The Not-so-Free-Bed

It's 7:30pm. Sam from Craigslist is outside my house with his 18 year old son and my husband, trying to fit our dismantled queen size bed into his tiny hatchback. There's a lot of trial and error. Sam doesn't seem to have much experience because he's brought various belts and scarves to tie up the headboard to the roof of his rack-less car. While my husband, the engineer, and master-car-stuffer-arranger is politely trying to convince Sam to do it his way, Sam's son is standing on the sidewalk doing his best teenage, embarassed-by-my-dad stance and not lifting a finger. An hour later, Sam and his son finally return home with all the bed pieces stuffed in their car. This is the story of our bed.

Ten years ago, my husband arrived in Vancouver from his studies in England and bought a bed at Ikea; nothing fancy. I don't remember when I started to feel the individual springs poking through, but it's been at least a year that I've noticed my knee caps fit perfectly in them. Aside from the lumpy mattress, the frame itself has been squeaking every time we turn over which is amplified through the mattress. So after months of saying to each other that we should buy a new bed, we finally blocked off a Saturday morning to go check some out.

We zeroed in on one store that carried what we wanted, the kid jumped on all of them and after sleeping on it, (pun intended) we finally settled on a something we could both agree on. The retailer informed us that we would have to pay $50 for the delivery guys to take away our old bed and another $50 for the mattress. Ah! The hidden cost of things! Imagine what it would look like if we went to a store and the cost of removal/recycling was itemized along with the purchase cost? Would we think more about what why buy if we could see what it costs to have it hauled away to the dump or processed in a recycling plant?

So I posted my bed on Craigslist for free and thought I'd save myself $50.  In one day, I had almost 100 interested people. Sam was third on the list. The first lady had a purse stolen on the way to pick up my bed, the second lady never returned my calls and Sam, happy to get this bed for his son, showed up on the first night with his tiny car and no rope.

Our lumpy mattress is now on the floor and we're having a blast. The kid is jumping like crazy, rolling and doing somersaults. We're been running up to the mattress in the middle of the day to read stories and fool around with the blankets. The kid is the Olympic Mattress Jumping Gold Medalist and I'm the commenter. I'll be happy to get rid of this scrap metal lump loosely draped with a cheap mystery fabric when the new mattress and bed frame arrives and I'll pay the $50 to have it hauled away, but I'll miss the fun we've been having with it.

Ikea Fabric Frenzy

Okay, so I went to Ikea. And as you might already know from previous posts, I have a love-hate relationship with Ikea; 'cause I don't need what's there, but every once in a while, I think I do. One way I keep my relationship balanced with this store, is I put what I think I need on a 30 day wish list. If I still think I need that "thing", I'll go. I look online first or at the magazine, and take measurements. (The 2013 issue arrived at my doorstep in early September-very scary. Scary like stores that put out Christmas stuff in October). I usually skip the round-about-make-you-dizzy showroom and head straight to the "market" though the unmarked door hidden behind the staircase.

Knowing that I will be tempted to get something other than what's on my list, I have a final little game I play with myself; once I get to the till, I must take at least one item out of the trolley and leave it behind. I especially stay away from coasters, candles, fake greenery, containers of any sort, wine glasses, and any linen or pillow. I will allow myself fabric, hand-towels, and kid's items. It's just not the right place to go to keep things clutter free and minimalist even if it seems they promise this- if only you had the right container.

Anyways, I digress. I do love Ikea fabric. It's reasonably priced, a good quality cotton and has pretty funky designs. I haven't found any pillows, curtains or bed linen made of their fabric, so if you decide to sew something for your house, there's a good chance that your neighbors won't have the exact same thing too. I found heavy cotton canvas to recover our dining room chairs that used to be white (dumb, I know- the photo doesn't show how stained it is) and had enough to make pillows and little cases. I did occur to me, after I finished these projects, that I didn't really need the pillows and the cases, but anyways, it was fun to make.

Cleaning Up my Own Cleaning Habits

It must be because the season is changing that just like spring cleaning, I feel like there is more to do around the house. The patio garden needs tending, outdoor furniture needs to be put away and little household repairs seem to pop up everywhere, probably because we spent all our time outside during the summer and didn't notice.

I am always grateful that I live in a 1200 square foot townhouse and depending on who you are and where you live, you might think that was tiny or maybe pretty decent. Mostly it's because any bigger and the cleaning and repairs would seem overwhelming. And when that feeling creeps up, I get mad and resentful and my poor husband has to hear about it. A lot.

Serendipity is always at work, because just a day after I complained to my husband that he wasn't pulling his weight around the house, I read Leo's new post on Zen Habits  which hit me like a big rubber mallet on the head. This quote especially:

"Cleaning and decluttering, for me, are mindfulness practices. They are not chores that I dread, nor ways to strive for a perfect living environment, but ways to practice living in the present moment. As such, they are some of my favorite things to do.
I wipe a counter with a rag, but I’m not doing it thinking, “This kitchen is so dirty!” (judgment) or “I wish people would clean up after themselves!” (expecting things to be different) or “I have a lot of work to do today” (future thinking) or “My son really got on my nerves when he said that this morning” (dwelling on the past). Or at least, when I do think these things, I notice them, and return to the wiping."

So for the past few days, I've been noticing what my mind and body are doing when cleaning. I've been trying to slow down and pay more attention to only the act of cleaning. It's amazing what you can notice about a cutting board when you are mindfully washing it. Here are some guidelines which I thought were useful to clean without thinking, "This never ends." or "Why am I the only person cleaning up after themselves?"

1. When you clean, just clean. Don’t plan, don’t have your mind on the next task as you’re doing the current task, don’t listen to a podcast or watch TV as you’re doing the task at hand. Just wipe. Just sweep. Just declutter. Just wash, just rinse.

2. Do your work with gratitude and compassion. Before you start, remember to be grateful for what you have, for being able to clean or declutter. Be grateful for the people you have in your life, and remember why you’re grateful for them. Then remember you’re cleaning out of compassion: for the people in your life, so that their day might be a bit better for having a clean counter or sink, for yourself, so that you might have a nice uncluttered space in which to read a good book. This is your intention, and it will help you remember to be mindful.

3. Pay attention to your thoughts, body, actions. Practice focusing your attention: on the rag, on the broom, on the dust. But also notice your thoughts: are you thinking about other things? Are you judging others? Are you wishing things were different? Are you angry? Don’t banish the thoughts, but notice them. Then return to the cleaning. Notice too as you clean your body, and your breathing. Notice everything about the moment, immerse yourself in the moment.

4. Leave no trace. This, of course, is a philosophy of those who use the outdoors — to have a minimal impact on the land, to leave only footprints and take only pictures. But what about in our homes and workplaces? These aren’t quite as natural as a lake or mountain, perhaps, but they are our habitats. We must live here, often with loved ones, and so we should be mindful of the impact we’re having on this habitat. Leave no trace means that you don’t leave a mess, that you dispose of your waste properly, that you are respectful of other people in your space.

 

How many times will I have to hit myself over the head with my imaginary rubber mallet before it finally sinks in that it's only about me and my thoughts. If I choose to change my thoughts, the "task" takes on an entire different meaning and feels much better. I might have to hit myself a few more times, it's repetitive, but it doesn't hurt.I also liked Leo's  suggestions some of which I've already implemented, but others I hadn't thought about:

1. Wash and put away your bowl. (other dishes too, but I think he means as if it was your favorite bowl or cup and to imagine these "tools" as special and needing special care.)
2. Clean as you go. Don’t pile things on the counters or in the sink. (guilty!)
3. Have a toilet brush near the toilet, and if you notice it even a little dirty after you use it, take the brush and give the bowl a quick swish and flush. (I just came back from the store with a swisher today and the boy was so excited, he ran upstairs to clean the toilet!)
4. Keep flat surfaces clear. Floors should have only furniture and rugs.
5. Take care of your tools as if they were your own eyes.
6. Be gentle with those around you. (Good advice Leo! Sorry, my man!)
7. You are already there. This is not a set of ideals to aspire to, a standard of perfection to achieve. This is a mindfulness practice, and if you are cleaning or decluttering mindfully, you have already arrived.

Don't you love this last suggestion? It is not a set of ideals to aspire to, a standard of perfection to achieve. It is a mindfulness practice! This was the missing piece and if I catch myself feeling resentful or angry while cleaning, I hope I remember to stop, refocus, and be in the present moment.

Slow on the Ball?

School is in again. We hear the bell from the elementary school up the street, and when the kid hears it, he always says: Dinner time! It's funny.  Even if you're not in school or have kids in school, you still notice it; there are parents doing hurried maneuvers in their cars to get their kids in on time, there are more students crowding the buses and spacing out with their phones, suddenly teenagers resurface and loiter casually in the parks, and community centers start their new programming. There's a burst of energy all around.

I missed the "did you sign your kid up for some classes?" frenzy. Oh, well. I was a bit slow on the ball on that one. Didn't get online at exactly 9am when the swimming registration opened, didn't stand in line in June to get in the September gymnastics classes, didn't remember my password to sign in for music classes.... Poor kid. I'm not sure if it was laziness or just sincere denial that fall was upon us. I think it might be partly rebellion...

It reminds me of when I was pregnant and everyone made a point of asking me if I had put the kid's name down on some daycare list and shockingly looking at me when I said I hadn't as if I had already failed at being a good parent. You know, the kind of parent that thinks years ahead and stands in a snow storm to get on the list of the "super-supremo daycare" to win brownie points with the peers. "Oh yes, we got in because we put junior's name down for  "Little Lucky Rainbow Teddy Bear Daycare" the day after conception. I got up at 5am with my positive pee-stick in my pocket to be the first at the door. Thank goodness, because, where else can you find an all-wood toy, child-centered, organic snack, multi-lingual daycare with caregivers who are not only professional musicians and singers, but also sew all the uniforms by hand with organic bamboo grown in the daycare garden.? And all for only $4000 a month?"

Am I missing the point? Am I supposed "fight" for my kid's "education"? Is it just a fact of life these days? Maybe it is. My mom told me that when I was a kid, she would get up early on registration day to get to the community center and sign me up for swimming lessons. So maybe this is not new. I wonder if we, the parents, are in a hurry to see our kids learn new things, partly because it's so much fun, but also because it feels good to be proud of our kid when they accomplish something new. I can't tell you how impressed I was to see my two year old crack eggs without any shell bits falling in the bowl, but does it mean I need to sign him up for cooking classes? If I don't sign him up for any classes, does that make me a bad mom? Am I not maximizing his learning potential? I don't know. I did, however, remember to renew our membership to the Aquarium. So at least there will be snack time with the baby-lugas. (belugas)

a first day of school with my brother

Creative Energy

I hung up my painting up the other day and now it's back to the sewing machine! Yahoo! I had a lot of scraps from making the kid's big boy quilt and made up some bookmarks. I recently bought some fabric paint and wanted to try it out so I added little stencils on them. I was thinking mostly about my husband who has a pile of magazines, books and his "Porsche Bible" on his bedside table, while I have a stack of my neighbor's borrowed novels. So there, you go, 2 bookmarks for my husband and 2 for Marie-Anne.

I also completed a pair of lined wool pants for the kid. I was guesstimating how to attach the lining to the pants and ended up with two pairs of pants attached at the bottoms, oops. A bit of seam-ripping, some head scratching and presto!

 

The No-Nap Painting

There's something about having a coffee in neat neighborhood cafe in a new city that makes you completely content with life; a perfect moment. In fact, that's common with any activity you do while traveling, something as simple as riding a bike or reading the paper on a bench becomes more vivid, more "interesting" than if you were doing the same thing at home. Your friends say "wow" when you tell them about the time you did the crossword overlooking some suspended bridge or water fountain.

I've had a long serie of these moments these last summer days; sucking on homemade popsicles, watching the kid play with the hose, sipping wine with the neighbors, seeing the salmon jump the hatchery ladder, painting a large canvas and many other deliciously simple activities. I've enjoyed these slower days and relish them just as if I were on vacation away.

Sometimes I regret, for a moment or two, especially on long weekends, not having planned something more extravagant: a road trip, a camping adventure, or a romantic getaway with my husband, but I quickly get distracted with daily trips to the park, having snacks with the belugas at the aquarium and having the kid's friends over for old fashioned bed jumping.

My no-nap painting

It's been a week since my son has decided that naps were not part of his daily repertoire of favorite activities, much to my exhausted dismay. "I no close my eyes" he says as I set him down in his bed for "quiet time". As he's spending a good hour talking in bed and inventing scenarios with his stuffed animals, I've been downstairs painting away. Clearly, my frustration with the no-nap situation was transferring itself onto my canvas, because I think I've changed the colors of these darn triangles at least a zillion times all the while hoping I wasn't nearing that "gesso it back to white" moment when you've gone too far and it has become a big puky mess.

So much to my delight, the boy has broken his no-nap pattern today, and I am here finally back to my blog, listening to piano on CBC and feeling the breeze on the patio. Another perfect peaceful summer moment at home.

Blackberry Days

There's a blackberry progression; first too firm to pull off, then dark purple, but not sweet, then suddenly one day, they start to gently roll into your hand, giving itself up for a pie. Then they shrivel up, raisin-like and disappear.

We found a "super patch" by the river, one you don't mention to your neighbors, sneaking away with your Tupperware hidden under your long sleeve shirt on a blistering hot august morning. Once there, strangers are there, having found the super patch too, and much better equipped: sunhats, steel-toed shoes, poles, ladders, yogurt containers tied around their neck for two-handed picking and Ziploc bags for one step freezer action. Their hands are stained like a bad henna party, but their lips intact, not like us, who gorge more than put away in our containers. We start to feel too full and lethargic to keep picking, so we sit in the sun and smell the sweet aroma of dry grass, railroad tar, and river water.

There are smaller patches in the lanes around the neighborhood; we make the rounds after dinner for dessert. We make daddy get the high ones even if he's wearing shorts and getting scratched. It amazes me that crows, which I find regularly inside my bag at the park, pecking away at some old cracker crumbs, haven't figured out how to get our blackberries. I love these fruits, they grow best when completely ignored, and spread like wildfire. No need for neat rows, frequent watering, singing and weeding; it a real urban crop.