I love minimalism and simplicity for several reasons, and a big one is so I don't overtax my personal system. The less stuff I have to fall over, clean and curate, the less likely I am to get frustrated and lose my temper. The less there is in the diary, the less anxious I am about being late or when commitments overrun. The less cluttered my house is, the greater the possibility that I will, at some point, get round to cleaning something (although it most probably won't be today).
This has been a very wet winter, and a lot of people are facing issues of mould in their homes. Doubtless this is exacerbated by the misguided enthusiasm for UPVC replacement windows and insulating cavity walls and attics, but I'd better not get started on that. If you've made your home into a Tupperware box, well it will get condensation and the mould that goes with it, no?
Off our kitchen is a small pantry. The previous inhabitants of the house used to keep their fridge in it. Consequence? They couldn't get at it to monitor the reservoir at the foot of the fridge (at the back), so it grew a slime mould, overflowed, leaked consistently, and now the joists have rotted and need replacing. So we removed a cupboard in the over-fitted kitchen to create a space for our fridge. But because the kitchen is over-fitted, there's nowhere to put a bin (in fact two, for separating recycling from trash). So we put the two bins in the pantry. The over-fitted kitchen includes very high upper cupboards, for which we needed a little stepladder. There's nowhere to store it but the pantry. We take the compost scraps out to the garden compost heap every other day or so, which requires plastic clogs because the garden is wet because it's been raining all the time. My husband and I have different size feet. I don't mind wearing clogs that are too big, but he does, and my feet are bigger than his. So we have two pairs of clogs. There is nowhere to put them but the pantry. A family member returned a folding garden table I'd given her, as she was no longer using it. It's very useful, but only on an occasional basis. I couldn't think of anywhere to put it but the pantry. Did I mention, this pantry is very small?... As you can see, it was getting smaller by the day.
The window in that pantry doesn't open and has no trickle vent (a new one with a vent is on order), and the pantry is an enclosed pocket of cold, so it gets condensation. It has been steadily proliferating mould, which is a health hazard. Eventually, earlier this week, seeing the mould getting long and green and fluffy, no longer just making grey patterns on the walls, I concluded the time had come to tackle it.
Why hadn't I done it before? Well the walls and ceiling in it are plastered with that textured Artex that trashes cloths and sponges, and when I tried to do it with a brush it got bleach everywhere without getting rid of the mould. And also, the pantry had got so full I couldn't get into it any more.
So this time I rehomed the table (erected) into the hall, I relocated the bins, also into the hall. There was nothing in the hall and they are easy to move for cleaning in their new situation, so — good. Now I had only the stepladder and clogs to house in the pantry, and they're easy to move. Ha! Win!
I decided to sacrifice a washing-up sponge (bleach disintegrates them) and forget the brush. The pantry now being empty there was room to get into it, and the sponge was effective at wiping the lunar surface of the pantry free of mould, once sprayed liberally with bleach.
It made me realise that I need to leave myself more space, more margin, otherwise I'll never clean that pantry again. I need to not clog it up with stuff to store and bins.
My whole life is like that pantry.
I used to notice it when our kiddies were little — the difference between winter and summer. In summer, wearing shorts, T-shirts and sandals, we'd just hurtle out the door and go. In winter, I had to get them all lined up in the hall, make sure each one had a coat and a hat and a scarf and boots and her gloves, and the baby had her big muff thing to sit in (for the stroller). At that point, almost invariably, one of them would decide she needed to use the bathroom, and everyone had to wait under threat of death while I unravelled her weather-proofing then bundled her up again. I'm surprised we ever got anywhere at all.
A day or so ago I shared that video which compared civic unrest in Minneapolis with those families whose child melts down uncontrollably in the supermarket, and suggested that mothers would accommodate while fathers would 'bring discipline'. Hmm.
I think he was right about the need to restore order swiftly and firmly in Minneapolis, which is why I shared the video, but I had reservations about it. Because I think — refocusing away from the civic unrest and onto the domestic meltdown — you need to start before you get to the store if you're going to take kids there. A child needs both a job to do and something to look forward to. So each child needs a task — to look out for a particular brand for cereal, for example. And children like to choose not just watch, so each child needs the chance to pick a snack to add to the trolley.
Only last week when I was in the supermarket, I saw a father with his little girl. He had her sitting crouched inside the trolley as many parents do. She wasn't fooling around, how could she be? She was cooped up in the trolley. But even so she managed to do or say something he thought was out of line, so he started reading the riot act at her — you know, "RIGHT, THAT'S IT! YOU'RE NOT HAVING ANYTHING NOW" etc etc, and snatched away a little toy she'd chosen, which he dumped on the bread shelf. She was distraught and started to cry bitterly. I noticed she was wearing school uniform, so she'd already had a whole day of self-restraint and tedious requirements before he started with his crap. As it happens, Mother re-appeared carrying a large toddler, swapped kiddos, gave the toy back to her daughter, and peace was restored.
I didn't think it was the child's fault. I didn't think the mother made things worse. Although the little girl cried, I didn't think it was actually her meltdown.
But how to do better? Include the child more in making choices, or one parent stay home with the kiddies while the other takes a list to the store, or only buy a few things at one go, or send the dad into the café for a hot drink and a snack so he doesn't create havoc with his contagious meltdowns. Just get some more space and breathing room into the scenario. Whatever it takes — but prune out, don't add in.
Something I notice about chronic illness and growing old is that I need even more space. If I want to go to the store to buy some milk, gone are the days of just nipping upstairs to get my bag and off I go. Now I have to dismantle the TENS machine and put it on charge and pack away its sticky pads, and by the time I've done all that the cat will have woken up and decided if I've appeared it must be time to be fed. And my feet are fairly shot so I need to wear lace-up boots (in the winter, summer is OK for sandals) which are a struggle to put on. Things seem less simple, less straightforward — I mean, it's even a bit of a mission getting out of the bath!
So in this season of my life, even more than ever, I give myself space, and time; I create margins, look for ways to take off the pressure. Minimalism and simplicity were always good practice; they're my survival kit now.
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