A Moderate Minimalist Movement

I'm sure this won't shock you to hear, if you know me at all, but I'm something of a minimalist.  I like the ideas contained in the movement, particularly that Stuff doesn't make one happy.  I'm not entirely 100% sure what does make one happy (I'll admit it), but I know that Stuff isn't the answer to that question.

So minimalism it is.  And this is what minimalism looks like, Tamra style:
- I don't wear make-up or even brush my hair most days.  Seriously, you want me to spend how much time getting ready for my day?  No thanks.
- I once spent about half a year not wearing shoes, even in some public places, including restrooms. 
- I don't wash my body with soap, except under extreme dirty conditions.
- I support spending less, driving less, using less, and owning less.  (This is hard to do, FYI.)
- I support the hippie-liberal Going Green movement.  Oh, wait.  That's mainstream now.  ...
- I often spend my days doing nothing.  Just sitting around, reading a book, cuddling with my kids.  I might not even change out of my pajamas.  Sometimes, in the midst of our crazy lives, less is more.
- I've started growing my own food, and stopped caring as much about my lawn.  Hurrays to go around!
- I like purging.  Too many clothes in the closet?  Toss half.  (Or donate them.  That's what I do.)  Too many toys (and nearly everyone has too many toys)?  Get rid of half.  And honestly, I think 50% is a good estimate.  I think most of us could get rid of half of what we own and not miss it.

But minimalism can be taken too far.  Way too far.  I think there is a fine line between being a minimalist and being insane.  Guy who lives in a cave and has nearly no contact with the outside world, you've probably crossed the line.  Couple who purged your personal belongs down to a mere 100, ... you may not actually be insane, and good for you, actually!  But not good for me.

So it turns out that I'm not actually a minimalist.  I'm more of a moderate minimalist.  "Moderation in all things, including minimalism," Benjamin Franklin once said.  So let's go through that list again, and then I'll tell you my new goal (or motto, or mantra, or whatever you want to call it).

- I do actually wear make-up sometimes (think once a month or less).  Cause it can be fun.
- I now wear shoes because, you know, people like it when you do that.  Turns out it makes people very uncomfortable when you choose to not wear shoes.  For the last decade I've been searching for the simplest sandal in the world because I'm a hippie out of my time.  And now I've found these shoes, and I may not put on another pair of shoes again.  
- I wash my pits with soap.  And I use shampoo and conditioner.  Also, I use hygiene products.
- I try to spend less, drive less, use less, and own less.  But involving my kids in activities while living in suburbia pretty well means a lot of driving.  I do own a small home (though not this small), and I have no desire to own a larger home, but I do have a desire to own more land because gardens are fantastic, and I'd love to have a few chickens, too!
- Going Green is great.  But I still take long showers, and I rinse my dishes before I put them in the dishwasher, and I don't always put my clothes on the line to dry, etc., etc., etc.
- Doing nothing may be my strongest area of minimalism.  But then again, I'm still reading (which is something, not nothing), and I own a TV (though I don't often watch it), and a computer with an internet connection.  Man, and I thought I was strong on this point!
- Having a garden is fantastic!  I need more garden space.  But owning a yard at all increases suburban sprawl.  It's a dilemma.

Purging gets its own paragraph, because it was while purging that I came up with my new goal.  I often go through the kids' toys and get rid of non-important toys.  My  husband, in general, will object to the purging by saying something like, "They like to play with that toy!"  Yes, and the 400 other toys we own.  Let it go, my friend.  Let it go.

It was while looking at our somewhat too large movie collection, thinking of how to decide on the method of scaling it back, that I came up with my new goal:  Only own things that I value.  Not things that are just nice to have or convenient to have.  Things that I value.  I think that's the great lie that was sold to us:  owning things will make you happy.  I don't need to own things just to own them!  But I do want to own things that I value.

And so the world opened up to me.  It solves my issues with minimalism.  Why don't I want to live in 180-square-feet?  Because I put value in my somewhat larger home.  Why do I want a garden?  Because I value having pretty flowers and home-grown food.  Why do I keep The Last Airbender TV series on DVD?  Because my family cherishes it. 

Well, there you have it.  My Moderate Minimalist Movement.  The goal is to only own things that you value.  Join me!

Stolen Quote #22

"Plants are good at many things, but running to higher ground during a flood is not one of them."

Stolen from page 61 of Kenneth R. Miller's book Finding Darwin's God.

Stolen Conversation #21

Miciah:  Where are we going?
Tamra:  To the Simpson's house.
Miciah:  Why?
Tamra doesn't respond.
Elijah:  We're getting a dog.
Miciah:  No, we're not.
Elijah:  Yes, we are.  Bro. Simpson said so.
Miciah:  Elijah, we can't be getting a dog because we have a cat.  Dogs and cats hate each other.  If you have a dog and a cat, your windows will break.

Hurray!

As of today I can type 2-handed again!

Who's excited for new Random Tamra posts?!

Putting Randomness on Hold

I am right now incapable of typing 2-handed.  So my nearly 90-words-per-minute typing speed just went down to, oh, I dunno, 20 w.p.m.?  ...  Not that randomness can't survive the one-handed peck, but I just have better things to do with my time than spend 2 hours typing up the story of me bra shopping at Wal-Mart.

I mean, right now I could probably write a letter faster than typing up a blog post!

SO, ...
Let me know if you want a Random Tamra hand-written snail mail letter.  I'll be happy to send you one.  Leave your e-mail address in the comments section, and I'll get your address and hop to it!

Alternately, if you want a phone call, that also sounds easier than blogging.  I'd rather call everyone I know to relay the same story if I didn't have to type it up.

And those of you who normally type this slow, how do you do it?

June Beetles

FYI, it's July. 
Almost August.

You were fun in June.
You symbolized summer and the Midwest and everything I love about living here.

And now it's July.
And you should go away.

So, for any June Beetles who are reading my blog, ...
there it is.

"Do you like her?"

My brother is getting married.  When I tell people that he's getting married (not that I tell many people, because most of my friends have no idea who my brother is), they inevitably ask me this question:  "Do you like the girl?"

I'd like to address this question.

I've never met her.  I've sent her e-mails, she's sent me e-mails.  She's recommended a few books for me to read (which I haven't read yet.  Sorry).  I've seen a picture of her.  ...  But I've never met her. 

So when I tell people that I've never met her they say, "Oh."  Like, "Well, then you don't really know." 

But I DO know:  She's wonderful.

My brother, he's my best friend.  My husband, of course, is my best friend, but he's not the jealous type, and he allows me to say that my brother is my original best friend.  My brother can still finish my sentences, and he knows what I'm trying to say, even if I'm saying it wrong.  He has a Sixth Sense, a Tamra Sense:  he knows me better than I know myself, and I like to think that that's hard to do, because I like to think I know myself pretty well.  In that way, I trust my brother more than I trust myself.  When I'm feeling crazy, like there must be something wrong with me, I turn to my brother.  He tells me I'm not crazy, that it's impossible, and I know he's right.  My brother is always right about such things.

One time, I was feeling so low that I was ready to throw away everything I thought I knew about  myself.  I was ready to admit that I really actually was crazy.  That I needed to re-think everything I've ever done, big or small.  And the one sliver of hope I held onto was my brother saying, "If you're crazy, I'm crazy, too."  And I knew that my brother wasn't crazy.  So I knew I wasn't crazy.  He said, "If it's either you that's crazy or the world, then it's clearly the world."  And that was my lifeline:  I can't be crazy because my brother isn't crazy.  The WORLD is crazy.

And my brother, this person whom I trust with the ability to assess my sanity, to tell me my life is worthless or wonderful, he's chosen a woman to marry, and she's chosen him, too. 

What could she be other than wonderful?