The Joy of Less

by Amy Newmark

  When we arrived the first day to help, we realized how valid our concerns were. Although my mother-in-law was making good progress in the house, she was on edge, and the two barns and workshop were huge messes. My father-in-law insisted on facing these beasts alone, but we doubted that he could actually sort through it all and part with most of it in just three months. We joined my mother-in-law in the house, and she and I talked about everything that was happening. “I love this house, and I’ve loved our time in it,” she said. “But we’re getting older, and we’re tired. We want to be able to relax and enjoy the years we have left. It’s time to move on.”

  I realized that the tremendous experiences we had enjoyed in this house had come at a high cost.

  As I listened to her, I realized that the tremendous experiences we had enjoyed in this house had come at a high cost. While we took for granted this place that provided us with so many joyous memories, my in-laws were working harder and harder each year to make sure the experiences could continue. And they were doing so with a 200-year-old house that required large-scale maintenance each year and with bodies that, although healthy, were suffering the natural aches and weaknesses that come with age. And when I really thought about my father-in-law’s “hoarding tendencies,” I realized that the things he had amassed over the years were not silly collectibles, but things he and my mother-in-law needed to restore and maintain their “labor-of-love” house.

  At that moment, I knew. It was not the house that had given us our memories… it was my in-laws. Without their loving presence, their amazing hospitality, and their incredibly hard work, the house was nothing more than a house. And in honor of all they had given us through the years, it was now time for us to give back. We needed to embrace this change and their readiness for it. As I listened to my mother-in-law talk eagerly about the new direction in which their lives were heading, I resolved that we would give these amazing people our best and enthusiastically support them every step of the way.

  As we trekked over to the house each week for the next several weeks, we began to notice the changes. First the garden decorations were gone. Then the curtains were down and most of the furniture packed up. But most astonishing were the barns and workshop… little by little, the accumulations disappeared, and with them much of the weight that had sat on my father-in-law’s shoulders for so many years. He seemed to realize that his possessions had served him well but were no longer needed, and it was time to send them to new homes (ours one of them!) and jump into the wonderful new phase of life he and my mother-in-law so richly deserved.

  Finally, the time came for the big move. As we pulled into the driveway of the farmhouse for the last time, everything felt different. The house was becoming just a house, and it would soon be a house that belonged to someone else. As we approached the front door, we saw my in-laws standing on their porch for the last time. And the looks on their faces said it all — their expressions showed not sadness, but beaming pride for all they had accomplished with this house for so many years and excitement for the new adventure they were about to embark on.

  Two years have now passed since my in-laws’ move. They have settled into their retirement community, and by all accounts it seems that the move has given them a new lease on life. Wonderful new friends, daily activities, and adventurous trips now fill their schedule, and we find that they are busier now than they have been in a long time! But at the same time, they are also more relaxed and at peace than they have been in a long time. And most importantly, they are enjoying the reward for the hard work they put in for so many years, providing a wonderful haven for their family. And, with renewed vigor, they are creating fantastic new memories to add to the special ones we will always have of the old farmhouse and what they made it into for us.

  ~Maggie Hofstaedter

  A Second Chance at Love

  A bargain is something you can’t use at a price you can’t resist.

  ~Franklin P. Jones

  My mother’s home has a revolving door. Not really, but she loves to shop and then she needs to give things away since her house gets too full. It’s a constant battle for her. She needs to get rid of stuff but she’s not able to resist buying things. Fortunately, she likes to shop at tag sales, thrift stores, and Goodwill, since she doesn’t like to spend a lot of money — and every day there are new things to buy!

  Although her house is jammed with stuff, she is diligent about getting rid of it — since she has also acquired all the books about organizing, throwing out, and the joy of living with less! We’ve tried to help her rein in her shopping habits over the years, but the bottom line is that she can afford it, it gives her enormous pleasure, and it keeps her busy. The rest of us just shake our heads when she comes in excited about her new purchase.

  One day when I was at her house she showed me a small, beautiful bone china pitcher that she had just bought at one of her favorite haunts. Although it was mostly white, the bone china had a delicate pattern, and it was hand painted with a green decorative line, small tulips and other flowers.

  I looked more closely at the pitcher. It actually looked very similar to one that I had seen before at her house.

  “Mom, don’t you already have one just like it?” I asked.

  She stopped and looked at it. She thought for a moment. “Huh, yes, I guess you’re right,” she replied. “But I gave it away.”

  I looked at her wondering if what I thought had happened, had in fact happened.

  She burst out laughing. “You know, I think I might have bought back the pitcher I gave away!”

  “I might have bought back the pitcher I gave away!”

  “Yes, Mom, I think you did,” I said, incredulous.

  I waited a beat before I continued, “So much for that bargain. You bought it twice!”

  “Don’t look at it that way,” she replied, happily. “I just fell in love with it all over again!”

  ~Gwen Daye

  Helping More Animals by Having Less

  We can judge the heart of a man by his treatment of animals.

  ~Immanuel Kant

  When my cousin and I were about ten, both our moms had babies. A few weeks later, my aunt told Mom, “Gordie keeps wanting to hold his new brother and give him his bottle. Is Susie excited about the baby?”

  Mom rolled her eyes. “Maybe if he was a baby horse — or a dog — she’d want to hold him. But a human baby? Not a chance!” My dream was to grow up and have lots and lots of animals.

  Eventually, I grew up and had babies of my own, but animals were still my passion. By the time my kids were grown, we still had a houseful. Of animals.

  At the peak, we had four dogs, four cats, a rabbit, and two guinea pigs. When my youngest daughter needed to move home for a while, she also brought in her pets: a dog, three cats, and a tank of fish. We have a big old farmhouse, and my daughter took care of her own pets, but I still knew we’d exceeded our limit.

  Every morning, I did what I called my “barn work.” I grew up in farm country and had a horse for many years. Cleaning out guinea pig cages and tossing them hay felt like a familiar, though tiresome, routine.

  Unfortunately, between the cages and the litter boxes alone, an hour or more quickly passed. One of my cats, Chester, was pre-diabetic, and tended to “think outside the box.” That meant picking up soaked papers, washing the utility room floor around the litter area, disinfecting, and replacing fresh paper. Then, I had to go outside and scoop the yard, where the dogs did their thing. This was a little bit like hunting for Easter eggs, but a lot less fun.

  The dogs all had different needs. Fourteen-year-old Sofi was a big, shaggy mixed breed with a tendency to itchy hot spots she bit and scratched till they were raw. She developed dementia in her last year of life, and it made her paranoid and mean-tempered. She growled at all of us — as well as the walls — and started attacking one of the other dogs at every opportunity. She still loved going for short walks, but became more and more arthritic and needed help with step
s.

  Most of my pets were senior citizens at this point, so I made a tough decision. As they passed away, I would not replace them.

  I was doing cattle dog rescue, and it’s a notoriously high-energy breed. My Elvis needed at least an hour walk every day or things got eaten. Things like my grandmother’s Bible, my mother’s childhood cradle, and the arms and legs of an antique doll.

  Red was another cattle dog, but he was blind and needed eye drops three times a day. Spike, the tiny abused foster dog we’d ended up adopting after his recovery, wouldn’t stop yapping and also wasn’t house trained.

  The cost of food and routine vet bills was staggering. And there were always emergencies on top of that. Emergency testing and hospitalization, insulin, syringes, and blood-glucose testing for Chester. Emergency testing and medications for Elvis, who contracted Lyme disease. Regular specialist appointments and high-priced eye drops for Red. Blood work and surgery to remove two massive tumors from my guinea pig, Tyrone.

  My best friend called me an animal hoarder. “But I take care of them!” I protested.

  She just smiled and shook her head. “I know you do, but…”

  Despite my protests, I knew I’d exceeded my capacity to cope. Most of my pets were senior citizens at this point, so I made a tough decision. As they passed away, I would not replace them. No more taking in every abandoned dog or cat that melted my heart.

  My oldest cat, Paw Paw, passed first. Then, one by one, all my guinea pigs but Tyrone passed on. Sofi could no longer struggle to her feet, so we made the trip to the vet’s office and I held her as she left us. My eleven-year-old rabbit, Henry, went next, and the vet was amazed at his extreme old age.

  My daughter had moved out some time before, so her animals were already gone. My other daughter moved away and took little Spike. Red, who was not so old, passed suddenly of cancer.

  At this point, I am down to my one cattle dog, three cats, and one guinea pig — from eleven animals to five in a matter of months.

  I love my animals. More than one person has told me they wish they could come back as one of my pets, because they’re so well loved and cared for. They are a joy and a challenge to me, and the fulfillment of my childhood dream “to have lots and lots of animals.”

  But there’s a new peace in the house, more time in my day and more money in my checking account. I have more time to focus on each of my animal companions and appreciate them.

  And — ironically — having fewer animals of my own has freed me to help more animals. When the house was full, and I was struggling to keep up, my goal was survival.

  Now I can provide temporary homes for animals. In the last three months, I’ve been able to foster and re-home two cattle dogs, and I have another on the way. The first was an active six-month-old boy, who stayed with us for just a few days. Then for a month, we had an eleven-year-old blind dog, Dingo, relinquished by his family to a high-kill shelter. My husband, daughter and her fiancé and I — and little Spike — drove him nine and a half hours to his new home, and got a road trip in the process.

  My experience with old and special needs animals has perfectly equipped me to foster dogs like Dingo, who need a little something extra. My heart always went out to these critters, and I’d end up adopting them. Now, I realize I can help so many more, just by keeping my own home a lot more streamlined, and getting the neediest of creatures into someone else’s loving home instead!

  ~Susan Kimmel Wright

  De-cluttering a Brain

  As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler.

  ~Henry David Thoreau

  “My brain is too full! Don’t tell me anything else to do,” I yelled. Even I was surprised by my overreaction to Ken’s helpful suggestion. I burst into tears and hurried upstairs to get away from him, overwhelmed by yet another thing to think about.

  It was just an idea Ken shared with me about redoing my pothole-filled driveway. I took a few deep breaths as I hid in my room. Ken was retired and had been living in a private apartment in my home for the past year in exchange for help around the house. After calming myself down I sat on my bed and tried to figure out what had happened.

  I went back down to Ken’s apartment to apologize. He was watching a football game. Ken muted the television as I walked in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

  “Julie, I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just trying to be helpful.”

  “I know. It’s just that I am so frustrated by everything I have to do. Since my brain injury I’ve tried to stay on top of everything but I get tired. You know how people say that their plate is full, that they have too much on their plate to do anything else? My mental plate is so full right now that even adding an unexpected thought or idea is completely overwhelming.”

  Ken was so gentle with me, so patient as I tried to explain.

  Chores and tasks fall into the urgent category and need daily attention. Spending time with family and friends is important and needs to be a priority. I try to be there to celebrate their special moments and share their painful ones.

  I have responsibilities and projects at work that demand energy, time, and effort so I can be effective. The children and people I help at work need my attention and patience as I support their efforts to work through their own traumas and struggles. All of these are important and all are priorities. All of these wear me down and overload my brain.

  Decisions are much harder for me now. Spending time with people drains me more than before. I have to filter my thoughts and words as I interact so I don’t accidentally say or do something that is inappropriate. I don’t have the stamina I had before the car accident that caused my brain injury.

  My mental plate is so full right now that even adding an unexpected thought or idea is completely overwhelming.

  Ken sat back in his recliner and looked at me with tenderness in his eyes. “Julie, you can’t do everything. You need to take care of yourself, not let yourself get overloaded. Let people help; let me help. Figure out what is most important and let go of the rest.”

  As I returned to the kitchen to wash the dishes that had piled up I thought about what had happened with Ken, and his comments. Sitting down at the table, I opened a notebook to a fresh page and made a list of the parts of my life that only I can do.

  Important:

  Spend time with family and friends

  Spend time with my boyfriend Bill

  Work as a probation surveillance officer and private investigator

  Spend time with my black Lab Brady

  Strengthen my relationship with God

  Take care of myself by working out and eating right

  Work with foster kids and traumatized children

  Tasks to do:

  Daily chores

  Errands and groceries

  Split and stack wood for the winter

  Maintain the yard and gardens

  Clean the house

  Projects on the house

  Relaxing activities:

  Read

  Do jigsaw puzzles

  Hike or snowshoe

  Sail or kayak

  Go to the beach with Brady

  I continued to add things to my lists throughout the week. One evening I reviewed the six pages I had filled with everything on my lists. No wonder I was so overwhelmed. I spent the next few days planning how to better balance everything. And I asked for help.

  My mom offered to cook extra meals that I could microwave during the workweek. I asked my cleaning lady to stay an extra hour each week. She began to use this time washing windows, tidying the garage, and doing whatever she felt needed attention to keep my house looking fresh. I hired some neighborhood kids to help with some of the yard work and to stack wood. My boyfriend came over each week and did one project from my list.

  As the weeks went by, I began to relax. I focused on spending my time more productively, using my planner to schedule downtime between my other commitments. I gave myself permiss
ion to not finish every craft project I had ever started and began to de-clutter my cabinets and drawers of half-started ideas. I removed extra clutter from my brain by deciding not to put every item I thought might have value on Ebay or craigslist. Instead, I delivered my unwanted things to the mission store.

  I began feeling more in control. My house became more organized. Time and activities with family and friends became easier. I rediscovered my love for my work and the people I work with. My family and friends understood my requests for the additional time needed to make decisions and think about invitations. I made room in my brain for new ideas that might come up.

  The next spring Ken approached me as I was outside playing ball with Brady. “I’d like to talk to you about how I can help fix your driveway if you are ready to talk about it.”

  “That would be great,” I was able to say with a smile.

  ~Julie Sanderson

  Joy on the Road

  Life in a Rolling Cardboard Box

  Where we love is home — home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.

  ~Oliver Wendell Holmes

  Sunlight is now my alarm as I rise to light the gas stove for my coffee. I peer out into our living area where all four of my children sleep — girls on the couch, and boys on the floor. We told them it would only be for a year. I smile, as in January it will be five. The traveling life has woven our family together from separate pieces of cloth into a quilted piece of art.

  I think back to our old life with a new house I designed and built on my great-grandfather’s farmland. Jon worked more than forty hours a week — on-call weekends and vacations as the only IT person for the bank and its eleven branches. I stayed home with the kids, found volunteer opportunities, and kept up with the demands of their public schooling. I look back now and see how as a couple we lived parallel lives — Jon had his work bubble, I had the home bubble, and on weekends Jon could visit my circus show.