29 May 2015

Living Small in a Big City

This week, we are hosting The Cousins (all five of them!) and their mommy & daddy (AKA Nathan's sister and her husband) in our little one bedroom in New York City.  Add those bodies to our four (Nathan is traveling currently), and we come to a total of ELEVEN.  Eleven people in 450 square feet.  That's around 41 square feet per person.  It's been a little cramped, but we've worked it out pretty well, all things considered.

While I was having a moment of alone time (in the bathroom - the only room currently with just one person at a time in it), I was thinking that it might be helpful to share some of our family's survival tips whilst navigating the wilds of New York.  I've read lots of articles recently about "living small" and "downsizing" and "simplifying" and, while I believe these are helpful for developing new habits in daily life (or, in some cases, opening an entirely new arena of consumer products for "storage," etc.), I think many of them fail to get at the root of true simple living, which - at least for our family - is spiritual in nature.

I have lots to say on this issue, so I've decided to begin a little series on our own family's practices - or at least, *my* practices which I try to work into our family life.  Not in any way to "show off" - but in the spirit of sharing - sort of like a "life hack" series for small living on the cheap.  Also, I wanted to use as many quotation marks as possible in a single article.

To begin with, let me say that for me, the idea of "small living" and "living simply" is a bit of a loaded idea.  I've seen articles on families of 50 living in a little box and saying how happy they are (that's a bit of an exaggeration, of course), but when I see these articles, I also see the expensive storage solutions and fancy apartments (in high rises with elevators and exercise rooms and storage rooms in the basement).  These are speaking to a particular demographic, but assume that such a lifestyle is attainable by everyone (because they think that everyone lives in their socio-economic bracket).  That is always a little irritating to me because I don't live in that bracket, and I venture to guess that a majority of people also do not.  Like those "manage your money" books, which tell you to reduce things like your entertainment budget in order to save money - we don't even have an entertainment budget!

These articles go on to say how easy it is to "let go" of clutter and how doing so brings their family together.  While this may be true - we know for instance that there are links between emotional health and hoarding, as an example - it's not as simple as throwing stuff away.  For me, the issue of hoarding and holding on to "stuff" is partly a symptom of living in poverty - the fear of "letting something go" because one might need it later is very real for people who are living from one paycheck to another.  It is also a holdover from my grandmother's generation, whose parents lived through the Great Depression and therefore learned to live very frugally.  To get rid of something useful is almost a sin - someone might need it sometime!  And of course, for people who have the space, this isn't really an issue (don't worry, Gramma - I am very happy you saved all that you have - especially the clothes!).

Another layer of this issue is that consumption in our culture is highly valued.  We're are always hearing about the "new and improved" products available for our purchase, and then of course there is the storage industry, making new and fancier ways to hide the stuff we already have.  Our economy is based on consumption - which in itself isn't necessarily an evil thing - but we do know that consumption without conscience isn't the best idea.  We even have "shopaholics," who use shopping and the acquisition of things as therapy - and I must admit that I've sometimes purchased things simply because I want them, and not necessarily because I need them.

But all of these issues belie the greater problem - that we base our worth - our REAL worth - on what we possess.  Now, it may be easy to poo-poo that idea, but our culture promotes this everywhere we look.  Everyone has a "thing" (or many things) that s/he might covet - a particular car, a new dress or shoes, a fancy blender (guilty!), or an income bracket - things we say to ourselves "I will be happy when I acquire this." Even those "living simply" articles tell us that we must buy other things than the things we have to live simply and be happy.  There is nothing wrong with wanting to improve - but what about improving our selves - our minds, our hearts, our capacity for virtue, our discipline?  [And - before you accuse me of being "un-American" (I can hear that right now, especially on account of all the culture "bashing" that you might perceive), let me also share the caveat that I love my country, and I also love humanity, of which my country is a small part.  I am simply using my training in cultural anthropology to tease out some of the shortcoming that I perceive - not to place blame - but to address and rectify.]

End sermon!

I've already taken up a bit of space in my pontification, but I wanted to share some practical ideas before I run out of steam!  These are little idea nuggets that I have placed in the front of my mind when designing the flow of our home and household:

1.  My worth is not based on what I possess.  Of course, I have touched on this earlier, but it is very important!  The Baha'i Teachings share that our true nature is spiritual, and that our Creator takes no mind to our wealth, but rather to our spiritual practices.  Baha'u'llah says,

"O SON OF BEING! Busy not thyself with this world, for with fire We test the gold, and with gold We test Our servants."  

For me, this doesn't mean live the life of an aesthete, but to not let our possessions be the masters of us.  Our belongings are meant to improve our life - and the life of our community - not become adornments for us to lord over others.  If we use what wealth we have in helping others, then we have mastered this.

2.  I will get what I need.  This idea is a little esoteric in nature, but I believe that if I am moving in accordance with Divine Will, then I don't need to worry about not having enough.  We all know the Rolling Stones song "You Can't Always Get What You Want" and  (But if you try sometimes, well you might find, You get what you need.)"  Sort of like that.  This is the driving force as to why we are in New York City right now - we can't really afford it (we currently aren't, to be honest) - but Nathan was accepted into Juilliard.  One does not simply say "no" to a Juilliard acceptance.  So we scrimp and save (well, there's nothing to save, so it's all scrimping at the moment), we enroll in the Food Stamps program and in Affordable Healthcare, and we cram ourselves into a small one-bedroom apartment.  For some, this may seem a little nuts (of course, to others, we are living in relative luxury), but we trust that this work is of service to humanity, and so we pursue it.

3.  I'd rather have a smoothly-running household (i.e. not cluttered) than a lot of things.  For me, this means prioritizing.  The more dishes I have, the more I have to wash.  My awesome cast iron sewing machine is sitting in storage, but my trusty busted Husqvarna and serger are sitting in our hall closet.  We each only have one (set) of towel(s).  Nine tenths of the girls toys are still at their grandparents' house.  We are fortunate that we have the luxury of extra space in which to hold our extra stuff until we decide to deal with it.  But I'm happy with what I've chosen to bring, and what I've left behind.  The less stuff we have, the less tidying I have to do, and lord knows I've got enough of that to do as it is.

4.  Don't let anyone else tell you what to do/stop telling other people what to do.  Ha!  I'm so tired of all of this unwanted advice - and tired of being offended by it or - on the other hand - dumping a ton of it out on other people.  I hope that you take all of this with a grain of salt - and that you take only what you find helpful and leave the rest.  Life is for learning and growing and JOY!  xoxo

15 February 2015

Two A.M.

Our apartment is hot.  Swelteringly so.  They say in New York that you have two kinds of heat settings: boiling and not working.  I am thankful that we at least have heat, but it is almost oppressive in its presence.

I consider opening the window a crack, but am too tired to get up.  That window is so hard to open, and my core muscles, after bearing three little people, usually protest when I finally have to close it again.  Additionally, I don't want to be seen - the looming 20 story building behind ours - some monstrosity built in the 1970s that sticks out like a sore thumb in the block of post-war five-floor walk-ups - stares at me with lidless windows whenever I open that window.  I usually just slip my arms around the curtain on either side and pull, hoping no one is looking out.  At 2 AM, the chances are slim, but I am more wary about those looking out at this time of night.

That window, too, is on the fire escape.  I read in our local listserve last week about someone getting robbed in the neighborhood a few blocks away and the burglar came in through the fire escape.  Ours is hard to access, but I'm always on the alert.  Moreso now that my husband is out of town for two weeks.  I'll just leave it closed.

The person next to me shifts in her sleep.  I am relieved that she finally - after struggling all night - was able to get through the congestion and nurse to sleep.  Probably only because I forced some medicine down her throat.  Our room may be hot, but little fevers burn hotter.  I am thankful for those souls who discovered ibuprofen, and I silently send a prayer their nameless way.

Now she is finally resting, and I wish I could be, too, but there is always a little sense of alertness that lingers after a midnight wakening.  She is sleeping now, but she is still stirring somewhat.  I know that I won't be able to rest until she has dropped into deeper sleep.

We share the same bed - all my children have - although the older have graduated to their own.  In our one-bedroom, though, that's not a big step.  The girls sleep on a trundle futon that slips neatly underneath ours.  I was so excited when I found it online last month - a little sense of comfort in a strange new place - I wouldn't have to fold our beds up every morning, and I could get them off of the floor.

It was never really a conscious choice - we seem to have been in small spaces for the majority of our family life.  In Chicago, we had a one-bedroom, and Evanston as well.  Once we moved to Bloomington, we expanded to fill a three-bedroom house, and only downsized this past year.  Now we are back in a one-bedroom, thanks to New York rental prices, and so our lifestyle didn't take a major hit.  Where, I ask, would we put all the beds?

My eight year-old stirs, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.  The heat has gotten to her, so I help her take off her pajamas.  She flops onto the bed again, asleep before her head hits the pillow.  I consider a pre-emptive removal of my six year-old's pjs, but think again.  Her going-to-bed was fraught with more-than-usual crying and lamentation.  Last night, she wailed that I was turning into a vampire.  Tonight, it was less dramatic - I was only going to explode - but I'm not rushing to wake that up.

It is hard when daddy leaves town.  Not only for the outright absence of another adult presence, but for the change in routine, the inability to ask simple, every-day questions to another adult.  Even questions like, "what's for dinner?"  I take care of all of those daily needs now, absorbing them into my daily routine.  I complain about two weeks, but I am really thankful that I have a partner in the first place.  Two weeks is just a drop in the bucket.  Proper dues to those parents who are single all the time.

The littlest one stirs again, flopping her legs and arms as she lays on her back.  Her nose is so snuffy that she sleeps with her mouth open for breath.  This - aside from the fever - has been her chief complaint this time around.

We've been sick since we moved here - all the new germs that a city of eight million can breed have seemed to come our way, in one form or another.  Nathan told me of a colleague who experienced a similar phenomenon.  She's a true New Yorker now, inoculated after her season of illness.  When Spring comes, I suppose we'll be able to say that of ourselves.  I am tired of being sick.

I am getting more used to this pace of life - no car, three children, getting groceries; smoking neighbor, holes in the walls, buying air filters; houses on top of one another and crammed into blocks, but unadulterated green space six blocks away.  I suppose I am feeling more hopeful - late nights notwithstanding - adapting to a new way of living.  New York is a country unto itself - noisy, raucous, yes, but also kind and community-oriented.  There are those who are rude, but there are more kind people here than I have ever met before as well.  The sheer volume alone, coupled with the fact that there are so many of us.  On an island.  We have to work together.

The tiredness finally hits me like a wave.  I feel the energy draining out of me and I imagine it flowing into my mattress, down the legs of my bed, through the floor and into the granite two stories below.  The earth will hold it there for me until I need to call it up again, in a few hours when the sun rises.  It somehow always has a harder time coming back up...

30 October 2014

Catcalling

Geez Louise, this catcalling business is hot stuff on my Facebook feed right now.  Street harassment (usually by men - okay, always by men) towards women is having its nasty side exposed, with videos about how often it happens, online campaigns, and even some airtime on national television.

Essentially, it's gross.  And people need to know its gross.  And stop doing it.

In Bloomington (Indiana), it wasn't ever really a problem, at least for me.  Of course, I wasn't a college girl on campus.  I was a harried-looking mom driving around in a station wagon.  But here in New York, it's a different culture.

I'm still a harried looking mom, only I'm not driving a car - but I am pushing a baby carriage.  So that, in itself, is somewhat of a deterrent.  I do every now and then get some "bless you, mami" - but I take those as "bless you, you poor tired mother" and I will take that.  Also, to my defense, I get those from women, too.  I've been blessed more here in two months in New York than in my entire adult life elsewhere.  People are always blessing children.  I love that.

But I digress.  This evening I got a few minutes to myself to pop over to the dollar store for a few things (read: escape from the babies for 30 minutes!  Run!).  As I was walking out, I got what I would call my first legitimate catcall/street harassment incident.  A young man was standing by the door of the store and said to me, as I walked by (no eye contact, I was thinking about deep tired mother thoughts), "Hey, beautiful."

(death knoll)


This is how the rest of it played out, in script format.  My husband is a playwright, after all:


Liz [turning to look him in the face, slowing only a bit]:  Do I know you?

Guy [looking up, not missing a beat]:  No.

Liz [continuing to walk away]:  So?

Guy [pausing]:  At least I didn't call you ugly.

Liz [raising her voice now, as she is walking down the block still]:  So?

Guy:  Do you want me to call you ugly?

Liz [shouting behind her]:  You don't have to call me anything. (zing!)

Guy:  Whatever!

Me [hollering back]:  Whatever!

***

I won.  I won that one.  Fair and square.  And I was especially invested as there were two younger women behind me.  I wanted them to know it was okay to call it back.  You don't have to call me ANYTHING.

Now I'm going to relish my victory by ferociously cleaning my front room, imagining with every swipe of the vacuum that I am sucking up the dirt of sexism everywhere.

Huzzah!

29 October 2014

#Socktober Plan

Hi this is Olivia again.

I just made a video with a plan for gift bags for the homeless.  We are going to make gift bags and carry them around when we go out and whenever we see someone homeless, we give a bag to them.

We are putting stuff like raisins and nuts and bottles of water and popcorn and socks (of course) and ponchos and maybe a little note.  The note will say something like, "I think you're special."

Here is the video:




Sorry about the noise in the background.  It's my little sisters.  Being loud.

22 October 2014

Hiccups Survey

I wanted to know the different ways that people cured hiccups.  So I asked my mom to post the question on Facebook.  There were more than 50 replies!

My hypothesis was that drinking water from the wrong end of a glass is most popular.

According to my graph, I was correct.  Twelve people answered "drink water from the wrong end of glass."

Here is the graph of my results:


The number one answer was "drink water from the wrong end."  Here are the other answers, in order:

2.  Hold your breath
3.  Drink water
4.  Do deep breaths
5.  Spoon full of sugar/honey
6.  Drink water AND hold breath
7.  Nothing
8.  Being scared
9.  Eat peanut butter
10.  Plug ears and nose and drink water
11.  Other

The "other" list included:

1.  Do a headstand
2.  Poke tummy
3.  Put the hiccups in a paper bag
4.  Drink water with a metal fork in it
5.  Focus on relaxing
6.  Put cotton on your forehead
7.  Put a straw in the air and a straw in the glass of water and drink both at the same time
8.  Burp
9.  Think of ten bald med (adults)
10.  Ask someone what they had for dinner last night
11.  Nurse (baby)
12.   Drink water then hang upside down
13.  Warm socks (wear them, I guess?)
14.  Medicine - laudanum

Thank you to everyone who replied.