that shit is cost-prohibitive. You just don't drop $40 for your family of four for a bag of crap.  I spend time after dinner doing dishes by hand, although they dry quite nicely in the arid cool evenings.  In the morning I patiently brew my camp coffee on the stove, as the electric coffee maker sucks the life out of your stored power born of yesterday's sun.  So I percolate it - an eternity for us impatient caffeine-starved pot watchers.  

I don't miss my crap collections (of which I have few given my minimalist leanings).  I don't miss a closet fuller than the one in the cabin.  I don't miss having two living areas to sit in, as my butt only occupies one place at a time anyway.  I don't miss more glassware than I need, or a bunch of books I have already read.  if there is excess, we burn it,  because it costs money to dump garbage as there is no routine trash pick up.  We pay for gas and propane as we use it, and pray to the sun gods for the rest of our utilities. Off grid, indeed.  

I love the Tiny House.  It is nice to return to the land of water you don't have to hook up your self.  But during my two week holiday,  I like to prove to myself I can do it and that I don't need so many trappings I am used to enjoying.   The scenery is gorgeous as well, so when you grow weary of the family crowding the tiny house, you can retire to the deck to take in the majesty.   Minimalist Mecca.  Enjoy The Phoenix. 

A Millennial Goes Media Minimalist

Today's post is a different style for me. I am bringing another voice into the discussion. Because minimalism isn't just about stuff, and decrapifying, although that is of significant importance.  It's also about simplifying your life to achieve things intentionally, and shutting out distracting hand-waving static.  It's about enjoying today, and you can't really do that with mental and physical competition for your serenity.  

I interviewed Ashley, a 25 year-old medical assistant who has been on a self-imposed social media exile for about 18 months.  I was curious WHY a young adult her age who has grown up with all the non stop notifications would even want to minimize the noise and eliminate the mental clutter that social media proliferates.  So I asked her.

CM: How long have you been off social media?

Ashley: I quit about a year and a half ago.  All of it.  I still text and call my friends and family, of course, but I probably do it now more than I did before.  

CM:  How old were you when you started your first social media account?

Ashley: About 15.  I had MySpace first, then Facebook and Instagram.  Finally Twitter and Snapchat.  

CM:  Does your fiance have any social media accounts?

Ashley: No, he quit them all too.  We just talk to each other or text.  He said if anyone wants to tell him something, they will.  He doesn't have to look for it online.  

CM:  What was your main motivation for giving it up?

Ashley:  Mostly all the negativity.  People would complain about things on Facebook all the time, or post all this passive aggressive stuff than was just mean.  I had a friend who had dated a guy and was still trolling his facebook page (CM: like we seem to do).  The new girlfriend had posted something like "thank you to the girl who gave him up so I could find him and love him like he needs to".   My friend was going crazy reading this, and I told her stop.  Just stop.  You can't look at this anymore.  

CM:  Do you find that to be pretty common on all the media platforms? 

Ashley:  Yes, and it seems that people only post stuff to brag about it and feel better about themselves.  And when you read it, you feel worse about yourself.  Like oh, that party looks so fun, and I am at home.  Or another one of my friends got engaged in some amazing way and I am not even dating anyone  (Ashley is, by the way, and is engaged).  Some of my friends who have kids have a non-stop feed of baby pictures and every single thing the kid does all day.  

CM:  There is a lot of talk of FOMO, or "fear of missing out" being a thing in your generation. That with all the constant barrage of what everyone is doing, where they are vacationing, or who they are with, that you can't help but not even appreciate where you are at any given moment.  Do you see that or believe that it's truly an issue?

Ashley:  Yes absolutely.  One of the reasons I think it is so negative is that it seems the only reason people post stuff is to make other people envious of where they are or what they are doing.  

CM:  And that's pretty crappy motivation for information sharing, right?  To incite envy among your friends?  

Ashley: Right.  Just to hope others feel bad about themselves so you can feel a little bit better about yourself.  So negative.  

CM:  What about being "friends" with people you aren't really friends with?

Ashley:  It's hard not to look at old boyfriends' pages sometimes.  You are curious and wonder what they are doing.  If they look like a loser you're like HA!  You're a loser.  If they look like their new girlfriend is hot and they are super successful, you're like, crap.  I might have missed out on that.  So I quit being friends with anyone I wouldn't text and actually talk to and care about.  I do not care what the cheer captain at the local high school is having for breakfast.  Because she had friended me (a friend of my little brother's presumably trying to boost her numbers). 

CM:  Finally, what do you think about being driven by the number of "likes" or "retweets". For example, you post a picture you thought was cute, a selfie maybe.  Two hours later, only one like.  Your mom.  What does that do to you?

Ashley:  That sucks that your opinion of yourself, your self worth, is totally driven by what other people think, and maybe people you don't even really care about at all.  I was doing it too, and I had to stop.  It was an addiction.  


I want to thank Ashley for her candid discussion today, and I will have to have her read this online, since she won't get a facebook notification that it's published!  It is my hope that you will consider what social media is doing in your life,  and how you can quiet the noise, if that is a nagging subtext on your planet.   I love keeping up with people I care about and their kids' activities (I will call out the bragbookers - that is SO 2015), but if we had middle school math together and you made pancakes today and they were the BEST!  I don't care.  Sorry not sorry.  

The Minimalism Documentary: I Found My People

Tonight I attended a screening of the Minimalism Film: A Documentary About the Important Things.  If you haven't seen it, be sure and click on over to their website and plan to see a screening or purchase a copy.  

The film (which was my second screening, as I was lucky enough to hear the Minimalists live in Dallas last month) discusses why we should love people and use things, because the opposite never works.  There were many minimalists from tiny house residents to economists to sociological scholars extolling the virtues of a more intentional life, away from the trappings of more is better, wanting what they have, and not working to buy more and more.

Basically, the antithesis of my Texas brethren.  

As we have always believed more is better.  BIGGER is our motto (in seventh grade they taught us it was "friendship", but I think it has been reassigned).   A big house with rooms we don't use, a "butler's pantry" when no one I have ever heard of besides Batman has a butler, and yards that rival a fairway on a PGA course.  

The film didn't address Texas at all, as the filmmakers are from Ohio and live in Montana currently.  But I always think about the excess my people represent.  And why do we breed such excess?  What do we gain by having lots of stuff, especially more stuff than the neighbors?  Nothing really, but debt and storage issues. 

Think about the people you like.  Those you enjoy being around.  What were they wearing the last time you saw them?  You may have complimented it at the time, or noted it was a flattering outfit, but I bet you don't remember it.  What about their watch brand, or the version of their iPhone.  You haven't the foggiest idea.  

You like/love those people because of who they are. What they say. And how they make you feel about yourself when you're around them.  I don't want to be around people who make me feel inadequate, or that who I am isn't enough, or God forbid if my car sucks too much to even park in their driveway.  

I think the minimalists are my people because they care about what I have to say and how I feel about life and its intentions.  I like to think that Texas can do minimalism in a BIG way (like that irony, there?) because that's how we do things.  We can be examples of intentional living, of not needing twelve towels and a 5000 sf house to document our worth.   The Minimalists talk about not wanting to "convert" anyone, but merely to share their recipe and let others make it their own.  

I think my people, my Texas minimalists, can do this intentional decrapifying thing with our usual intensity and flair.  

Watch it Live the First Time: Quit Videoing Your Life!

Recently, I went to an outdoor concert with a girlfriend.  We don't always have a chance to talk without husbands, kids, or baseballs flying around, so we really enjoyed just visiting and spouting out whatever came to mind as we drove there and waited for the show to start.

It was a perfect early summer evening in Texas.  Pleasant enough for jeans and a tank top and no mosquito invasion!  A full moon was even rising over the Dallas horizon as the band was playing.  What a scene. 

Until the morons pulled out their phones.  

We were seated on the lawn of a big outdoor venue, and there were a bunch of folks around us.  When the headliner (Journey -- for their free plug) started playing, nearly every person in front of us held up their phone and hit "record".  And those iPhone 6Pluses are damn large.

So I am trying to watch the band (and the band's screens also, as the stage was far away from our lawn seats), and all I can see is a zillion screens of the same image ahead of me. Most of the phone holders kept readjusting their devices and swapping between photo and video mode. It seemed insane to me that they spent $40 and up to worry about their phone containing proof they were indeed AT the concert.  Some were posting the video on their social media platform of choice, which also is the LAST thing I will click on when scrolling through friends' posts.  You think I (or likely, anyone) wants to watch your shitty video of Coldplay from the cheap seats?  No, we don't.  I am speaking for all of us here.  

The sea of 3 inch screens was distracting, but mostly I thought, this is a great night and a great band, and you people are missing it!  And all you will have is your fifty video clips on your phone that you will probably never watch more than once after you post for all of us to not click on.    Silly people...

I find this to be the case at my kids' functions as well.  Parents are jockeying to get the best position for capturing little Agamemnon accepting his "Principal's Award" for 1st grade (what is that, anyway?  Your kid didn't bite anyone again this year?). Your kid knows you're there;  you WITNESSED the miracle of his award-getting.  Let's be happy in the moment, can we?   Must we record it all for broadcast or later proof?  Will we all suffer from memory loss and crave video and still photo documentation of our lives?  Unlikely.  And we are missing the first showing of the actual event. Like a LOT of the time.  

Same with sporting events.  I see parents setting up video equipment that Channel 5 would envy just to record the basketball game in case their angel gets a rebound.  Or a bucket.  And subsequently posting that uncut (please?) video for us all to see.  When you look at a game through your two orbital organs, you can see a lot going on.  Your eyes can dart to the bench to see if your kid's going in, watch the coach hitch his pants for the fifteenth time and check the scoreboard to note if the jack wagon 9th grader running it actually gave your team credit for that last free throw.  It's a super cool thing, watching a game.  With your phone in your pocket.  You're actually PRESENT.  And mindful of what's happening before you.

I know there will be protests to these blasphemous statements.  Folks will tell me how they DO watch those videos and their kids LOVE watching themselves!  "I could not BEAR it to not have a record of their first base hit/choir concert/spelling bee".  

I challenge you to let your brain remember most of those memories.  That's its job.  And you can verbally recount the times to yourself or each other.  "Remember when you hit that double against the Angels, and you puked when you got to second base??"  Kid is probably glad that hit the cutting room floor.  

As a minimalist, I savor experiences.  It may be the smell of my lavender in late May, a Journey concert on a summer evening, or watching my boy give the welcome speech at his high school graduation.  None of which I have on video.  But I DO have the moment.  

Be My Guest! (just not here...)

I was wondering how many of us have a guest room.  And by guest room, I mean a nice queen sized bed in a room that you don't use for other stuff (except you tell guests not to look in that closet, please).  The idea is when you host Christmas or Easter weekends, you will have an extra room for folks to stay that ISN'T your toddler's room with the extra twin bed, thereby eliminating having a guest in YOUR room by the name of your youngest child, royally pissed because Grandma GiGi has taken over his space. 

We have a four bedroom house, with four inhabitants.  Generous as we are, the Hubs and I are willing to share our room with each other, so that leaves one extra.  Originally, we thought, hey!  A guest room!  I made the bed all pretty and put lavender hand soap and decor in that side of the jack and jill bath.  We had a few guests, and when my Daddy came to visit he always had a place to bunk.  But about 355 of 365 days in the year, the room was vacant.  And it had to be cleaned/dusted. Air conditioned. Vacuumed. Furnished. Insured. Mortgaged.

You get where I am going with this, right?  While many guest rooms serve double duty as a music room, craft room (which was my mother's doing), or workout area, I have found that those of us who are "blessed" (I hate that expression) with the superfluousness of a guest room rarely enter it or use it for other functions.   

What a waste.  

Ours has become useful because somehow our younger son has what I call "crap creep", meaning much of his stuff has found its way into our "spare" bedroom.  We don't even kid ourselves that it's a guest room anymore.  My parents' old love seat from their home is their in lieu of a bed, and Boy #2 uses the room primarily as his parlor.  Desk for homework in there.  Guitar for practicing Led Zeppelin riffs.  It's his mini man cave.  

I can't really eliminate an extra room in our house to minimize, I realize.  So I take solace in the fact we are at least USING the room I am heating and cooling.  The idea of rooms not being used in a house really drives me nuts.  We don't have a "formal living" or a "breakfast nook".  We have one table at which to eat, and we use bar stools when the table is full.  And yes, at Thanksgiving, someone may not have a seat at the table.  And somehow we all still manage to be thankful.  

So where, you ask, will Aunt Edith and Uncle Earl stay when they come visit?  I mean, his back isn't what it used to be, and she just hates those lumpy hotel beds rife with bedbugs.  You can (1) give up your master suite and bunk with the kids, (2) send Edith and Earl to a nicer hotel with the cash you save from not having that extra square footage, or (3) have them stay at your sister's, because she doesn't read my blog.  Ah, the choices!

If you are downsizing out of want or or out of necessity, keep in mind you can only be in one place at a time when you eat or sleep.  Extra is really not that great once you do the math on cost per square foot.   Those "spare" rooms really are spare, and, if no one is even impressed enough to look at them, why do we care?

And get to cleaning out that guest rooms closet, too.  You KNOW they are going to look, even though you warned them not to!

Coffee. Now. Gimme. But Minimize.

For Mother's Day, I had the distinct pleasure of attending the Dallas showing of the Minimalists'  documentary, "Minimalism: A Documentary about the Important Things".  The Minimalists, Joshua Fields Milburn and Ryan Nicodemus, were there and did a Q&A after the screening.  I sat in my seat in the theater where Lee Harvey Oswald was captured after the JFK assassination (really, that's where it was) and thought "These!  These are my people."  Well, not EXACTLY my people, because I am not a 30-something hipster with cool glasses.  But they all were there for the screening, and we all lapped up what Ryan and Josh were ladeling out.  I highly recommend the film, which will be available soon for interweb purchase, so look that up: minimalismfilm.com.  It also is in release May 24 in many nationwide theaters, so catch it then.  

I listened to their podcast while on the road this week, and they had several references to coffee.  Let me preface this prattle by saying I have only been a coffee drinker about 8-9 years.  Which is truly blasphemy, I realize.  I grew up with parents who smoked Pall Mall reds and drank coffee like it was their life blood (which it was).  I must have associated coffee with smokes, because I spurned both.  

For some reason, I started a morning ritual with coffee after my mom died.  Maybe to honor her memory sans cigarettes?  Perhaps.  I began with the standard Mister Coffee drip thing. Matching my kitchen decor, of course.  Then came the K cup.  The three-times-more pricey appliance that makes your cup hot and ready to the tune of $0.45 to $0.65 a cup, depending on whether you buy at Costco or Fancy Pants Grocer.  With a button press, my love in a cup came pouring out to greet me.  A monumental discovery. 

Not minimal.   Like, at all.  

Back to the podcast.  The Minimalists prefer the pour over style of coffee, and pretty much said not only is the k-cup a huge ass waste, but it tastes like shit.  Oh.  I started to think about the french press I had always thought about using, because I heard they make great barista-like coffee.   I ordered some coffee beans from Ryan's favorite place in Minnesota (dogwoodcoffee.com) and had Amazon deliver my french press.  When the coffee arrives, I will let you know my review.  

While I sulkily look at my Keurig, me full of disdain and wasteful regret, I thought about the waste.  The sorry amount of coffee in a plastic cup that I wasn't even responsible enough to recycle.  Coffee shame spiral.  

So I am reforming.   I never looked at coffee as an art; I don't buy much at the 'Bucks.   I just like to drink it.  But I am trying to appreciate the nuances of grinding your own beans, fresh coffee via french press, and not tossing little 2 ounce empty cups in my trash.   Crap, I may be a middle aged mom hipster in the making.   

If you are a french press user, I welcome your comments and opinions.  If you are a minimalist AND a coffee consumer, I am happy to be on your planet.   

Reset to Zero

All this chatter about minimalism and de-crapifying may be leading you to say, "K.  I did that. All my crap's thrown out.  Livin' in a box.  Now what."  Today we will talk about de-cluttering your brain and resetting to zero.   

I saw a cartoon once with two panels:  one had a mom getting ready for bed.  She set the coffee maker, put the cat out, signed permission slips and placed them tidily in backpacks, laid out her clothes for the morning, took off her make up, and finally fell into bed.   In the other panel, the dad put himself in the bed.  Done.  

I realize the gender bias there, but it does seem to be pretty accurate. And of course, all this takes place AFTER the bedtime kid circus and its many encores. This is just the mom duty call sheet.  Today, I want to ask you to Reset to Zero.

Reset to Zero isn't MY construct.  I read about it on a post from exilelifestyle.com and I loved it.  The basic idea is this:  once a day, or maybe once a week you "reset to zero".  This includes several ideas.  Your email inbox to with NO messages. I know.  You're saying "Wha??  How???" Place them in appropriate folders if you cannot address the issue right now.  Make a category and move that message over.  Boom.  You're at zero.  

Another idea, of which I am very fond, is the nighttime routine to reset to zero.  For me this includes no dishes in the sink.  The dishwasher is set to run overnight, and the clean dishes from today are all in their respective drawers and shelves.   I set out cereal bowls, spoons and boxes for the morning repast.  The coffee maker is loaded, and my cup is waiting for the magical liquid breath of life to be deposited at the press of a button.  

I put away the clean laundry so no annoying wrinkled up balls of cotton and spandex are taunting me.  The dogs are in their crates, and food and water rest in their bowls ready for the morning.  My "mommy desk" is cleared of bills and receipts, and paperwork has a home in the file cabinet, my purse, or kids' backpacks.  

Lastly, I tidy my bathroom counter after my evening's ablutions.  No errant jewelry or moisturizers abound.  Everything in a drawer or its cubby.  I keep my reading glasses and a book next to my bed, phone on the charger (college boy is away so I need constant contact!), and set the alarm.  Reset.  

I don't watch TV after resetting.  Hubby not a huge fan of the TV in the bedroom at all, so I try to keep that off after my nighttime binge of House of Cards.  As the exilelifestyle.com guy says, this is sort of a minimalism one-off.  You don't have to throw anything away or do without to reset to zero, but it is a nice way to close your day and clear your head.   

I highly recommend you give it a whirl.  I realize it takes some pre-planning and effort.  I also realize your housemates may not be totally on board with 9 pm dish-doing.  Your mornings will be calmer and your nights likely more restful, knowing you're reset and cleaned up. Who doesn't want more calm and more rest?

Happy End of February, and let me know how your reset to zero is going! 
I love to hear your comments and stories.  Contact me at cowtownminimalist@gmail.com

Having versus Doing: Just Be There!

Lately, I have been pondering the psychology behind WHY we want to keep stuff.  Why does GETting things seems more desirable than DOing things?  What is hard to let go, give away, and live simply?  There's not a clear cut answer to that query. We all have our own story.  For example, my father-in-law grew up in the Depression, therefore possessions mark a sign of prosperity and abundance, and hellfire we ain't giving that up!  Not even the pool cover that hasn't seen a drop of chlorinated water since 1985. No sir!

For some of us with childhoods where our toy rations were meager, or our clothing elicited sneers and disdain from the popular crowd, the ability to buy what we wanted, even on credit, was a wicked temptress.  A closet full of seasons of outfits gives us a satisfaction soaked  "so there!"  But does that satisfaction last?  No. It does not. 

Because there is always someone who has more or better, and honestly, this is just our PERCEPTION of what is out there. A race we cannot ever win. The participants are innumerable and unidentifiable. Quit the race. Strive for something else to drench you in personal satisfaction. 

What should I strive for, you ask?  In two words -- mindfulness and experience.  Now these very nebulous and seemingly out of reach nouns may have many meanings to you. They differ for each of us.  But let me offer up an example for your consumption. 

This weekend we went to see our college boy in his college town to watch college basketball. The combination of those three college things is a formula for joy. Notice no material items have wandered into the picture. We stayed in my favorite boutique hotel, which I guess has "stuff" in it, but I look at that as more of a museum visit. Admire, maybe take ONE of their high-end brand hand lotions home, and depart. 

We got to witness two great things: one, our boy in a sea of excitement with thousands of other students. Watching a sport he loves to play and is knowledgable about, combined with the collective euphoria of a crowd experiencing a hard fought victory. Second, our alma mater on national television beating a historically awesome basketball powerhouse.  High fiving people you don't know. The deafening chants that cause vocal strain in all 12,000 spectators. I challenge you, if you haven't experience that kind of group fervor and thrill, to find it. Somewhere. 

It may not be a sporting event. It may be at a Broadway show where the ovation at the end brings unforseen emotion. It may be a graduation ceremony where the struggles to finish evaporate as the success washes in like a roaring tide. Regardless of setting, it is an experience. It is a feeling. You won't forget it. You'll recount the story to yourself and others again and again; the story always gets better with age anyway. And that story takes up no space. Except in your heart and mind, and that space is infinite. 

That day, reveling in victory and the smug happiness that we were THERE, made mindfulness a clearer picture to me. I didn't worry about facebook, what anyone else was doing (other than making sure college boy's girlfriend knew where he was sitting in the crowd to catch him on TV), or what would happen next week at work. All that was going on was right now: a great game, my family close by, and a memory bank deposit. Clothing, our car brand, or the size of our house were all immaterial. How freeing. 

This week, plan to make a memory bank deposit. And pack up your bags for 40 Bags in 40 Days. How is that progressing for you?  Remember, a drawer counts!  One cabinet where you eliminate the 50 plastic storage containers with/without lids is a success!  I guarantee you that a storage container will never give you comraderie, euphoria or mindfulness. Ever. 

Happy experiences to you this week!  Embrace the joy, not the crap. 

40 Bags in 40 Days Year 2!

Welcome back to the season of decluttering and paring down!  Here at Cowtown Minimalist, we pay homage to whitehouseblackshutters.com's 40 Bags in 40 Days decrapifying challenge.  It starts in alignment with the Christian lenten season, but by all means, I am open to anyone's faith or lack thereof to embrace this challenge.  The universe cares not where your faith lies, nor do I.  We want you to be at peace and organized.  

There is no need to feel burdened or pressured, worried about getting an ACTUAL bag done each day.  For me, I started slow, with a drawer.  The one in the bathroom.  With 10 lipsticks I don't wear and a few little lotion bottles I lifted from our Ritz-Carlton stay.   I pulled everything out, wiped down the inside, tossed the dried up or junky stuff, and proudly looked at my organized clean drawer.   Tomorrow, I will find another. 

The great thing abut 40 bags in 40 days is you CAN start small. By Easter, you may be hiring a dump truck to come and haul off your garage.  I will applaud you either way.  It is all a journey.  The website above even has a little chart you can download and write down each day's decluttering.  Maybe give yourself a gold star?  

Good luck, and I will be checking in with you along the way.  I have been incorporating a new philosophy described as "Reset to Zero" which I will chat more about soon.  Happy DeCrapifying!

Does Your Clutter Have a Theme?

Hell yes, mine does.   And after wandering the aisles at Hobby Lobby, I had an epiphany.  My crap is too themed.  I quickly pondered WWJD... which, of course, is What Would Joanna Do?  No disrespect meant to Jesus' decorating prowess, but I was referring to my muse, Joanna Gaines from HGTV's "Fixer Upper".  I realized that Joanna would NEVER push themes so hard!  Rooms need to flow!  Me?  No flow.  

My master bath had a "Hollywood" theme, replete with a picture of a girlfriend and me at the Hollywood sign in California.  Jump to the study, which is decorated in our alma mater's colors and knick knacks, and the walls are adorned with our sheepskins.  On to the kids' rooms, which of COURSE have themes.  Which they have outgrown.  Mine even have murals which cover an entire wall.  

Onward to the guest bath.  Cowboy.  Pictures, Hubby's first pair of boots, and a few frames with the kids in their hats and western get-ups.  In my defense, we do live on a ranch, so I felt obliged to at least have some ranch-y decor somewhere.  Even though it's in the bathroom. But I digress.  

My laundry room has a theme.  And it is NOT, in fact, laundry!  Hobby Lobby and its ilk has lots of cute laundry themed clutter, but I don't own it.  This is the room relegated to my vintage trailer theme.  I am a huge vintage glamper fan, and I have lots of pictures and little trailer decor scattered about my 8x8 foot washing haven.  

And I call myself a minimalist. Oops.  I think my membership card is about to be shredded and neatly disposed of.  

Back I went to channeling Joanna.  I have never seen theme-a-thon in the works in her fixer uppers.  She doesn't seem to ever have pictures sitting around except on the walls.  I have almost NO walls, so that's not a viable option for me.  But you should consider that. Minimally.   

I did some careful tossing, picture frame removal, and theme decamping (pun intended). I dismantled the entire Hollywood themed master bath, and I closeted some of the knick knacks I had purchased over the years JUST because "this would look cute in my (random room location)".  I am doing the eye roll at myself right now.  

I tend to "closet" things before I toss/donate for about a month.  If they hadn't crossed my mind or called out to me from the closet, they have to go.  Into the Goodwill pile, then to the trunk of my car to find their new home.  

I hope my True Confessions of my theme hoarding will help you see that your local decor store's siren song of bumble bee kitchen decor should be ignored.   Even when you have that 40% off coupon.  Resist your clutter themes!

New Year; Old Stuff

I love that all the websites, blogs and twitter feeds I follow are awash with organizational ideas and storage options in January.  When the Twelve Days of Christmas are over (feels more like 60), I am beyond eager to box up, tidy up, and throw out.  

As a pediatric nurse practitioner, I loathe January.  After more than twenty years of taking care of sick children, I am fully cognizant of the job security I face after Aunt Melba and Uncle Carl come to visit from Moline for the holidays and bring their geographically different brand of germs.  And infect the Texas people.  Then go back to their home.  And infect THOSE people.  And the cascade flows from there.  So, you may imagine why my tidying is an escape and a joy-bringer. 

2015 brought me to the realization that I had WAY too much stuff, partly because I faced the herculean task of cleaning out and selling my parents' home.  I had to cart a large portion of it to my own garage, house it, and ponder exactly WHAT to do with 50 years of books and tax returns dating back to 1972.  Seriously.  Now to Daddy's credit, the taxes were all exquisitely labeled and filed.  They were not tossed in a box.  But they were still to be dealt with.  

I silently, as well as vocally, told my family that would NOT be the case when I passed on to another plane.  My crap would be minimal!  Today, I share with you the things you should toss in homage to 2016, and as a favor to those who reside with you.  Our houses are plenty big. They hold too much stuff.  We need space and room to dance, not stacks of papers and DVDs.  
1.  Old bill stubs.  
If you paid it, there is proof somewhere online.  And who pays with a check now anyway?  You don't need your water bill from 2 years ago.  It's on them fancy internets.  

2.  Socks.  And underwear.  
A taboo subject, perhaps?  But if you don't like that bra because it rides up, or those socks are slippy down your heel, TOSS them. They are taking up space.  You won't wear them anyway. 

3.  Hot pads/pot holders
I had like four in a drawer which were kinda greasy and stained.  Washing did nothing to improve.  So you know what I did?  I threw them out and treated myself to new ones!  Bought at January white sale prices.  I have fewer than I did, AND they are all nice and not stain-y.  

4.  Tool box
Time to go through it and make sure you have relocated all the screwdrivers back to their home.  The kids took about three of your phillips heads during the holidays and NOW you can't locate a one.  Go force the pilgrimage back to the tool box.  Then, get rid of the errant screw and nails and repair kits that fit nothing that you still own.   You will be pleased when you need to nail in that class picture that you actually can do it same day.  

Let's start with these ideas.  They will keep you busy until my next post!  You have to find places for all those tiny toys Santa brought anyway.  Happy January!