choosing frugality

What can you do with old pillows? Or, the hidden challenges of co-housing.

/ kategresham / 3 Comments

What can you do with old pillows?

They say to replace pillows every twelve months  for health reasons. That makes for a lot of leftovers.

We are two households  combining gradually.

A corner offering sanctuary, my old house.

A corner offering sanctuary, my old house.

I’d been living by myself. My house had three bedrooms and two bathrooms . I was working  in a permanent job with a regular income. Not a normal thing in my life, so I  had lots of fun buying furniture, linen, bedding, cookware  … all the accoutrements of a “proper” lifestyle, after many years of making do and never having enough.  I  was able finally to have enough, perhaps even, to have abundance – lots of pillows and lots of stuff.  I loved it . I enjoyed being able to buy another set of towels or good bakeware or whatever took my fancy.

lots of ... stuff.

lots of … stuff.

My co-houser has brought her furniture, linen, bedding, cutlery, and ….  So here we are now with… excess.

There must be something you can do with pillows. All the couches (and yes, we have several couches, four in fact),  have European pillows, standard pillows and cushions, covering them. I’m interested in the way visitors will perch on the edge and stay there (there’s no room unless they move some clutter), looking uncomfortable and ill at ease, but ignoring admonitions to ” move the cushions, they’re only thrown there, you won’t disarrange anything!” The cushions and pillows aren’t placed there for decorative reasons, but as somewhere to put them.

couches are for holding cushions and pillows.

couches are for holding cushions and pillows.

And excess quilts, blankets, cutlery, saucepans, cupboards, tables  – the obvious answer – get rid of them! But who wants leftover pillows or quilts or blankets or? And how do we choose what to keep and what to give away?  Who wants to give away their cherished blankets, the ones their granma gave them when they first left home?  Which set of saucepans do we keep? Do you begin to see the hidden depths of what may have appeared to be simple?

Back to the original question- I hold the belief that excess pillows are very useful. They can be cushions, or pillows for picnics, or beds for stray animals, or heaped on the deck or … I find it difficult to give away something that is inherently useful,  someday I may need it. And no, I ‘m not a child of the Depression era.  And yes I do save plastic bags-I hate to buy plastic when the earth and all her living creatures are being poisoned by micro plastic! How can I knowingly add to that huge plastic continent in the middle of the Pacific?

Need I mention here that I am plagued by the fear of scarcity? What if my co-houser discovers she hates living in the country and moves back to the city? There won’t be enough pillows and blankets, saucepans and cutlery to go round!

Now my co-houser is much better at giving things away (perhaps reckless?). A wonderful colonial silky oak cupboard went to the removalist. Her reason? There’s nowhere for it here. I would have hung onto it, hoping that a home would be found for it. That’s why there’s a red cedar chest of drawers sitting downstairs. So far there is nowhere for it, but  my father adored red cedar. He found this one at an auction and treasured it. Throwing it out feels disloyal to his memory.

My old house- books and space for cats.

My old house- books and space for cats.

This house has big windows and not much wall space. We need bookshelves, so even less wall space. Can you see where I’m heading? Yes, we each have a collection of paintings, prints, photos, tapestries … if it’s difficult to choose between cutlery sets without causing upset, how much more difficult to choose paintings!

some wall for paintings.

some wall for paintings.

Thus the unexpected traps of co-housing when each member has abundance, requiring tact and understanding and for each person o be able to let things go.

Not only does the rationising of possessions highlight one of the unexpected challenges of co-housing, it also raises the dilemma of disposal. What do we do with them? I do not want to be part of the throwaway society. Use it, get rid of it, add to landfill … our earth is drowning in garbage. Our excess is of good quality; there are people in need. After fruitless phone calls I have given up trying to find some way of getting them to refugee camps, to those thousands in Europe I s huddling in adequate clothing and shelter. But. No one wants my excess. What do I do?

(A postscript: help! the aloe versa keep on multiplying and multiplying! what can I do?)

It’s possible! Who needs lots of money to be happy?

/ kategresham / 16 Comments

You can do it! You can stop working full-time and have enough to eat, somewhere to live, your basic needs met and enjoy being alive. Trust me, I’m doing it, so I know what I’m talking about. (The tiny house movement is just one example of doing it differently.)

 

I remember the anxiety and fear. Sometimes I think it was terror- of the future, of what might happen, of all the what ifs. I dreaded being old and homeless, joining the community who lived on the street.

I remember the constant anxiety before I bought a house. The constant worry of when I would have to move again. Rentals get sold or the owners want it for something else or… the one certainty in life was that sooner or later I would have to move. There would come the search for somewhere suitable, finding the best possible home that I could afford, then the packing and cleaning; the expense and the disruption and the stress.

I remember finally, at last buying a house. I was fifty-one and I had lived for years without even the hope that this might happen. I was given the keys to my house and that evening I sat on the floor, I simply sat there,  and  the fears and the tensions and the worries melted away. I had a home. I could plant a garden. It was mine. (Well, yes, there was a mortgage, but…)

Manning Regional Art Gallery's photo.

After many years of insomnia I started sleeping. I fed birds from the deck through the day and possums at night. I sat by the lake and was content or wandered into the rainforest across the road and breathed in the trees.

And then ( there always seems to be an “and then”). Illness happened. Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and I couldn’t work for almost twelve months. Then a gradual return: a half day, two half days, one full day… I reached four days. Then brain surgery, then a heart condition… In six years I was never able to return to work a five day week in my full-time permanent job.

The fear and the anxiety returned. What if I couldn’t pay my mortgage? What if I lost my job? What if I was too ill to continue working even part-time? The bag lady spectre came back.

Eventually I sold my house. A work flat was available, furnished and the changes had begun. A friend in a similar situation ( single, unable to buy a home by herself ) was happy to buy a house with me.

And we lived happily ever after. Well, you can fill in the next events. They aren’t what matter here.

What I really want to tell you is how part of this story, the part before I resigned from my job, meant facing the possibility of poverty- looking the fear in the face and asking if I could cope. (This is a wonderful post exploring some of the possibilities.)

Harvest from the garden.

Harvest from the garden.

What if I couldn’t afford to have a car? What if I couldn’t afford heating?  No new clothes? Dentists? Food? Doctors?  Never have another massage? Or see a chiropractor? What if I couldn’t afford the restaurant get-togethers? Meeting friends for coffee? Would I have to live with hairy legs, no more waxing? Concerts? Theatre?

Of course I went through the self reprimands of how privileged my life had been, of how I had frittered money, if only I’d been more frugal, if I’d stayed in one job and worked my way up, if …but that’s another story.

Two and a half years later I can tell you that it is possible! I still have my car but if I can’t replace it in the future I live in a small town where I can walk to the things I need or catch a bus.

Shared bounty from a friend.

Shared bounty from a friend.

I know that if I have no money left for food one week there is enough in my pantry to feed us. My neighbours have hens and can give me eggs. The vegetable garden is developing and will supply some food. There’s always rice and lentils and …

If it’s freezing and the heating bill is high, then… more clothes, warm underwear… there are secondhand clothing shops, there’s the world of online buying and selling… I need special clothes for an occasion? someone might lend me something…

The most significant awareness I have and that which I believe with all my being is that we must  join together. A group of people on limited incomes can support each other in times of need. We must reach out and not be alone. A pestilence of our modern lifestyle is isolation and loneliness. We can find ways of living together and of sharing and of caring for each other.

It is possible! Not only is it possible, it’s fun and exciting. I have challenges, things to strive for and the endless possibilities that come with stepping out of the box.

Never give up, I say.

 

Take the step and throw yourself in.

Take the step and throw yourself in.

Garden Diary

/ kategresham / 3 Comments

Yet again, I’m forced to acknowledge that I can’t do everything. Does this mean that yet again I need to let go some things I want to do?

One of my highest priorities is to live simply and sustainably. This includes having a beautiful and productive garden. Gardening is always one of my highest priorities. It grounds and renews me and brings me quiet joy.

a sad plant

a sad plant

A move to a new home and environment? Start the garden! But here I am, more than a year later and the garden is almost untouched . The weeds are still there, old plants cry out for pruning, there’s lots of potting to do, plants I bought last week are languishing, unplanted. And there’s a whole new garden to develop.

Whenever I’m outside I end up feeling disheartened, overwhelmed and frustrated.

What can I do?  I can judge myself, become highly critical and end up with no gardening done feeling thoroughly miserable. Or, I can choose to practise self-acceptance and self-compassion with no judgement.  To do this I must first accept that I cannot do the impossible; to start this garden from where it is now, is just too big a task for me. So I stop thinking I will.

So here’s what I shall do: I have settled on a plan, after much deliberation; we shall create no-dig gardens, or lasagne gardening; growing on top of the ground by building up layers. This soil is too hard and too degraded to attempt to dig. And to begin with, we shall have beds where there is now lawn, leaving some lawn around each bed.

the beginnings at Tarbuck

the beginnings at Tarbuck

 

I can’t do this. I don’t even make an attempt. It’s too big for me, even if I practise doing it “a bucket at a time. ”

So this week I shall find a gardener who will plant fruit trees and set up the garden beds. I have two sources to go to for information. I’ll ask my same sources if they know where I can buy old railway sleepers for my garden edges. If I can’t get any, then I shall order  treated pine. I will talk to the garden suppliers to decide if I will order garden soil and compost at the same time. That will depend on whether I can begin to move it myself, slowly, “a bucket at a time”,  to build up the beds. I need the beds started to get me over the first hurdle. Once the beds are in place and some initial layering is done, I’m going to try hay bale gardening. That way, I can start growing some vegetables before the beds are set up fully- I do know that it will take me time to set

a new bed

a new bed

them up. And as the bales break down they will become part of the process.

You see, this will be my second spring here and still I won’t have sweet peas, poppies, cornflowers, delphiniums, forget-me-nots, lupins, irises, daffodils, jonquils, anemones and all the other joys of a spring garden.  For a second year we may not have the pleasure and sheer delight of extravagantly beautiful, fragrant roses; fruit trees take several years to bear fruit. I want to go out to my garden and pick that night’s dinner. For too many years I have not had the things I consider to be essential  I don’t have  years to wait. Housman talked of having only fifty years left to see the cherry hung with snow. I sure don’t have fifty years.

bluebells in Spring at Tarbuck

bluebells in Spring at Tarbuck

What have I learnt? To accept, yet again, that I am not superwoman and I can’t do everything. That I am prone to self-judgement and am still learning to be kind to myself. That I remain a work in progress. That, surprise, surprise, I’m still not perfect.

More prosaically, I realize that I have needed to live here for a time before I could clarify what I wanted to do and how I wanted to do it.  And that plans take time to develop. Patience! There will be enough time! If I live each moment fully, that moment will be enough. When the flowers are blooming, Kathryn, remember to appreciate them. Drink in their beauty, share them, fill your house with them. And always, keep your hands in the earth. It’s the Amish who say that we are closest to God when we have our hands in the soil.

a Spring bouquet

a Spring bouquet

And here I am, living in the country

/ kategresham / 1 Comment

As someone once said to me “it doesn’t matter where you start, you’ll always get to where you need.”

So, here goes!

Some years ago ,I fled to my mother’s, who still lived in the village where I grew up, to put some space between the man I loved and myself. We needed some distance to lick our wounds and give ourselves time to see whether we had a future.
I ended up with a job and a mortgage and have stayed without ever really making a choice to stay.  Continual illness and large chunks of time off work  meant I have lived in constant anxiety about not being able to keep up the mortgage payments and becoming homeless.

.. It’s a long story. Eventually I sold my house, left my job and  bought this house with one of my friends- a large house in a small, country town. The main street still has a shop (more a shed), for irrigation things and the rural supplies shop has hay bales and farm bits in the window. Window display is clearly not a selling point. I hear cows mooing at night. There’s a sheep in the backyard a few houses along.

Six months after moving into this house, I’m still living in chaos. Boxes line the hall, books are stacked downstairs and I spend too much time searching for a piece of paper I had five minutes ago.

My friend has never lived in the country and she prefers inner-city; she is truly an urban dweller as was I.  But we are mortgage free! And we have some space where we can grow vegies, live a simpler life, put solar panels on the roof and contribute to our community.

Renting in Sydney, I couldn’t see how I could ever buy. I feared being a bag lady. Buying with a friend has risks. It’s a challenge. But it means I don’t always have to put out the garbage. If one of us is ill, we have someone to drive us to the doctor, make the chicken soup…And, we are sharing resources rather than  gobbling up so many of the earth’s resources.  A couple of times I’ve thought I might have been getting sick- my first thought? It didn’t matter. I don’t have a mortgage. My friend and I are two of the lucky ones. We can only give it a go!