On letting go of the last box

It's astonishing how much an off-hand comment from the unlikeliest of places can have an unexpected impact.

At work, we were discussing my new colleague's unpacking process over lunch, and several people commented on still having sealed boxes from moves years or even decades earlier. I felt mostly smug - but there was a guilty twinge. I have one last box in the basement. (The previous box - containing every pair of jeans I have ever worn, or so it seems - was finally dealt with earlier this year.)

The box contains all my old notes and files from university. I have left it because I couldn't decide what to do with it. I know I would like to keep my old essays - I have a small box of precious things I keep for sentimental reasons, like old diaries, photo albums, the first thing I ever knitted, letters from friends. The essays could go in there. And the scrap paper or rough notes - chuck.

But the research? The hours of my life spent standing in front of a photocopier in the library coping chapters and academic articles. The realisation that I could not access these again without paying for them. The guilty knowledge that some never got read. The secret hope of one day dusting them off, to research and write a historic novel. This expands beyond the notes in the basement - I have another two or more shelves of books, articles and so on from my final year dissertation in the spare room.

And then my new colleague commented that research moved so fast that it is quickly out of date. 

Duh. Why didn't I think of that?

If ever I do get around to writing a historic novel, the evidence for and understanding of that time period will have moved on since my first year of university. And I know I would enjoy doing that research. Not having a box of dusty old articles in the basement would not really be much of a barrier.

So finally - thanks to an off-hand comment at work - I am ready to let go of the last box.

(That just leaves the unknown number of boxes in my mother's attic. But let's forget that for now!)

Project 333 - take three

This weekend marked the end of my second 3-month stint of Project 333, so on Sunday afternoon I duly got my bags out of the basement for the selection of my next 33.

 

It's getting easier and easier to select my 33. The first one took ages and was a real wrench to make decisions. Now I can see duplicates or near-duplicates more easily. I see combinations more easily, and I am more aware of when I actually wear things. There are several lovely items of clothing that I have held on to in the hopes that my life would enable me to wear them but in reality I spend less than one day a year lounging on a beach with a book. I prefer holidays with interesting things to see and do, with time lounging in the shade with an ice cream/cold beer and a book. Why do I have garments specifically designed to be worn over bathing suits on the beach? Very silly. Another bag of clothes I don't use is heading for my favourite charity.

You will not be surprised to learn that I am a complete convert to the principle of Project 333. I don't think I will ever go back to that awful crowded wardrobe. I'm not sure how much longer I'll stick with the 33 rule, but I will continue to limit the contents of my wardrobe and rotate through the seasons.

I still haven't managed to make much of what I think I want to create but that's ok. I'm wearing everything in my wardrobe now, can always find what I am looking for, and have a clear idea of what I want to add. Laundry is less stressful and my clothes are better cared-for. Best of all, even when the house is a tip, getting dressed is always stress-free, and I have a daily reminder of the benefits of minimalism.

Project 333: Week Two

Another update, and I am still enjoying the stillness that comes from opening the wardrobe every morning to reveal - space. It's so calming. I don't think: oh shit what can I wear? My outfit for the day is laid out if it is a workday, otherwise I can easily pull something together based on my mood and planned activities. It's quick and stress-free.

I am still taking better care of my clothes - hanging them up, folding them neatly, ironing them after washing - and my shoes - wiping off dirt, polishing and waterproofing the uppers. This is also easier than normal because I am needing to do fewer loads of laundry. This does surprise me, I was expecting that I would run out of clothes quicker and need to do more loads, but in fact I always seem to have plenty of options to wear and we're down to one load of laundry a week, rather than 2-3. Less clothes washed each week means the prospect of ironing is much less daunting.

I am increasingly aware that almost none of my clothes actually fit me well, in the same places - clearly I have broader shoulders and longer arms than the average, and longer legs. Tops and shirts generally also are not a brilliant fit across the back and bust, or around the waist area. And my trousers and skirts are not the most flattering style across my hips.

This might sound as if my clothes look awful and misshapen on me - not at all! They look fine - but fine is not okay any longer. If I only have a few clothes, I want to invest the time in making sure they all look and feel fantastic. I'm making gentle progress with my current clothing project(s) - knitting a cardigan and converting a pair of my boyfriend's trousers into a skirt.

Finally, I am again struck that small changes have unexpected knock-on effects. Doing fewer loads of laundry for clothes means I can wash bedsheets more frequently and with less stress. I have rarely changed the sheets more than twice a month, and sometimes less, simply because it takes me so long to get the sheets laundered around my other jobs. Only one load of laundry a week means I can easily fit a bedsheets load in as well, which in turn has meant clean sheets every Friday evening since I started this project. Still at the beginning, of course, but it's such a pleasure to sink into the freshly made bed!

A narrowboat

Following on from some previous posts (here, here and here) about living in small spaces and homes built using natural materials, I'm going to share a space from my childhood. We used it for holidays rather than living in it full time, but I keep thinking about it as I ponder efficient use of space, and the qualities I want from that space.

We used to have a part share in a narrowboat, which meant we split the maintainance costs with several other families and had three weeks or so a year on the boat. I absolutely loved it! And not just in the warmth of summer - we also spent time on the boat as late as November and as early as February.

We had plenty of mod cons - cooker, oven, even a bathtub. Beds for everyone which folded away in the day (the bed I slept on became an L-shaped sofa in the day, with a collapsible table to turn it into a dining space.) The space use was super efficient, with cunning storage area hidden in walls, floors, under seats. Everything also had to be very secure, in case the boat rocked, so things were always shut out of sight. There was still space for a solid fuel stove, and you can just imagine how cosy it was to snuggle under one of the duvets in front of the fire as the nights drew in. I particularly loved the sound of rain on the roof.

I didn't take many pictures of inside the boat, but here you can see the kitchen beyond the bed - this space became living/dining area in the day.

Being on a boat (even for a  few days), you really have to think about the things you use, and the waste you produce. Everything has to be brought on the boat and taken off it. You take short showers, turn lights off, and use as little loo paper as possible to prevent blocking the tank. The rubbish bin is a plastic bag hanging on a hook in the kitchen. You're more in touch with how life's comforts are delivered - I have clear memories of several mornings/nights waking up freezing around 5am and going out onto the bow to change the gas bottle to restart the heating. (Before you ask, at this point I was around 17 in age so mucked in with the chores along with everyone else, especially as my father has a back condition which means it is painful for him to lift any weight.)

However, what I love most about narrowboats is the way they bring the outside in. Precisely because it is so narrow, with windows on every side (even if just little portholes), you can always see outside. Always, whichever direction you look in. The boat is small inside but also has outdoor space at either end and along the roof, where my sister and I often used to sit on a summer evening reading books and taking pictures of the sunset. Sometimes we stayed there while the boat was moving, and had to listen out for the cry of 'bridge', whereupon we would lie down flat and watch the underside of the bridge pass just above our heads.

A narrowboat travels at around three miles an hour - a comfortable walking pace, and I would often walk along beside the boat with my mother, jumping on and off the boat with ropes as we went through locks. The whole pace of life on the canals is slower, and friendlier - in the years that we used the boat, we only ever once passed a boat whose crew did not greet us as we passed. Everyone says hello and often exchanges a few pleasantries about the weather or the nearest pub on the canals - the boaters, walkers, anglers and others. When you add to this that the canals are beautiful, passing through some of the loveliest areas of the country, and you can moor up anywhere along the paths, you can easily imagine a gentle evening sunset over a boat moored next to a field full of sheep, with no sound but birdsong and the sheep bleating. I would love to live along the canals for precisely this tranquility.

Before I met my boyfriend, my immediate life plan was to live on a boat. They are much cheaper to buy than a house and the UK network gives you access to many major towns and cities, including central London, but the major problem with this is that moorings near major towns and cities are seriously expensive. I don't think liveaboard life is an option at this moment in time but it may well be again in the future. In the meantime, perhaps I can tap into some of the tricks and tips and joys of my time on narrowboats?

Project 333: Day 0

Remember this? This was my closet on Friday. Cluttered and messy, mixing summer and winter clothes, and dominated by dark.

Now check this out:

How much better does this look? How much calmer?

So you've probably guessed by now that I'm having a go at Project 333. The rules are roughly 33 items of clothing and accessories for 3 months. Normally you exclude underwear, socks, pajamas and running kit, but I am also excluding: outerwear (coat, scarves, hats, mittens), my handbag, jewellery and a pair of sturdy walking boots I only really use when it's snowy or icy. This makes me look really wussy but even this will be a severe challenge. 

A confession: I have never in my life 'put together an outfit. I pretty much throw on the first clothes that come to hand, which are usually the clothes I wore yesterday. I don't really have a style, I hate clothes shopping and I never buy fashion magazines.

Having said that, though, this project is already making me think about my clothes slightly differently. They are after all a fairly essential tool of life and need to be up to scratch for my various activities (sturdy and practical for housework, smart and professional for work, and warm and comfy for around the house.) I have ignored this part of my 'armoury' up until now, largely thinking that it doesn't hugely matter and I can't do any better anyway. Now I'm starting to think that I've been selling myself short.

I told you that I set out to write down 33 items from memory and realised my wardrobe consisted largely of dark and muted colours, and of unimaginative cuts (lots of v-neck sweaters worn over v-neck shirts). I have over the last few days been thinking up a 'dream' list of 33. If I could build a wardrobe from scratch, what would it look like? And to my utter astonishment, when I sit down and think about it, I actually have a very clear idea of what this would like look. And it's colourful, varied, textured, smart but fun, pretty but not fussy... All the things my current wardrobe is not.

It's incredible. I'm drawing little pictures of dresses with asymmetrical collars and thinking of the exact shade of red, and sketching out some cardigans and jackets to go with it. Have I discovered my inner fashion designer? And this is so much more fun than poring over magazines or traipsing round clothes shops. I'm starting to ask myself questions about clothes - real and imaginary - that I never have before, which are actually very relevant to the whole question of living with less, of living well with less.

Not just will this item suit me - the colour, the cut - but how will it complement what I already have? Can I combine it with several other items in a range of outfits? Will it cover different situations - work, home, social, travel? Does it add a new colour or shape to my existing range? Does it have some interest - a pattern, an aysmmetry, an unusual colour or other design feature? I have never cared about these things before but I think this is in part why I have arrived at this point. Most of my clothes are block colours, symmetrical and half-length, so I generally walk around looking like two-thirds of a less colourful Neopolitan ice cream. One half black, one half blue.

I'm wondering if I can perhaps try this year to make some of these 'in my head' clothes? Bring about a handmade wardrobe that is both functional and beautiful? A small, versatile, interesting and above all personal selection that can display my creativity, imagination and (growing) skill?

Not a small challenge by any means, I've only ever made two garments...

Clarifying the goal and a cob bungalow

This is home - for now.

This lovely flat, much as I enjoy living here, it not where we expect to be for the rest of our lives. We regularly discuss our plans for the future, for the next stages of our lives. There's definitely children in there somewhere - how many not yet defined, but even a cursory glance at my boyfriend's family tree suggests the odds are extremely good on having boys - and there's another home.

This flat suits us well for now and has more than enough space. With a second bedroom, we have the luxury of having guests to stay now, and potentially of holding a child or children if and when they come along. It wouldn't hold a family with teenagers, though, and in our heart of hearts we both want something slightly different. Not necessarily bigger, but with a different space distribution. A bigger kitchen, more outdoor space (ideally a garden), and enough bedroom capacity to hold at least four fully grown humans.

What I want to avoid, though, is falling into the trap of believing that we need more. More space, more bedrooms, more bathrooms. There are therefore two skills we need to improve on before we get to that point. (Or more honestly, I need to improve on.) These are: having less stuff, and using space more effectively. Hence the decluttering, the focus on finding and making possessions with meaning rather than acquiring them thoughtlessly.

I would like to share some inspirational homes which are demonstrating just how possible it is to have a beautiful, personal, nourishing family home with limited space and expenditure.

An earth bungalow

 
Photos from www.telegraph.co.uk

A retired teacher in Oxfordshire built a cob house in his backgarden. Just to prove it could be done. It went slightly over budget and ended up costing him £150. You want to talk raw local natural materials? I have to say I would prefer somewhere with running water and an indoor toilet (not necessarily flushing, though - a composting toilet would suit me fine!) but just looking at these pictures is an enriching experience. This is definitely a house with a soul. (Entertainingly, the house is now let out to a tenant who pays the rent in milk) Please click here to read more.

I love cob as a building material. It's a mixture of soil, sand, straw and clay, and it naturally breathes, providing a home with clean air that is warm in winter and cool in summer. (Neat, huh?) The lime plaster and paint you need to use to allow the cob to breathe and prevent moisture from building up in the walls gives them a beautiful buttermilk yellow colour which I think is just gorgeous. And who doesn't love thatch? Or log fires?

I particularly love the visible use of wood here, how you can see the beams from the roof construction, and the very organic shapes - the curves and unusually shaped windows. To get a window in cob, you pretty much just cut a hole, there's no need for lintels or anything like that, and you can build cob in the most fantastic shapes - not just box houses but any-shape-you-want houses. I love the idea of a building material that can be used so creatively and expressively.