Really Feeling This Pincushion

Sometimes I feel like a human pincushion in a world of needles, violated from every direction–and as if that is, moreover, my sole purpose in life. Now, I know that choosing to look at things differently would result in a less painful sense of existence, as in: “X really sucks, but Y and Z are great, and who wouldn’t want Y and Z?” I know it’s not just me–so many friends and fellow bloggers are dealing with the barbs of life, too, valiantly charting their steps to happiness, serenity, solvency and simplicity, all in order to feel less pained by life and more in charge of it. Yet we all sometimes slip and draw blood, too.

Ideally, I’d prefer to be more like the wind than a pincushion, where the slings and needles of outrageous fortune would pass through, and never pierce, never puncture, never attach. It’s the attachments that are, literally and figuratively, the sticking points. The Pins and Needles are happy in their pinnyness and needlyness and it would never occur to them you are anything but happy to serve as their very own pincushion, perfectly suited for the sharpness of their jabs: after all, you’re still here, right?

But back to looking at it in a different way. Zen wisdom tells us that it is impossible to know what is good or not good for us, because even things that are not good can open the doors to something much better. How, then, can the pins be good?

Acupuncture! Each fine point that makes its way into my being serves a purpose, to help me correct misguided action, to help me heal myself, right? Some are inserted deeply, some shallowly, some are set to vibrate, all located to get the old qi going in the right direction. It’s not supposed to hurt, though.

Tats! Maybe all the needles are leaving, figuratively speaking, designs upon my psyche instead of scabs and scars? I’m not sure I’d want to see the results. One of the nice things about the human brain is the possibility of forgetting, or of the memory of pain diminishing with time (like women who can face having more kids).  Nah. My psyche is a Permanent Record, and I would prefer not to see a lot of painful marks upon it.

Injections! Could the Needles of Life be inoculations, moments of pain that reward me with immunity against further sufferings, cures for neuroses, anaesthesia for heartaches? Or maybe they threaten to become a “fix,” and one that’s more frightening than fun? I suspect they’re more likely to deliver truth serum.

Sewing! Hmmm. That’s more like it. They are just pins and needles, after all. Pins that hold together the different pieces of life, and the different points of view. Needles are there to sew everything together with some threads of meaning, to mend the holes, to alter what doesn’t fit anymore, to redesign what one no longer likes.

As a writer, I’m a pincushion. I compulsively examine each pin, to consider just how I feel about it. The particular pattern and number of pins that have been stuck in me have inked my point of view, rechannelled the flow of my thinking, and have optimized the conditions for a healthy imagination (or warped, as it may). Of course, as a writer I spend far too much time at my desk, and will no doubt come to look like a plump, overstuffed blob covered in fabric!

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The Intersection of Light and Silence

Sacred spaces are not exclusively places of worship, but they are places where we are more keenly aware of an existence outside the mundane, the temporal, the profane. They can be found in nature and in manmade structures, and surely they can be found in other parts of the universe. Yoga and meditation can even help us find such spaces within the infinity of our own minds and bodies. Sacred spaces can be collectively recognized, such as Mecca, or recognized by only ourselves, such as a spot in a garden, or in a room of one’s own. It’s the place where we just know.

A common experience among those who have decluttered is a heightened awareness of the value of space and time. By facing the collected detritus of shopping, waste, and distractions, we give ourselves a chance to restore harmony with what is most important in our brief lives, and to improve the quality of our lives by making much more of what time and space we have. Space and time take on such value that they can be considered sacred concepts. Both are needed, I think, to properly experience the other.

There are many ways of selecting or arranging spaces for ultimate benefit, such as feng shui, and other traditional methods. Consciousness of the spirit of a place, the genius loci, is part of Western pre-Christian belief, bits and pieces of which have hung on and found their way into philosophy and even landscape architecture. Sometimes the spiritual is emphasized, and sometimes the rational–the genius loci seldom refers to a local deity anymore, but to the natural and logical way any given space is used, its traditions and history, and the physical particulars, such as the lay of the land, the water, rocks, trees, native species, and the quality of the light. Capturing this sense helps to create well-loved parks and public gardens, within which many people can find “their” spots.

Personal sacred spaces are those which speak to our specific needs, whether spiritual, psychological, or physical. I’ve had several in my life, often stumbling across them without realizing I even needed them, only knowing that they were “my” spots: among them were a copse of trees on the farm where I grew up, the end of a pier on the gulf side of Florida, the end of a long table in the reference room of a university library. They are long gone, these spots, but seem as real as yesterday in my memory. I did some good work and thinking in those places, and they helped restore me when times were difficult.

The idea of sacred spaces came up because we have just rearranged the living room for the first time in about a year and a half, and I’m once again sitting in the spot where I sat when I first started this blog and a few other creative projects. The difference between the feel of this spot and where I have been sitting for the past 18 months is striking. Within an hour of enjoying the rearrangement, I could feel my mental energy shifting gears, feeling simultaneously calmer, clearer, and more energized. Obviously this was a better spot for me to sit than the other one. I didn’t realize it, however, until I returned to it, bringing with it the sensation of being “my” spot that I recognized from having had “my” spots in the past.

From here I considered if there were other special spots in the house, and realized that the whole house could be considered a sacred space to a certain extent, but only since we went minimalist. Excavating the excessive stuff of life literally carved out the space for the sense of sacredness to occur. Even when a room gets messy and cluttered again, it retains a certain sensibility because the mess and clutter are not overwhelming the space, not smothering the life out of it. There’s no longer enough stuff left to take over a space in that dangerous manner, and the amount of time needed to restore its harmony is rarely more than the amount of time one would give to a period of contemplation. This might be why housework itself has taken on a much different sensibility than it had before–it now has more in common with devotions than chores.

Two things stand out: sacredness of space is fragile, and sacredness of space can be restored. One needn’t live so minimally that no activity beyond sipping a cup of tea or meditating can occur within our homes–laundry can accumulate, sloppy meals can be made and eaten, parties can be thrown, crafts or fix-it projects can hang around for a bit, and drawers can get packed pretty tight again. But proportions are what’s crucial, the balance between space, time, and the stuff of ordinary life.

There needs to be enough stillness, enough emptiness, for the sense of sacred space to emerge and re-emerge. In those spaces we are most likely to grow into our best selves, to be happy, to be creative, to be generous, and to make the most of our precious time.

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An Option I Didn't Know We Had a Couple of Months Ago

Unlike a lot of other Minimalists, we still have a tv, and watch it regularly. And yes, it’s a fairly good-sized flat screen Sony Bravia, cost a lot of money at the time, and I’ve never been in any hurry to throw it out the window, even when the programming has been less than stellar. We like to watch movies via Netflix DVDs on a screen that is easy on the eyes. We like getting the news, a few laughs, and watching good movies, and getting a feel for what is going on in American culture and politics–all of which can be had, at least up to a point, by watching television.

But only up to a point. The increasingly annoying commercials and insipid shows have been wearing thin for a long time. The only reason we even had Basic cable was because I need closed-captioning, and captions via antenna reception have always been unstable in this area. Once local channels went from analog to digital, however, the captioning actually got worse! Even PBS stations failed to broadcast many programs that were listed as closed-captioned. And captions on programs have an annoying delay of 5-10 seconds, then all go by in a blur as they catch up to the dialogue. This may be a problem unique to Comcast cable, but I don’t know–hard to compare when there’s a local monopoly. The only way around this is streaming, and since our DVD player was about to bite the dust, it was time to either replace it or to attempt all streamed content–but not both.

Streamed video, however, is notorious for its lack of captioning, whether on a computer, through Netflix or other services, or via YouTube and other online options. In fact, Netflix has been doing such a slow job providing captioned content that they were sued in mid-2011 for not meeting the terms of the ADA, either in the spirit or the letter of the law. They have since stepped up the process in recent months. Hulu, a streaming service that specializes in TV programming, has a pretty good selection of captioned shows, but it’s still only a fraction of their total offerings. Heck, it’s even been hard to get captioned videos of TED talks. And if any of you have put videos on your blogs or courses, chances are I’ve opted out of that part of things.

Nonetheless, we decided to give it a try. Streaming to a TV set requires a “box” such as one from Netflix, a Wii, Playstation or similar gaming device, or dedicated devices such as the Roku, which is what we decided on, as it was the least expensive option. The Roku is a tiny thing, about the size of a small can of tuna. Once it was hooked up, we got online to change our Netflix subscription to Unlimited Streaming, which is $8 per month. The selection of streamed captioned films isn’t bad at all, and seems to be increasing by around thirty titles per day. Hulu Plus is a $8 per month, as well, and is the version that works with the Roku.

We are currently enjoying the series Lost from beginning to end, with minimal commercials, and can finally watch all the episodes of Arrested Development and Dr. Who that we missed when we downgraded the cable service years ago. The Roku also comes with its own Channel Store, with a pretty decent selection of both free and low-price channels, which includes Amazon, many international and foreign-language channels, sports channels, and all sorts of movie and specialized channels. The Roku model we have also came with Angry Birds, and a remote similar to the Wii’s. There are several games available, and the company plans to specialize in $5 games. We are not likely to spend much time on gaming, but it does make a nice occasional change of pace.

Going without network/broadcast TV for the first time in 56 years, however, makes me feel a bit like I’m on another planet–it’s interesting, not all bad, but definitely unfamiliar. It’s certainly a change in my habitual expectations, if not actual habits. Watching what you want when you want it is a very different thing than being familiar with the “TV Lineup,” the TV Guide listings, or the local listings in the newspapers. It’s different than having your viewing patterns shaped by “The New Fall Season” of shows, interrupted by endless reruns of “holiday” programming, sports programming, and Sweeps Week. It’s different than TiVo, too, which still requires an awareness of all of the above.

In fact, this whole change in viewing style has convinced me more than ever that the great machine of consumerism is the problem with TV, not only in the excessive commercials, but in the entire structure of the world of programming: the timing of the shows, the test-marketing, the pandering to focus groups and corporations alike. Anticipation surrounding new shows is built up like Christmas, with advertising and well-placed news articles months in advance, creating a seasonal calendar of “events” that people talk about on Facebook or over the water cooler. When your friends and colleagues are abuzz with talk about Glee, it’s natural to see for yourself what the fuss is all about. And then you’re caught up in it.

Stepping back from the advertising and the viewing calendar makes me feel a little bit like the Clint Eastwood character, The Man With No Name, going off my own way, taking what I want and not taking what I don’t want, and being perfectly aware of the contradictions in my actions without getting overly hung up about it. I mean, I kinda did the same with Christmas–stepped back from the shopping and presents thing and minimalized the time-sucking decorating and forced gaiety. And it was worth it–we had a great holiday season, a mix of relaxed socializing, a family meal, puttering, eating fun food, and watching loads of Lost–all of it on our own terms. Streaming–TV on your own terms–takes the mindlessness out of watching TV without leaving behind the fun, as well.

And I wanna have fun, as much fun as possible

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Biding My Time

When you write a lot, the flow lets you write even more. This goes on happily until something comes along to stop it in its tracks, whether it is writer’s block, a life event, or little things like a leaking roof or a sick cat. Trying to get back into the flow can take a while, especially if the interruption occurred during the crucial early parts of a new project or a new phase of an existing project. But that’s okay. When it happens often enough, you come to realize that the flow does indeed come back, and it’s best not to worry about it too much. A good way to wait it out is to just touch base with your people, writing an update like I’m doing with this post

I spent November participating in the National Novel Writing Month, and am happy to say that I reached my 50,000+ words, as the badge at left attests. I was also pleasantly surprised to learn that winners also had the opportunity to purchase the writer’s software called Scrivener at half price, and to get five print copies of one’s novel for free from CreateSpace, both of which I plan to take advantage of very soon.

Scrivener has a one-month trial download, complete with tutorial, which I’ve done and it is pretty comprehensive. When my “flow” comes back, I plan to use it for the second draft of the novel that I wrote in November, and hope that it doesn’t cause me to lose my flow all over again in the midst of the learning curve.

The Minimalist Woman’s Guide to Having it All is selling like hotcakes over at Amazon, and my cookbooks are gradually increasing in sales, too. I’m planning to have another book or two up for sale in the next few months, but will not commit to their topics at this time. (I thought I would have my latest cookbook done eight months earlier than it happened, because I set it aside in favor of another project–so now I know better than to announce something before it’s imminent.) Other projects that are humming long with this blog include ghostwriting and generally raising hell on social and economic justice issues.

Also on the selling side of things, we finally, finally, finally sold one of our two 13-year-old vehicles, after going back and forth about which one to sell for at least three years. We sold the car and kept the SUV, as every time we turned around we needed to haul Steve’s large paintings or things like a new water heater. It is also a great vehicle for getting through snow drifts and I find it easier to get in and out of on creaky days. And it’s red. People often just did not see the car, which was pale metallic grey, leading to some nerve-wracking near-accidents. I do have to admit it is weird to not see that car hanging around after owning it so many years. On the up side, it’s nice not to worry about the car that is parked on the street all the time, or to worry about having two major old-car repairs happening simultaneously.

On the buying side of things, I have acquired a Kindle Touch, and am enjoying it immensely. Too many hours on a computer screen has of course caused eye strain. With the Kindle I can read tons of things, not just books, on an e-ink screen, complete with control over the font size. I have a lot of RSS feeds of others’ blogs, and use Readability to select posts, as well as articles from online newspapers and magazines, and send them to the Kindle.

I chose the Touch over the non-touch model because it was easier for me to type in the search bar, as opposed to a sort of scrolling. You can even access your home pages and email service via Kindle, and the Touch keyboard is sufficient to write and send brief emails, as well. Awesome. My one complaint is the cost of covers for this device. Decent covers average $30-$40, and one with a built-in light is $60. Reviews of these products are mostly positive–but nearly unanimous that the price is too high for what you get. If there are designers out there looking for a new competitive product niche, now’s your chance!

The holidays are blessedly quiet at Chez MinWoman. In many ways, Christmas doesn’t seem to have anything to do with us, because we are not religious, there are no small children in our circle of family and friends, and we have all stepped back from the insanity of shopping. In addition, I’ve been sticking to my diet pretty well, so making lots of baked goods and eggnog and Chex mix isn’t happening this year. I’ve promised my husband a batch of chocolate chip cookies, and that will be the extent of the baking.

Here’s wishing you and yours a lovely holiday, with a minimum of strife and insanity, well within your means, and with plenty of time to just breathe and do it your way. The “flow” will come back in its own good time ;D

And thank you so very much for being a reader, for all your support.

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Waiting for the Moment to Make Things Right

Being Right is a life or death deal for a lot of us. Plenty of self-help and relationship advisors have pointed out that arguments start and escalate because it is so hard to let go of the need to be right, to have our opinion of what is right prevail. Some people are more prone to this than others; for them, successfully asserting their Rightness and getting everyone to agree that they’re right is a validation of ego, of existence. The harder they fight to Be Right, the more likely this is the case. Any number of things can cause them to be like that, from simply not knowing any other way to be in the world, or from being fed up after a lifetime of caving to someone who needed to Be Right.

American culture is particularly rife with Being Righters, as it rewards individualism above the collective good, rewards the patriarchal/matriarchal group/family structure, worships heroes, and gives equal weight to all arguments, no matter how specious, because each individual is entitled to assert his notion of right. This makes our culture particularly prone to letting the loudest voices or the richest voices win–not the voices speaking for everyone’s best interests, or the most logical ones.

Being Right forces all one’s eggs into a single basket of convictions. At its most extreme, this person must win the argument at all costs, even if it means alienating others, of going it alone, or resorting to underhanded tactics to undermine or demean the people who don’t agree with him.

It takes a lot of energy to maintain Being Right at all costs. You have to know all the possible angles that could be argued and have the answers ready to shoot, to be able to dismiss or batter down any opposition that arises. When you interact with someone else who is also stuck on Being Right, oh dear. The battles are fierce, loud, and exhausting. Neither party can back down, there’s too much at stake for each of them. Even if one of them doesn’t actually need to be right, he or she definitely needs to not be swallowed up by the one who does.

Sometimes it is hard to fight against the person who needs to Be Right, especially when their arguments are flawed, their facts wrong, their intents selfish, and their world view is just plain surreal. You don’t necessarily have a better argument, or all the facts, or altruistic intents, or a completely objective world view yourself, but when confronted by a crazed Being-Righter, it seems like you only have two choices: fight back, or cave.

A third choice might be Making Things Right. This means being focused on the Big Picture, rather than on Self. Making Things Right does not look for the individual “win,” the position of authority, the illusion of control, or the glory. It’s a completely different mindset, one that is less stressful, less mentally cluttered. It’s when you can ask yourself, what is the desired outcome here? From there you guide your responses toward that outcome.

Making Things Right usually means keeping your cool, but not always–sometimes the expression of anger is the only way to stop wrong in its tracks. Likewise, Making Things Right is not at all the same as Making Nice, which is worse than just plain caving.

Making Things Right is the direct expression of truth, and being willing to look the Being-Righter in the eye and saying: No; I disagree; I don’t believe that; I don’t know if that is the case; That has not been my experience; and You are wrong. And when they start trying to shout you down or buy your compliance, be unafraid to walk away.

It isn’t always easy to Make Things Right. Sometimes we’re stuck with these people, who are truly toxic, unless we’re willing to completely walk out of their sphere of action, whether it’s our family unit, our place of employment, or a neighborhood bar.

The needs of Being Right and Being Understood are very different things. As a deaf person, I have often confused the desperation of someone who is trying to make himself understood to me with an attempt to just Be Right, and I know hearing people have faced this gap of understanding, as well, for various reasons. These folks are more concerned with not being misrepresented, so it sometimes pays to give them the benefit of the doubt and honor them with a genuine attempt at understanding, even if you still end up disagreeing with them. Of course when you do that, you’re automatically Making Things Right.

Needing to Be Right is a stressful way of living, fraught with mental and emotional clutter. Nearly all of us have felt this need to one extent or another. It’s defensiveness, pure and simple. Sometimes it’s sneaky, lurking below our cheerful selves until it is brought out by the slightest perception of threat to our cheerfulness, unfolding like a Transformer robot into an argumentative killing machine. But it can be tamed, with some mindfulness and self-honesty. And that, once again, means you’re on your way to Making Things Right.

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That Was the House That Was

Our little 1920 house sits on a corner lot very close to the charming old downtown of a small Indiana city. There was an abandoned bungalow right around the corner when we moved here five years ago, but that was soon torn down. The city bought the lot, and the lot of another house next to it that was already torn down when we moved here, with the intention of turning those lots into an extra parking lot for the YMCA across the street from our front door. The YMCA decided, however, to build a new facility and moved away to the north side of town, so instead of a parking lot there is a nice big swath of green space behind our house. Past the green space there is a small older parking lot for the the city hall by day (and for the community theater across the street by night), and past that (making it the corner of our block on the next street down) there is an abandoned two-story apartment building.

Or, there was. A large piece of machinery suddenly appeared one day, huddled up next to the old building, and every so often someone operated it, using the scoop bucket to rip down the sides and porches, and moving the debris into a huge dumpster. The picture above is from a few days ago. As of yesterday, the building is completely gone, the foundation hole has been filled in with clean sand, and we can see all the way from our street to the corner house on the next street over.

The first day the walls came down, the entire block smelled like a charnel house, reeking of dead animals, rotting wood and paper, years of damp and neglect. Its very existence was not only a downer in ways everyone could see, but it was also quietly cursing the neighborhood with its foulness. It affected us much less than the folks who lived next to it, but it was there, it was visible from our garden and side doors. We passed it all the time because we’re on a one-way street and we need to turn at that corner if we want to go in any other direction.

With every derelict house that comes down, the neighborhood feels a little lighter, a little less bogged down by sadness and tragedy. Every house, whether old or new, in good condition or bad, has its stories of happiness and sadness, of celebration and despair. When sadness and tragedy prevail in any house, decrepitude sets in, and often, finally, abandonment and decay. And there they stand, these old monuments to the worst in life, weighing down our minds and microcosm, holding us back from fresh air, beauty, health, and hope. We have to let them go, and even forcibly remove them–to release the places of sadness back to the universe, to allow something better to come of the space that remains. The process might take time and release some noxious stuff, but when the dust settles, it’s like seeing a brand new world.

The guy who lives across the street from the torn-down apartment house has only lived there for a couple of years, but he goes all out on holidays, bedecking his house with lights. I don’t think it is a coincidence that he doubled the number of lights a couple of nights ago. When we look out that way, or drive by, this is what we see now:

A Monument to the Wisdom of Moving On

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How to discuss the important things in life.

My inner curmudgeon has been having a field day of late; I’m sure there’s something in the water around here, which I make palatable by brewing a cup of tea (Earl Grey at the moment). Or maybe it’s just me. But c’mon, let’s be honest, you’ve experienced these situations:

“How are you?” is asked 99% of the time by someone who doesn’t actually give a s^&*. Yet there you are, knowing that they don’t really want to know the actual answer to the question, yet they feel compelled by the norms of polite society to ask. What’s polite about doing that? So I take it the next step in my head and give the questioner the benefit of the doubt, thinking that maybe the question is genuine, and then pulling back before I humiliate myself by actually answering the question with something other than a plastic smile and a drawled “Fiiine.” And a nod, of course, and quickly ask the same of them, whether I really want to know or not. That’s how it is done and it is annoying, isn’t it?

“How do you feel?” Answer this one truthfully when asked by anybody other than a nurse in a hospital, and you answer at your peril. Even the nurse in the doctor’s office really doesn’t give a rat’s ass, it’s just a formality. Unlike the question above, one does not in turn ask the nurse how she feels. Or the doctor–don’t ever, ever make that mistake, they really don’t like it, and it could complicate your diagnosis.

“Are you happy?” is one that sends me screaming and running into an existential no-man’s land where first happiness needs to be given a definition, then a context, or maybe the it’s the other way around. Happiness to me is relative, and I’m not at all sure any questioner intends the definition I work with. I always feel like I am supposed to answer in a positive way, like “Yeaaah,” with a smile and a nod, but often I just stammer, which of course makes the questioner think I am not happy, when in fact I am not necessarily not-happy. I have to fight the tendency to answer this question with another question, even an aggressively rendered, “Are you?”

“Would you like some coffee?” when visiting someone who hasn’t actually made any yet. The questions whirl in my head: will I be putting them out, do they want coffee or something themselves, or maybe they prefer tea but they think more people like coffee so they offer to make that, is it too late in the day for caffeine, if I say yes will they make the abomination called hazelnut coffee and I won’t be able to rid myself of the taste and smell for the next three days? If it’s a really good friend, I’ll say yes, but generally back down if it isn’t. Asking, “What kind is it?” seems ungracious. But the hazelnut coffee fad seems to have subsided, thank my lucky beans.

(Here I take a moment to enjoy my 60-calorie “teacake”: 1 tablespoon of low-sugar raspberry preserves–25 calories–spread on 1 plain rice cake–35 calories.)

“Do you have a Rewards Card with us?” means the moment I say no I am going to be subjected to the spiel for getting me to sign up for one, when all I want to do is get the hell outta there with my printer ink and on with the rest of my life. Maybe I should just fling an aggressive, “Do you?” at them. I’ve lied and said yes, but I left it at home, but now they say they can credit a rewards card online if I give them my phone number. Sigh.

“Paper or plastic?” when there is a substantial collection of my own canvas shopping bags in a pile right in front of the bagger. What century is he/she in???

Feel free to add your own

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1 Egg, 2 Eggs, Etc.

Okay, everybody, Minimalist Cooking 2: 27 More Practical Recipes is now officially published, available here on the blog and also on Amazon.com and Smashwords. It focuses on one-pot and one-dish meals, in keeping with the Minimalist Cooking goals of simplicity, serenity, and keeping messes under control. The main-dish recipes include soups, stews, skillet casseroles, and savory pies, and are loaded with veggies. Two-thirds are meatless/vegetarian, and ten are vegan-friendly. There are also several recipes for quick and easy muffins to enjoy on the side.

Minimalist Cooking 2 is priced at $2.99, and we’ve lowered the price of the first book to $2.99, as well. As always, if you have any questions, just contact me and I will see what I can do to help. If you want to spread the love, a nice review at Amazon is always appreciated.

With love, hugs and comfort food,

Meg

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Attention: Fruit!

Food for thought, thought for food,
Makes a better attitude.

At least I keep telling myself that. Like just about everyone else who goes through dietary issues and changes, I get cranky and grumpy and tired of thinking about it, and yet can’t stop thinking about it at every turn, because it’s my food! Making it even more challenging, I’ve just finished writing my second cookbook, Minimalist Cooking 2, which will be available at Smashwords and Amazon.com in the next few days (and I’ll do a post complete with links when the time comes). So it’s been an intense two months of thinking about food, cooking food, having Steve photograph food, and writing about food, all while adjusting my personal intake of food to gluten-free vegetarian and a lot less of it altogether. Five pounds down, eight to go–fighting weight, here I come!

The former fashionista in me is looking forward to the day that I get to buy new jeans. This leads to thoughts about shopping for clothes, and of course if you have been reading this blog for a while, you are aware of my love/hate relationship with clothes shopping. So here we are: thoughts on food lead to thoughts of shopping. What fun, eh? I am glad that by the time I am ready for new jeans, I won’t have to face the low-slung styles which were the only available choice the last time I wore the next size down. I know that Helen Mirren is ten years older than me and still sports a bikini, but that’s Helen freaking Mirren, who can render camera lenses cloudy and soft-focused with a mere glance. Or maybe she really is all that, a goal too lofty por moi.

Honestly though, I don’t have anything to complain about in the larger scheme of things, being not overweight to begin with, and still being in the stage where lifestyle changes can make a big difference without entering the world of juggling layers of medication, and in fact I have been weaning myself off of a lot of meds I was already taking. No, I am the spoiled-rotten lover of food having to face up to how bad a lot of it is for me, and having to do some serious attitude adjustment. Of course I can’t vent about it in the cookbook :}

Venting can be done here, and up to a point in other sorts of writing, which I’m indulging in at the moment. It’s National Novel Writing Month, where the goal is to write 50,000 words in thirty days; I’ve been an on-and-off participant for the past six years. This year is different, though, because this is the novel that is going to see the light of day. I think. That’s my intention, anyway. (Nice dance back from that commitment, hm?) To make it more likely to happen, I’m using Alan Watt’s writing guide The 90-Day Novel. In Watt’s guide, the first 30 days is all about getting the words out as directly and quickly as possible, and not worry about rewriting and editing and over-thinking the thing, and that meshes perfectly with NaNoWriMo. He also provides tons of prompts to get the flow of words going on those days my brain is as blank as the computer screen. Of course I’ve already broken one of his rules by mentioning that I’m even doing this, but I don’t get too hung up on that sort of thing. Everybody knows I’m a writer, and writer writes, so it’s no big deal to say I’m writing. Right?

Anyway, writing a second cookbook began with the decision to expand on the ideas that I presented in the first one, thus it is called Minimalist Cooking 2: 27 More Practical Recipes. It took a while to decide which recipes from my collection were going in and which were not, and to see if a particular focus revealed itself. That turned out to be one-pot and one-dish meals, which was great because I do love that sort of cooking and eating. A lot of my recipes are from my commercial cookery days, so had to be rewritten for the home cook and in smaller proportions, and they also needed detailed instructions.  I think I did this project just in time, because I was starting to forget what I meant by some of my shorthand instructions!

Now that the cookbook is done, it is easier to focus on learning some gluten-free recipes, getting creative with the no-meat thing (and mostly no-dairy), and threatening the bathroom scale with being tossed under the next cement truck that goes by if 1200 calories a day doesn’t show some results. Excuse me while I go make some cinnamon herb tea and pretend it’s a sticky bun. Aaaaarrrrrrggggghhhh!

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maybe there's some bounce left in the old thing

Ten years ago on Halloween I bought the Red Ball on impulse at a K Mart or Target or some such place. I remember how I was feeling that day, very happy and free and full of life and hope. I was picking up candy for trick-or-treaters when I spotted the tall display of big bouncy balls at the end of an aisle of toys. They were on sale, dirt cheap, and the bright colors reminded me of how delighted I was when I got one as a small child. It was a direct and almost primeval joy. I wanted the bright red one, and managed to extract it from the pile without causing an avalanche, and tested it out right there in the store. It proved to be one of those perfect, iconic, bouncing balls, big enough to make me feel like a kid, bouncing high as my head with little effort. It was the symbol of the day, of my life at that moment, and it’s been hanging around in my house, in the living room or dining room, ever since, a big round red conceptual dot in the decor’s composition.

More precisely, it hung around until it didn’t hold air anymore, and then it was replaced three years ago by Red Ball #2, which was slightly smaller, not as bouncy, and a slightly darker red. It mostly lurks under the dining room table and gathers dust, but it’s there. Every so often I get it out and give it a couple of bounces. #2 is already losing air.

Most of the things I was hopeful for when I purchased the first red ball have materialized: I wanted to expand my creative life, I wanted to meet someone and maybe even get married again, and I wanted to just live a more interesting life. I did get far enough along with my art to have shows and sell paintings and sculptural assemblages. I did marry the guy from England that I was chatting with online in between handing out candy to trick or treaters. Life did expand in the right direction in some ways, some of it the natural result of this blog. It also constricted in other ways, as a result of health and the economy. So Red Ball #2 is probably a good symbol of things right now–simple and good, if not as bright and bouncy as it was at the start.

Sometimes I wonder whether I should replace Red Ball #2 with Red Ball #3, or if it is an icon that has outlived its significance. It feels as if a hundred years have passed in the space of ten; life could hardly be more different. The things I wish for now are very different, and have more to do with seeing my way through to a basic level of success and security, from which a lot of other good things could expand. A more appropriate icon might be a piece of large road paving equipment, or a snowplow, although that seems a bit too aggressive, not to mention expensive and not very minimalist.

No, I think I will stick with a big red bouncy ball–replacing it as needed–not only for the aesthetics, but I’d miss it if it wasn’t around. It’s a simple symbol of persistence as well as hope, a bit of constancy in a world that’s always changing in so many large and small ways. And it’s fun to give it a few bounces every now and again

Do you have something “different” hanging around that’s a symbol of something important to you?

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