Spring is here (actually, it's almost over, really). It's gone from 48 to 82 degrees and back again over the last few days, but nonetheless, it's here if I say it's here. I mean really, we've already had our bikes in for their annual tune-ups and our deck door flung open on many-a-warm and breezy day. And in just one short week, my youngest son will be graduating from kindergarten, entering the big wide world of elementary education. One short week to get everything done I wanted to do before the kids descend on the home turf and my projects are waylaid for yet another three months.
I've been walking around for days with Volume 13 of Kinfolk Magazine that I purchased from the sale shelf at my local Anthropologie store (shhhh... I promise I didn't buy anything else for myself). I try to get in an article or snippet or two in the minutes between errands or breaking up the kiddos' fights or Anu's requests to "hold you" (I've weaned her over the last week, so someone is requiring a more-than-usual amount of mama time). But back to Kinfolk — this particular volume is an ode to "a crack in everything" (thank you Leonard Cohen). But I gotta tell you, the writers and editors' ideas of "a crack in everything" and the sensuous photos that correspond to the wily words certainly don't mirror the cracks in my life. The cracks in this magazine are still gorgeous, so nearly curated, so rough in all the right ways, that I long for those messes. The editors end their welcome letter with this spurring on of sorts:
“From the shoddy darning on your cardigan to the oddly manicured shrubs in your neighborhood, these flawed details are the beautifully blemished collateral of a life lived to the fullest. So make mistakes. Make a mess. What have you got to lose?”
Don't get me wrong. I feel like I've spent a lot of time thinking and writing about how to embrace the imperfections of life and make lemonade out of the proverbial lemons. I mean when you have kids, there really is no other way to save sanity, right? And I love Kinfolk; why else would I walk around with the heavy volume in my bag along with snacks, water bottles, baby wipes, pen bags and pads of paper for the kids, etc., etc., not to mention my own stuff. But here's what I'm talking about... One of the home tours in the volume starts with the line, "Imperfection is part of life: It's where the poetry and humor hide." Very true, no doubt, but then you see the pictures of the old blacksmith's warehouse that the architect writing those words renovated and summer at in Greece. There are certainly eccentricities when you convert an old industrial space into a living space, but those are the imperfections that are chosen, almost with purpose. The lines are beautifully imposed and the minimalist furniture enhances every "odd" feature of the old space. It's rustically found, but modern interior porn at its finest. My cracks involve the odd and often crayon or glue stick marks on the walls, cabinet paint worn away from kitchen grease or too many sticky hands opening and closing the doors, the swollen siding on the back of the deck from grill heat that was too close. You get the drift.
Recently, thanks both to a post on Facebook and a gift from my sister-in-law, I read the tiny powerhouse of a book, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing. The process of decluttering has been a focal point of my last year with both boys in full-day school. I always say that this is the beauty of living in a 1500-square-foot condo with five people (to my friends in New York and Tokyo, don't kill me for admitting to that much space!). You can't accumulate too much, and what you do add, you have to find a place for or simply replace something else. But I have yet to implement the full-scale tidying effort that Marie Kondo encourages in her book. My main criticism is that throughout the whole book I kept asking aloud, as if to the author herself, "now how do you do this with three kids in the house?" I mean I get the overall mantra: if it doesn't bring you joy, get rid of it, but truly, how much of my kids' stuff brings me joy? Not much. You should see my younger son's bedside table with a plethora of everything clutter-worthy: small stones, flip-top lids of tupperware that he pretends are his laptop computer, dainty accessories from his My Little Pony ponies (not to mention the ponies themselves), scraps of paper that he makes into small fans for himself and his stuffed "friends," the list goes on and on. Our back room (now our bedroom) is home to stacks of books and magazines and clippings that someone I share the room with (I shall not mention his name) cannot part with. But our collective clutter is certainly not all his fault. My formidable t-shirt collection, housed in with the DVDs that are never brought out or played, should have been donated years ago, save for a handful. And the kids' artwork just continues to grow, and grow, and grow... These are not the cracks you see so often in most lovely, well-curated, lifestyle magazines. Even the ones about cracks and imperfections.
I'm well-versed in the cracks and clutter in our home, as I harbor the notion that one day in the not-so-far future, we might just sell this place and move into a stand-alone home. And so I'm constantly making lists of things to get fixed, things to replace, things to go through and donate. Marie Kondo says that once you declutter, you never have to do it again... simply put things back where they belong. Easier said than done. She must never go to Target... with three young children at that. My goals for this summer are these, simple and in no strict order (and god help me abide):
- Make things, not buy (and not buy the stuff to make things, either)
- Be outside, not in
- Hang out at the library instead of the bookstore
- Teach each child something new (for Anu that may be simply how to pee in a potty)
- Make new, local friends
- Cook more and in new ways
- Enjoy my home and neighborhood like never before, especially the beach
- Listen to or make more music
- Write down the stories we tell each other
- Be active but not rushed
- Take one good vacation
- Don't get too stressed
- And, if I have time, continue to clear away that which is unused or unnecessary
I was looking at a book Nalin got from the library this last time, which actually seems to showcase a more realistic idea of imperfections and global gatherings for interiors and, dare I say, for an interior life. Perhaps I feel a kinship to it more because even in the midst of my minimalist desires, I can never seem to achieve the quiet, spare simplicity of minimalism itself. The book is Nomad: A Global Approach to Interior Style, and its author Sibella Court draws her inspiration and her aesthetic from her travels. I am, by no means, as well travelled as the author, but I do find a sort of comfort in the whimsical ways that an odd box or block printed fabric or wooden serving spoons from travels long gone seems to find its way into the room without even a clear intention. Granted, this book may be, perhaps, more about gathering than ridding, but I think you can also glean ideas about how to showcase and use past objects you've gathered from travels to inform your interiors today. Instead of getting the next new thing, perhaps revive something from before. I may not be the best tidy-er around, but one thing I have realized I enjoy doing is repurposing things for new uses or new people. Just yesterday Nooa found an old gold and wooden pencil box we had gotten on a trip to India once. I have no idea where he found it, but he was ecstatic to find the perfect home for his stone and ring collection. What was once displaced has now found its purpose... on the top of the cluttered nightstand I restrain myself from clearing every single day.
My encouragement to all those moms and dads and friends out there longing for simplicity and a more ordered existence is to take one day at a time. Remind yourself that it is better to be creative than to buy (I'm encouraging myself on that one), to do what you can in a given day and not bemoan what hasn't been done, and to enjoy your family and friends. And when you are going about doing the household maintenance and ordering of life, pull out one thing from the past and make it new to you. It will remind you of a faraway place or maybe even a faraway you. And that is always pretty damn magical. Tidying or no tidying.