On Emotional Neutralism (and our new house)

        When we finally bought a house, I expected to feel elated, overwhelmed, eager, and perhaps a bit terrified.  Now that it's actually happened, I certainly feel eager to move in, overwhelmed by the work we must accomplish before we may do so, and if not terrified, at least mildly concerned about our future finances and home maintenance issues.  Elation has yet to come.  Satisfaction, yes.  Pleasure, definitely.  Gratitude, of course.  Euphoria... not so much.  It's as though all the searching and preparation and inspections and waiting boiled that high emotion down to "Okay, that's finally done.  What's next on the agenda?"

our new house

        I don't think my lack of enthusiasm reflects the house's suitability.  The work to be done could understandably have dampened it a bit, but a part of me wonders if something's wrong with me not to have taken just a moment when we received the keys to jump up and down like a little girl presented with her very own pony--performed in some private corner of my mind if not for all the world to see.  But then I ask myself, is there any particular way a person "should" feel in such a circumstance?  I don't feel depressed or disappointed by any means.  Why should I be dissatisfied with neutral emotions?

        This leads me to consider my--and indeed, our culture's--fixation on happiness.  Consider the inclusion of "happiness" in Jefferson's list of Man's inalienable rights, our culture's fixation on the importance of the individual on par with--or sometimes above that of family or community, and the Sixties' attitude of "if it feels good, do it."  These and more have unquestionably trickled down to the latest generations as a sense of entitlement for instant gratification and constant happiness.  An insidious voice within us whispers, "If I'm not happy, life is unfair; something's wrong with me; I must need a change."  The consequences of such thoughts need not be enumerated; we see them all around us, perhaps even in our own lives.
        Attitudes at the other extreme are similarly erroneous--"embrace and seek out pain; it builds character," "if you're happy, you're being selfish," or "it's wrong and worldly to enjoy material pleasures."  Did not God give us the material world to provide for our needs and give us cause to glorify God?  Did not God equip us with emotions?  Did not Solomon write, "There is nothing better for a person than that he should eat and drink and find enjoyment in his toil. This also, I saw, is from the hand of God, for apart from him who can eat or who can have enjoyment?" (Ecclesiastes 2:24-25 ESV).  Does not the Law boil down into the two great commandments to love God and love our neighbor?  And true love is never begrudging or fully unhappy.  
        I must conclude, then, that happiness is neither evil nor the ultimate Good toward which a person can aspire.  If a person is happy, enjoy it.  If a person is unhappy, this too shall pass.  And if a person is emotionally neutral, why frown because of it?  One need not feel an emotional high to praise God sincerely--whether for the blessings of a comfortable house, nourishment, work, family and friends, one's mental and physical faculties, or God's goodness, all of which He deserves.
        Emotional neutrality strikes me as producing the most sensible, steady, and satisfying enjoyment of life, as well as enabling a person to be the most useful to God and neighbors without the extremes of depression and rejection of God, or of hyper-emotionalism and off-putting behaviors.  So if I feel neutral about this ginormous milestone in our adult life, so what?  I'll take it.

On My Kitchen

Looking through some kitchen photos featured on weather.com some time ago got me thinking again about our own kitchen.  Naturally, my opinions on the subject are colored by past experiences, so a brief background might be in order: 

Mom at her sink

I grew up in a home with a decent-sized kitchen, complete with the necessary appliances, numerous cabinets, yards of beautiful laminate countertops—including an island with further counter space and cabinets—a dishwasher that usually worked, and a laminate floor with enough space for my brother and I during our elementary school years to gleefully slide around with wet sponges on the pretense of “cleaning.”  It only wanted a little more space for the kitchen table when extended to its largest size, and it only ever seemed small on those occasions we served food to large parties of teenagers and adults.  

My parents' kitchen

I also had experience in those days with church kitchens—some mere kitchenettes, and some great, industrial-sized affairs with two or more sinks, ovens, and refrigerators each, stocked (or not) with a motley array of utensils and cleaning supplies.  Later in college, I shared a walk-in closet of a kitchen with about a hundred other girls in McCreery dorm.  As one might imagine, I only bothered to use it on special occasions.  I later lived in an apartment after college with a kitchen about the same size as the one in McCreery, fortunately shared between only three girls this time and deprived of half a wall; instead, a counter behind the sink separated the kitchen space from the living room and made it feel larger than it was.  Still, cabinets and counter space were minimal, which made storing food, cleaning dishes, and cooking a bit of a challenge.

And then I married.  And we began renting a house.  And this house has a kitchen.  And this kitchen is far less than desirable. (And I know I “shouldn’t” start sentences with “and,” but I chose to do so for effect, so there!)

I accepted our rental house with all its faults (the kitchen being only one of them—along with mold in the basement and bathroom, severely cracked front and back stoops, stained carpets and tub, cracked wall paint, etc.) due to the reasonable rent, decent location, and relatively cute and cozy design.  However, I accepted it with the thought that my husband and father would soon fix the kitchen counters and perhaps paint the scratched-up paint on the cabinets.  Yet, as often happens with procrastinators such as ourselves, we postponed such renovations to finance other projects, instead—partially with the idea that we’d be moving in a year.  But a year later, we assumed we’d move in six months; in six months, we planned to move in the next two years—and so on till we’ve now rented that house for six years!  (Thank goodness the rent is reasonable!)

I’ve coped with our kitchen: I hid the peeling plastic cover and crumbling counter with our coffee machine, large griddle, and dish rack. I stacked four, white plastic bins between the oven and one of the lower cabinets (partially blocking the latter’s door) to provide extra pantry space, then topped it with a cutting board.  I bought a collapsible bamboo shelf to split part of a cabinet shelf horizontally so I can fit more items inside and retrieve them more easily.  (I made more improvements in the cabinets after discovering small cockroaches *shudder*, as you may recall from a previous post.)  I set up a squarish old school desk with a cardboard recycle bin underneath, miscellaneous storage within, a microwave on top, and—its base resting on the desk—two wiry shelves above it all.  Then, some years ago, a rearrangement of the latter tower, kitchen table, and fridge improved the space.  However, getting anything out of that blocked cabinet by the cutting board stack is tricky, and a large trash can, by necessity, partially blocks the pantry door on the other end.  (We’ve at least shifted Joel’s 110 lb anvil so the door will open, but it also takes up floor space in that corner since we won’t risk the wobbly stairs and Joel’s safety by trying to cart it to the basement.)  Also, nothing can disguise the poorly-laid floor tiles that look dirty even when clean or the particularly bad bit of crumbling countertop in front of the dish rack.  

my current kitchen

I feel a twinge of guilt for complaining this much and thus feel obliged to moderate this description with the admission that it could be far, far worse.  I might not have a kitchen at all—or might have only a kitchenette.  I am grateful the space is not smaller and that the sink is deep and that the appliances all work—and that our landlady’s handyman keeps the faucet, drain, and garbage disposal in working order.  Still, when I see pictures of beautiful, spacious kitchens, when I try to cook multiple dishes at once, when we try to squeeze two or more guests around our kitchen table, or when I dismiss the idea of making a certain meal because the necessary appliances are tucked into a difficult-to-reach cabinet... *sigh*

Open concept

Spacious and efficient

My dream kitchen would have an open concept, connected to the living room and/or dining room.  It'd be arranged for efficiency of movement but with space for three or four people to cook or talk comfortably together with many feet of counter space and an island that a large gathering of people could loop around to snag food set upon it.  Partial stool seating would be an added bonus.  Rather than makeshift shelving, it’d have sufficient cabinet space and a nice, permanent arrangement for the recycle bin and microwave. The stovetop would have four burners under flat glass or upon solid, raised metal with no holes for food to slip into and provide a cleaning challenge.  A built-in range beside this would be nice, perhaps with a cutting board cover.  Two ovens—or both a regular and a warming oven—would help on many occasions.  The dining table (preferably twelve feet long or more when extended) would actually have its own area—not be forced to gobble up floor space that might be used for storage or for visitors to the kitchen or for seating in the living room.  

Lord willing, we’ll be living in our own house with just such a kitchen this time next year, but if we remain stuck with this kitchen much longer, I’d want to remodel.  The counter would be the priority and must be completely replaced—repairs are impossible.  I’d prefer a pale blue or grey laminate with a white tile backsplash.  If we have more money after that, I’d like to see the cabinets scraped and repainted as they are, white and blue—or better yet, replaced with pale wood cabinets, with more cabinets and a microwave nook added above the stove.  I’d replace the bent and torn screen door to the back yard, fix the crack at the bottom of the door to remove the draft, and even replace the floor tiles with faux hardwood laminate or uniform grey or light blue tile.  Then I’d then repair the cracked window pane, repaint the frame, and clean the paint-smeared glass.

Ho-ho!  But if I could go stir-crazy with remodeling, why not bash down the back wall and extend the house another twenty feet!?  Then we could have a proper dining space AND a larger kitchen—and let’s remodel the moldy bathroom and basement while we’re at it, adding a main-floor laundry and bathroom by the back door and fix the cracks in the walls and the crumbling porches and the... Who am I kidding?  I’d never bother with such a huge project with no real return on the money and effort.  (Just the counter alone seems overwhelming, when I think realistically.)

A lightning flash of guilt illuminates the materialism behind these desires, but I close the curtains on those thoughts.  I’ve put up with this wreck of a kitchen for five years, gosh darn it!  I think I’ve demonstrated a laudable amount of contentment (“or laziness,” another part of my brain snidely corrects me—shush, you!).  Surely I’m not wrong to desire something better so long as I don’t let discontentment ruin my joy or my witness as a Christian.  Since I plan to make use of a superior kitchen to provide more frequent hospitality, I hope my desires, if not purely altruistic, are at least not purely materialistic.

On Using Limited Space Efficiently (Part 4: Maintain Tidiness Daily)

Let’s assume you’ve followed the advice in my previous posts and have created a ruthlessly downsized and well-organized space.  Great!  But in limited spaces, a little untidiness that might be overlooked in a big house will seem messier and will get in your way.  The only way to keep your home presentable and maneuverable is through daily maintenance—to ensure everything stays in its place, out of the way, when it’s not in use.

Ideally, a home would be pristine.

In reality, we have to live, right?  We have papers and ongoing projects we want to put our hands on easily, clothes we want to wear again that don’t belong in the drawer or the laundry basket, and borrowed items we want to by the door so we’ll remember to return them.

As a solution, one must find a compromise between necessity and space; keep your space neat, but accept that some messes will have to remain, gobbling up space.  Most importantly, if you see a mess, fix it then, not later (assuming you’ve no guests or appointments who would find your timing inappropriate).  This habitual tidiness requires discipline—first to learn to spot problems and then to have the strength of will to delay previous intentions to take care of it.  (I can’t claim consistent mastery of this solution, but it is effective when I apply it!)

Develop habits such as follow:

When you change clothes, set them in the laundry basket or in a single spot to be worn a second time rather than scattered across the bed and floor.  

During meal preparation or after you’ve eaten, wash the dishes as soon as possible.  

You may need to have piles of reading material or papers laying around—but make sure they’re neat piles, set out of the way.  Be sure to keep bills in a separate area so you can’t lose them below other piles and neglect to attend to them!

Start projects in a space you won’t need for a while, work efficiently, and clean up as soon as you’re done so you can clear the space for other uses.  

    If you start consuming a bottled drink or a snack, make a point of placing the unfinished item in only one or two easily-findable places.  Then, discipline yourself to not start a new bottle or snack until you’ve found and finished any already-open ones and until you’ve put old empty containers in the trash or recycle bin.

Take out the trash and recyclables promptly!  Not only does this keep your house more sanitary and better smelling, it also reduces clutter.

If you notice dust has gathered heavily over your vents or that someone has tracked in mud or sand, clean it up then, not later.

Good luck, and keep it up!

On Using Limited Space Efficiently (Part 3: Get creative with storage and room layout)

When you’ve downsized as much as possible, and all the stuff you have is stuff you use or will use in short order, the final method to fit it all into a limited space is to get creative with the layout of your storage and rooms.  Thankfully, Joel and I set up our living room efficiently the first time, but we’ve had to rearrange the kitchen and closets to make better use of the spaces.

            Ideally, people would get furniture that makes the best use of the space, and put them in the most spacious and useful arrangement.  Similarly, we’d tuck belongings into easily-accessible yet out-of-the way compartments.

In reality, furniture isn’t cheap, and we may be stuck with hand-me-downs that don’t fit our space.  Furnishings and homes are also not always designed with efficiency in mind; stoves or fridges may impede access to certain cabinets, and beds may not be designed to allow storage underneath.  Also, attractive and useful storage containers cost money, and experimenting with the wrong ones can get expensive, especially if the store doesn’t accept returns.

Solution—to get creative with your space, consider adding nets hanging from the ceiling, building shelves on the walls, and double stacking books on a bookshelf.  Be open to unusual placements, and take note of every surface that you could possibly use—don’t forget the tops of bookshelves and fridges and ledges above doors to display knick-knacks that you’re not ready to part with, or to store pots or baskets.  Choose storage devices that can do double duty with items inside and on top (e.g. avoid bins or boxes with rounded tops), and when choosing kitchenware, go for stackable items.  Measure spaces (and write them down) before buying containers to fill them, and remember to bring a tape measure to the store or to read size descriptions on boxes.  Get permanent or semi-permanent hooks for your walls to hang everything from hats and coats to stuffed animals, pots, oven mitts, and alarm clocks.

As further examples, in a choice between two types of glass measuring cups, go for the ones with handles that don’t connect at the bottom; they will stack more easily inside each other or inside a bowl with the handle able to rest on the outside.  Set small items inside larger items when possible, such as extra dish towels or small appliances inside rarely-used, oversized soup pots or crock pots.  Buy stackable storage drawers; you can always use more or fewer to fit a different space.  Bed-risers work on some beds to increase storage underneath, but you might also consider investing in a new frame or in more slender storage drawers to fit underneath the current one.

A place for everything and everything in its place.

On Using Limited Space Efficiently (Part 2: Go Paperless)

The modern world has produced a plethora of gadgets to make our lives easier—and one of the greatest is the computer in all its incarnations.  With a cell phone, a laptop, and perhaps an external hard drive, one can do all manner of things that otherwise require paper, which takes up a fair amount of space in one’s home.  Thus, if you want to regain some elbow room, go paperless.

Ideally, we’d all take tech classes as needed so we can use email, buy e-books, manage finances electronically, and store documents and notes-to-self on a gadget or in free “cloud” storage services.  Most sites take great pain to keep information secure, and this will save you a great deal of shelf and cabinet space.

In reality, buying e-books of every physical book a person owns can be economically prohibitive, and not everyone’s eyes feel comfortable reading from a screen—though the basic Kindle or Kindle Paperwhite were created to fix this problem.  Furthermore, while a single Kindle or Nook can store hundreds of books, one can’t scan or flip through a reference work very efficiently.  Also, not all utilities and companies offer online billing, and people can forget passwords or accidentally delete important information.  (In counter-argument, we can also loose or launder paper documents, so it doesn’t seem like that much more of a risk to me.)

Musicians also don’t yet have a good way to store and play off of electronic sheet music, so they’d still need to keep their music books. (Though wouldn’t it be cool if a pianist could set a large iPad before him and tap the screen to turn pages forward and back—or better yet, a program that could hear what you played and turn pages for the musician!?  A single device could store thousands of sheet music PDFs!)

The solution, as always, is to compromise.  Whenever you wish to make a new purchases of fiction, get the e-book version.  When you have the money, buy e-book versions of your physical fiction books, and then sell the physical copies.  However, keep your reference books and perhaps certain pieces of classic literature with lots of footnotes, which often have poor navigation in digital formats.  Similarly, read newspapers and magazines online if possible, or recycle old papers and mags after reading them (or after you realize you won’t get around to reading them).  If you tear out and save stories you particularly liked, they’ll take up far less space in a folder than the entire periodical will.

Definitely get on your bank’s and other place’s billing websites and set up direct deposit and automatic payments.  This, as an added bonus, ensures you’ll never get a late fee!

Example

When I got my Kindle, I acquired free editions of many classic works so I could ditch redundant volumes from our shelves.  (We gained one shelf back—but since the books were double shelved, it doesn’t seem like it.)  I’ve not bought a physical fiction book since then except for other people.  However, I’ve found that poetry is often poorly formatted on the Kindle, and footnotes aren’t always linked well to the text.  (For example, The Canterbury Tales was nearly unreadable, but I didn’t own it in hard copy before, and it was free, so it was no loss to me; I could have returned the book if it had been a problem.).  I’ve kept my physical dictionaries, my Bibles, and mom’s notated copy of Shakespeare’s plays since I like the notes and my ability to flip through them quickly.  I recycle what mail and most other papers we don't need.  Unfortunately, I’m a great note-taker and a poor note take-carer, so I have piles of notes I need to go through and possibly input in the computer.  At least they’re neat piles so far... I whittle them down about once a year when a fit of organization comes upon me.

          Anyway, you get the picture.  Good luck!

On Using Limited Space Efficiently (Part 1: Don’t Be a Packrat)

            My husband and I have spent the last five years living in a one-bedroom, 500-square-foot house.  We’ve made this cozy space workable... and it has taken work.  In the process of rearranging out kitchen and closets and making room for new items, we’ve learned a few tricks about using a limited space efficiently, which I’ll highlight in this and three future posts.

The first tip should be obvious: Don’t be a packrat.  

Ideally, we’d sell, give away, or trash whatever we don’t use without letting sentimentality or the feeble “but I may use it later” get in the way.  Imagine how spartain our homes would become!

            In reality, I know very few who can live up to this ideal.  For one thing, a poor or middle-class person should hang onto those extra 3M Command hooks and ball of twine and decorative stationery etc. because its economically unsound to use part, get rid of the rest, and buy more when needed.  

Furthermore, while we may manage to be minimalist in one area (our clothing, our library, our notes, our knickknacks, our technology, our kitchen appliances, our furniture, our games, our shiny bits of paper...), we often cling to belongings in other areas (same list) though some serve no purpose other than to jog memories, to show off, or to allay our guilt for buying or receiving the items in the first place.

            Unfortunately, many packrats don’t believe they are packrats—or don’t believe it’s possible to downsize their possessions.  Fortunately, most people without an OCD can be cured.  

Solving this begins in the mind with a brutally honest appraisal of one’s belongings and hoarding tendencies.  Once we’ve acknowledged the area of immoderation, we have to change the way we think about those items—to reevaluate their worth to us (from God’s perspective, ideally)—and only then can we successfully work to improve our habits.

Then, as a compromise, be minimalist where you can and, at least yearly, reevaluate your favored belongings and clear them out as ruthlessly as you can.  

• If you have acquired a plethora of items—rubber bands, twist ties, store coat hangers, etc—save only a few just in case you need them, but get rid of the excess.   
• Gift sentimental mementos to family and friends who will appreciate their meaning and who have the space and interest to make use of them.   
• Gift quality items to a charity to avoid guilt over the waste, and reuse worn items, turning them into art projects or rags... or simply throw them away.   
• If you can’t bear to part with things you don’t use, you could put them in storage after labeling the box something like “Goodwill,” “family,” or “trash.”  Then if you haven’t longed for the contents or can’t remember them after a year, deliver the box to the labeled recipient without opening it.
• I encourage book, newspaper, and magazine hoarders to go paperless (more on that in the next post).  
• Get rid of movies you rarely watch, and only buy new movies you plan to watch every year; if you only want to see a film once in a blue moon, rent it or get Netflix.
• A note to clothes and shoe hoarders--if you consider seventy tops and ten pairs of shoes “necessary,” consider that once upon a time (and in a few places today), most people had two changes of clothes and maybe a third for Sundays.  I point that out to show it can be done, not to urge you to reduce your wardrobe by that much; it makes sense to keep at least a week’s worth of clothes for both summer and winter, for slim and fat periods if your weight fluctuates frequently, and for varied levels of formality.  Still, no one would/should look down on you for wearing the same outfit more than once a month!  If you keep your wardrobe versatile, you can dress well without needing as many items, so downsize!  Keep pieces you can mix and match to make different outfits, and keep only a few shoe styles in colors that work with any outfit.

Examples

I had collected over fifty teddy bears by my senior year of high school, but their value changed in my eyes as I grew older.  Still, they stimulated nostalgia and looked so cute, I had a hard time with the idea of parting from them.  I brought two to college and, later, to my home.  The rest I went through perhaps once a year to choose ones that will go to kids at the Topeka Rescue Mission.  The rest I kept bagged in my parents’ basement until the next year I could evaluate them and part with a few more.  I made the final cut this last year, giving yet more to the Rescue Mission and those with meaning—several my late grandpa gave me—to some of my young second cousins who could love them and appreciate the connection to Grandpa.  Only a few remain with sentimental value, which I’ve asked my parents to keep for visiting grandchildren, should God grant them.

             As another self-deprecating example, during junior high or high school, my mom finally made me realize (through an ultimatum) that I was hoarding shiny candy wrappers only for the pitiful reason that they looked too pretty to throw out.  She forced me to reconsider whether I really needed them.  Though I couldn’t completely change the way I valued them, I did finally use the “trash” to make a collage, which is displayed in my childhood church’s abandoned youth room to this day where somebody, someday, will surely throw it away.  But at least it won’t be me, and I still have photographs of it.  Since then, I’ve improved that habit of mine, so I now throw out candy wrappers instead of hoarding them—with a slight pang for the pretty ones, but I can still do it.   

           You can do this kind of thing, too!

           I’ll address other methods of managing tight spaces in later posts, but the first step is to decrease the amount of stuff one owns.

On House Searching

       Out they go in their suburban camouflage, armed with a realtor and stack of stats, hoping to take a shot at a nice, big one--they're house hunters!


       Yes, my husband and I are embarking on this new experience.  Are we likely to find our perfect dream house in our budget?  Heck, no!  Are we financially ready?  We hope so.  Are we looking forward to a house larger than our current 500 square feet?  Oh, yeah!
       Since we're new to all this, I can't presume to share any words of wisdom for other house buyers--though we've been receive a lot of advice, ourselves.  I can only express our understandably mixed excitement and trepidation:
       I really like the idea of better storage spaces, more and nicer kitchen counters, room for the dining table's full size and for a queen-sized bed, as well as an exercising space where I need not fear damaging the ceiling fans, the furniture, or my limbs.  Imagine!  We could actually entertain more than three people comfortably!

        However, what kind of home is best?  How much of our wish-list should we compromise?  Would it be better to build our own house?  Is home ownership only what we want, or is it also part of God's plan for us?  Is this a good investment, financially?  Will we be wise about choosing a home and taking on a mortgage, or are we getting caught up in materialism and unwise debt?  What's better--an older house with charm but in need of many little repairs, or a newer house in better condition but with fewer charm points?
        At this point, we have more questions than answers.  Whatever happens will be a learning experience, and we trust this school of hard knocks won't knock harder than God will enable us to handle.