journey into the unknown

Writers do not write to impart knowledge to others; rather, they write to inform themselves.

--Judith Guest, from the foreword to Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within.

When you write, you lay out a line of words. The line of words is a miner's pick, a wood-carver's gouge, a surgeon's probe. You wield it, and it digs a path you follow. Soon you find yourself deep in new territory.

You make the path boldly and follow it fearfully. You go where the path leads.

The writing has changed, in your hands, and in a twinkling, from an expression of your notions to an epistemological tool. The new place interests you because it is not clear. You attend.

--Annie Dillard, The Writing Life


As I read these words, I realize that writing is most interesting to me when it is an investigation, a search, an attempt to explain something or to find the truth.

It is truly amazing that in the process of laying down words on a page, gradually you find yourself making progress, you get somewhere you couldn't get by simply thinking, which tends to go in circles, wrapping around points of frustration or trailing off into dead end side tracks.

In each moment, write the truth you are sensing. Each moment recorded is a step. The best you can do is follow your nose. You are almost blind, but not quite.

learning about simplicity

I've always been a fan of orderly and simple environments.  I feel at peace when dishes are washed, clothes are folded, bills are paid, and the table top is clear.  

I'm discovering another type of simplicity.  If, in an effort to arrive at an orderly environment, my actions are hurried and unhappy, there is a lack of simplicity within me as I attempt to gain simplicity around me.  

Reading Thich Nhat Hanh recently has helped me to understand what slowing down means.  The book has been returned to the library, and I don't remember the title, just that the cover is battered and worn.   There is a chapter in the book where he suggests assigning a day every week to not speaking, and to doing things very slowly.  He describes what this day might be like:  bathing with care, boiling water, brewing tea, then drinking it slowly.

“Drink your tea slowly and reverently, as if it is the axis on which the world earth revolves - slowly, evenly, without rushing toward the future.” 


Rushing toward the future--that describes me in a nutshell!  In a way, I often live about 3 steps ahead of my body, which can't walk fast enough to keep up with where I wish I was.  

Finding simplicity in my life might mean inhabiting the present moment as fully as possible.  "Slow down" and "Live in the present" sound like cliches--I've heard them so often and thought they'd be something I'd have time for at some point, preferably once I achieve my ideal life.

In the moment when my mind is four steps ahead of my hands, I tremblingly inhale, exhale, and look down at the still life (still, very still) before me.  It is beautiful, in this moment, and I have permission to enjoy this moment, to see its beauty.  

Making supper tonight--I want to wash some greens.  I take down the big bowl to put in the sink, but a dirty dish is sitting there.  This is the moment where I choose.

I set the big bowl aside.   I'm eager to wash the greens, but I can take this moment to wash the dirty dish carefully, and enjoy seeing it become clean, and setting it to dry.  I'm not rushing to end this moment--I'm inhabiting it.

The moment before the one I am striving toward is a moment also.  I can miss it, or resent it for getting in the way.  Or I can experience it as fully as possible.  And the only way to do that is to not wish I was some place else.  

To actually enjoy this moment?  I feel a burden lifting, as if I was being granted permission to be here now, instead of rushing to somewhere up ahead.  A great gift--it feels like a vacation, because the present moment is so much simpler than racing through the obstacles toward the goal up ahead.  Maybe the only true beauty I can find, the only true simplicity, is simplicity of the present moment.

ups and downs and a parable that gets me through

We've been through a lot of changes in plans lately.  One plan disappears, another appears, disappears, the other plan reappears.  A dizzying, mental whip-lash-inducing series of changes in the imagined landscape.

This story struck me when I first read it (not in the same form, but the idea is the same).  It really helps to ground me and get me through excitement, disappointment, and anxiety in waiting for answers.

A man who lived on the northern frontier of China was skilled in interpreting events. One day, for no reason, his horse ran away to the nomads across the border. Everyone tried to console him, but his father said, "What makes you so sure this isn't a blessing?" 

Some months later his horse returned, bringing a splendid nomad stallion. Everyone congratulated him, but his father said, "What makes you so sure this isn't a disaster?" 

Their household was richer by a fine horse, which his son loved to ride. One day he fell and broke his hip. Everyone tried to console him, but his father said, "What makes you so sure this isn't a blessing?" 

A year later the nomads came in force across the border, and every able-bodied man took his bow and went into battle. The Chinese frontiersmen lost nine of every ten men. Only because the son was lame did the father and son survive to take care of each other. 

Truly, blessing turns to disaster, and disaster to blessing: the changes have no end, nor can the mystery be fathomed.  

The Lost Horse,
Chinese Folktale. 

As told by Ellen J. Langer, in" The Power of Mindful Learning," Reading, Mass: Addison-Wesley, page 99-100. (1997).

Truly, life is a mystery, and we can just open our eyes and watch how the mystery unfolds.  Maybe we can detach from labeling each event as good or bad, and just see what happens.   Whether an event is good or bad is something that changes with time, anyway.  It's a grand experiment.

simplicity

The word simplicity has always given me a euphoria.  By nature I feel overwhelmed a lot.  I can't keep up, and my life is already pretty simple.

The idea of simplifying further energizes me.

If we decide to live in a tiny house, perhaps 200 square feet or so, would our lives be simpler or more complicated?

I've never agreed with people who get rid of too much, and then don't have pots and pans to cook in.  I believe in keeping the tools of a handmade life.

But I wonder how much electricity I need.  I've recently become aware of EMF's and how they aren't very good for the electromagnetic currents in our bodies.

We like to listen to music, and who can live without the internet these days?  A fridge seems tough to live without.  That and a few (LED) lights.  Well we do still use a toaster although it uses a lot of electricity.

Do we need running water?  Yes, I think so.  Washing dishes should be enjoyable.  Heated water is also a good idea.  Constantly heating water on a stove top feels like a waste of time.

That said, there is a part of me that would like to live in a chop wood and carry water type of simplicity.  Candle light, fire light, pump and carry water, heat on a stove, take a bath in a basin that can then hang on the wall.  No wiring, no plumbing.

I would like to try this for a while as an experiment.

It's quite hard to envision transitioning to a life in a more rural place.  We live in a nice small town that is nestled between town after town.  (There are so many towns here that it is possible to live for 10 years in an area and not know the names of towns 15 minutes from you.)

I started looking at land for sale.  You really can't get much of an idea by reading a realtor's brief description and examining a few photos.  It's overwhelming to consider buying land that is 4-5 hours away.  The wise choice would be to rent in an area before buying, of course.  It just annoys me to enter into a rental contract and spend more money on rent from our savings.

In order to move, we'd cut off income.  We'd have to a) find a place to rent, b) look for land for sale, and still be thinking about c) what is our long term plan for income?

Image from http://www.econesthomes.com/

The long term plan for income would be dependent on the area we'd move to, because I'd like to do something connected to the local economy and local resources.  

However, it does seem unwise to purchase land before knowing what exactly we'd like to be doing.  So perhaps what we want to do should drive the decision about where to relocate.

I have started thinking about timber framing.   A school called Fox Maple in Maine teaches a week long workshop.  And a company called Econest in Oregon that specializes in timber frame houses with clay/straw walls.   Their houses and philosophy are Asian-inspired and the pictures are breathtaking.  They offer workshops too.

Finally, a type of building that truly agrees with me down to my bones.  I look through the many pictures I've saved in my inspiration folder, and suddenly I see that timber frames are all through it.  

And I hear that timber framing is like making furniture--and I think that maybe after I build a house for us, I could apply the same skills to putting furniture together.  Without nails or screws, with handtools.  In an ancient traditional way, built to last for a century or more.

I must chase down guides into this new life.  If anyone has suggestions about courses they'd recommend or other resources, I'd love to hear from you!

what do I want?

What is it that I'm looking for in that other life?  Am I just chronically dissatisfied?  Or do I have a good reason to want something different?  I need to put into words what it is that I want so I know what I am and am not looking for.

1.  To experience life on the land.   To grow food from the soil.  To build structures, possibly with stones, wood, or earth from the property itself.  To wash clothes and dishes in water collected from rain.   A composting toilet is also part of this.

2.  To be surrounded by quiet and privacy.  To not hear and smell neighbors.  To not see much of them.  To be able to do my thing without people observing and commenting.

Clarification.  Living in an apartment is a kind of hell for a highly sensitive person.  Living in a separate house next to others might be ok, although for me the typical suburban experience is still much too close to other people.  You still hear marital disputes, smell cigars and laundry softener and pool chlorine, hear lawn mowers and weed whackers.

I enjoy living in within walking distance of a store, post office, bank, or library.  I like to be able to walk in a neighborhood.  Some country roads are just not walkable at all.  And on the east coast, Lyme disease makes blazing trails through woods or meadows a little risky.  So do I want to live in town or in the country?  I guess I would like to live walking or biking distance from town, but surrounded by quiet.

3.  To not have a conventional job.  To live on land and in a house that is paid off, and to grow a lot of our produce, so that our expenses are minimized and we don't need to earn as much.  That would free us up to do what we are naturally drawn to do.

We are currently tracking our expenses, and if you take out rent we are already living on very little.  I do have a concern that moving to the country could mean spending a lot on gas if we are driving a lot to do things.  Hopefully we'd make infrequent trips for shopping and library.  And not commute to a job, unless absolutely necessary.

There was a time we were earned our money with jobs walking distance from our apartment.  There was something beautiful about that.

I have an idea of a small roadside store where we can sell surplus vegetables, furniture, and art.  That plus selling at a farmer's market could work for us.

To spend a lot of the day in solitude.  I'm learning that being alone is so relaxing.  I think it's my preferred work mode.

----

So I think those may be my big three.  My big motivators for what I want.  See, living mortgage free in a way precludes living in a town because houses cost a lot more in town.  So that's been another reason I've thought we'd live in the country, too.  Plus wanting to garden and to be free to build somewhat non-traditionally.  There are still restrictions in the country, but apparently a little more freedom.

Not having a conventional job--I still want to interact with society.  I want to be a part of a local economy, but on different terms.

I don't know exactly what I want to do.  I feel like I need time to feel my way in life.  I want the freedom to explore.  Needing money is pressure and it means less freedom.  Needing to pay rent is not freedom.  I want to be rent-free and low income and free to explore.

Thanks for listening.

washing clothes

Not long ago we did our once a month trip to the laundromat.  One or more of the machines we used was heavily loaded with fabric softener or fragrance loaded detergent.  As a result, we were sneezing as we folded clean clothes.

While getting a lot of clothes clean in one afternoon is appealing, there is a part of me that thinks of bedbugs when I am there.  I don't like sharing machines with other people.  It turns out that bedbugs aren't as much of a danger as fragrances.  The dryer kills bedbugs, but not softener.

Sunday I placed my two favorite linen shirts in a basin with warm water and (unscented) detergent.  I let them soak all afternoon and in the evening I hand-rubbed and rinsed them, then hung them on plastic hangers.  I smoothed them so they'd dry with fewer wrinkles.

By morning my shirts were dry and I hung them in the closet again.

If I wash my clothes once or twice a week by hand, they will last longer.  I will need fewer clothes and be able to wear my favorites more frequently.

I'm not sure why this delights me so.  It just feels so freeing.

quandry

I have a dilemma in my obsessive quest towards simple living.

Sewing Machine vs. Needle & Thread

Vacuum Cleaner vs. Elegant Broom

Typewriter vs. Pen or Pencil

Dishwasher vs. Dishpan

I'd prefer to have a handmade broom with grass bristles than a vacuum.  The broom could hang shaker style from a pegboard on a wall.

We broke down and got a vacuum cleaner last year when we were batting bed bugs.  In retrospect, I don't think it did much for us in that battle.  The exterminators did.  But...we have the vacuum now, and I do love how it sucks up cat hair from around chair legs and behind the couch.  I'll admit to really preferring vacuuming to sweeping, although it alarms the cats.  I'm not sure if it's faster but it's more thorough.

The sewing machine.  After moving so many times I'm exasperated with moving all these heavy things.  I use it once a month or less.  Right now I'm meaning to hem some jeans and alter some used shirts that are a little too big for my husband.  The last thing I can remember sewing were curtains that are now in use even though I never finished them.  Frayed edges are fine!

The bobbin winder no longer will wind, so I load a bobbin by hand now, the slow way.  I just think of how minimal a needle & thread is and there is a part of me that thinks it wouldn't be so bad to sew things up by hand.

I've designed a shirt in my head and would like to create it, but I think I could sew it by hand.  I read some tips about how to make hand-sewn seams stronger by backstitching every 5 stitches or so.

Same with the typewriter.  Sure, it's an antique east german typewriter that I picked up for a few dollars at a rummage sale.  But it needs a new ribbon which I have yet to order, and I've used the typewriter maybe 5 times total in the 2 years I've had it.  It's heavy.  I love the idea of owning a non-electric typewriter.  But I can just use a pen or pencil, right?

We don't own a washing machine.  Last year when we were renting a house, we contemplating buying one.  Fortunately we stuck with the habit of taking everything to the laundromat once a month.  As annoying as it was (and still is), I don't know many people who get their entire month's laundry done in 2 hours per month.

When the house flooded, we would have really had to struggle to save a washing machine.  We have learned that having less helped us adapt to changing circumstances.

In a short film we saw recently, a woman washes her clothes by hand and hangs them on a clothes line.  Then she takes a break to push her daughter on a swing.  I'm wondering if I have hand washing in my future.  I know it takes less of a toll on clothing.  Just a set of large basins hanging on the wall.  A washstand out doors.

I know I can do this if I don't have a real job.  Then I'll have the time to wash things by hand (right?).  Or does this all go out the window once you have kids?

I can dream.  I trade in the sewing machine, the typewriter, the vacuum cleaner.  In my tiny handmade wooden cottage, a needle in a pincushion adorns a shelf.  Pens and pencils sit in a cup next to a pencil sharpener.  A broom hangs on the wall next to the basins.