An Alphabet of Things

The IoT--the Internet of Things--is a thing these days. The concept of things talking to other things doesn't really describe what goes on with most of the things in our house. In buying new appliances for a future kitchen remodel it was an actual struggle on our part to keep the amount of technology to a minimum because dinner shouldn't have to wait on a software update. The expense of things that can talk to other things isn't within reach for the vast majority of people on the planet, nor is their global proliferation sustainable within our resource base on the only planet we have. 

I remember seeing the photos years ago in Material World: A Global Family Portrait. Peter Menzel and other photographers took portraits of 30 statistically average families with everything they owned outside their homes. Having moved several times in the past few years this is the kind of thing that shows up in recurring nightmares for me. (He did something similar with food in Hungry Planet: What the World Eats.)

Perhaps inspired somewhat by the memory of that photobook, my own efforts to reduce the number of things I own, as well as the opportunity for some wordplay that Sweet Hubs and I came up with when we heard someone refer to IoT recently, I present herewith a more realistic Alphabet of Things. It definitely represents mixed feelings.

A: The Anxiety of Things

B: The Blandness of Things

C: The Cost of Things

D: The Detritus of Things

E: The Evidence of Things

F: The Fragility of Things

G: The Gunkiness of Things

H: The Heaviness of Things

I: The Interior of Things

J: The Joy of Things

K: The Knowledge of Things

L: The Load of Things

M: The Messiness of Things

N: The Newness of Things

O: The Oldness of Things

P: The Patience of Things

Q: The Quantity of Things

R: The Rarity of Things

S: The Satisfaction of Things, or The Scarcity, depending on your circumstances

T: The Tonnage of Things

U: The Urgency of Things

V: The Value of Things

W: The Weight of Things

X: The Xenomania of Things (c'mon, X-ray was too obvious and kind of weird here, and now you get to learn a new word!)

Y: The Yoke of Things

Z: The Zest of Things

Having opened with Peter Menzel and photography that shows us the world in a different way, I have to close this with a bit about a British photographer whose works both are and are not about things, and the alphabet, and time, and paying attention to what's already there: Martin Wilson. 

I encountered him thanks to reading the poetry blog of his brother, Anthony Wilson. Anthony praised his brother's genius in a post you should read because it describes Martin's process. That led me to Martin's site where I hope to one day buy a print of one of his works, probably "Double Yellow Lines" because it's so on point for the work I do. The bonus is that Martin bikes around London to capture these images, so part of the story sometimes involves a really sweaty ride to get somewhere in time to get the lighting he wants or to avoid peak traffic that would get in the way. Go look, and be sure to click on See a Detail. Sadly, images don't appear to have alt-text. Anthony's post describes the process so I hope that gives enough of an idea of what Martin has captured.

Now, I'm off to do a closet purge or clean a drawer or empty a box in the garage or something else that enables me to say goodbye to some things. If any of this made you consider the things in your life in a new light I hope you'll come back and drop a comment about that moment of mindfulness.

Set Down that Heavy Load: The Things We Carry

A #LetsBlogOff Post

When I was younger, I enjoyed the acquisition and accumulation of stuff. Clothing, books, cute knick-knacks, purses (because no purse is ever the perfect purse, but hope springs eternal).

My older sister went shopping for baby clothes with me when Eldest Daughter was but a newborn and distinctly remembers me saying, “Why buy one when three will do?” (In my defense I was talking about baby bonnets—I figured there would always be one in the wash and one misplaced somewhere. In this I was correct.)

In the same way I acquired thoughts and emotions. Packed ‘em around in my head for years sometimes. Chewed on old grudges, mourned old sorrows, felt guilty all over again for some dumb or cruel thing I did in high school. (Sorry, Tim T.—I should not have teased you.)

Then I began reading Buddhist thought by various writers. I discovered myself in those pages and realized that indeed, attachment causes suffering. Every time I dug up an old bone and chewed on it I left yet more toothmarks—on myself.

No one else learned any lessons or said they were sorry or changed their minds based on the scenes that played out in my overactive imagination and memory. Yet the body responds to those things in your head just as if they are real, so I got all the same adrenalin, accelerated pulse, and shallow breathing from an imaginary fight or debate as I had experienced in the real thing.

I began to say to myself, “Why dig those ruts any deeper?” I learned to stop myself when I started playing the tape over again (for you young ‘uns, think of that as hitting the left arrow button).  I began to set down the stuff I carried in my head.

Somewhere in one of the books I read I picked up the line, “Don’t let someone else live in your brain rent-free.” Every time I poked an old mental bruise, I once again gave that person or that incident residency in my brain. I gave away my energy for free.

There is a wonderful Buddhist story that illustrates this in the children’s book Kindness, a collection by an author in my hometown of Spokane.

The story describes two monks, one young and one old. The old one helps a woman cross a stream by carrying her on his back, which the young one considers a violation of their vows.

Hours after the incident he scolds the older monk, who replies, “I set that woman down beside the stream long ago. You have carried her all this time.” (Various versions of the two monks story can be found here.)

I try to set something down every so often, whether it’s a once-treasured possession I wouldn’t bother to replace if the house burned down (a new measuring stick I just learned) or a negative thought.

I asked my friends on Facebook what they carry, leaving it up to them whether they wanted to answer metaphorically or concretely. I got such wonderful answers that I’m saving them for a follow-up post. 

A teaser for that post: Some carried negative thoughts like those I describe here. Others, though, carry things like a song to sing, lessons learned from a beloved grandfather, optimism, and peace based on religious faith. You don't have to set down everything in your head. And I apparently have very practical friends, since among them they have everything from a multi-tool to a Swiss army knife and a tape measure to lip goop (always lip goop).

Your Turn

• What do you carry?
• What have you set down?
• What are you still carrying that you would like to leave beside the stream?

Possibly Related Reading:

• Losing Weight (March 21, 2011)
• The SISO Method for Life Management (August 12, 2010)
• Don't Buy that Case of Stuff on Sale. I'm Serious. (August 9, 2010)
• Smiling Makes You Happy (Bob Sutton's Work Matters blog)
• The Psychic Weight of Stuff (by Shanna Trenholm on All Things Girl)
• The $100 Wardrobe Challenge (no way can I do this)
• The 100 Thing Challenge (Guy Named Dave)

#LetsBlogOff Participating Blogs You Should Check Out

Losing Weight

No, this isn’t the grapefruit diet, or the all-you-can-eat diet, or the “use this one silly trick to blast stomach flab” diet. It’s the purse diet.

As in, when was the last time you took everything out of your purse and then decided what to put back in? Or—brace yourself—switched to a smaller purse?

That’s essentially what I did to move into panniers for bike commuting. It illustrates yet another of my life lessons learned from biking: If you can’t carry it, you don’t need it.

If you’ve ever ridden a heavy bike load up a steep hill, you know that you don’t want to carry excess weight (whether it’s on you or on the bike). I’m not talking about the crazy roadies who obsess over shaving 10 grams off the weight of their pedals—just your average concern for not working any harder than you have to.

When I started commuting, I’m reasonably sure I hauled a lot of extra weight because my instinct was simply to transfer my purse straight into my pannier. That way you get to carry not only the weight of the stuff, but the weight of the purse too.

But honestly, how much of that stuff that you carry do you ever really need? You’re carrying it “just in case.” Just in case what—you find yourself stranded 85 miles from the nearest Rite-Aid or 7-11 and you don’t have an emery board? (My mother always carried at least three.)

Honestly, how long will it be until you can get to a source of whatever it is you’re not carrying right this very second? And can you survive that long? Unless you’re a diabetic and looking at your insulin, I bet you’ll be okay.

Every so often I find that the little detritus has started to creep back in and the pouch of essentials I carry is inching upward. (And if I do carry an actual purse, as I do on the days I ride the bus, all bets are off. I rarely bother to clean out my purses because I use them so seldom.)

The basics? I use two pouches. One pouch has “me” stuff:

• Bike wallet with ID, debit card, folding money, and a couple of essential cards (bus pass, insurance, library card, Rocket Bakery preloaded card for coffee)
• Checkbook only on days I actually know I need to write a check
• Lip balm or lipstick, although I keep those in my desk at work so technically I don’t “need” to carry them
• Nail clippers (because I obsess about my fingernails in a highly unhealthy fashion and can’t stand it if I can’t immediately deal with a broken nail—and because they make a good emergency pair of scissors)
• Keys (to get into my house and my office, silly--did you think I meant car keys?!)

The other pouch holds “tech”:

• Smartphone
• Extra battery for my phone (a work necessity)
• Patch cable so I can use my phone as a tethered modem if need be
• Flash drive
• A couple of my business cards
• Pen

That’s it for the basics. On work days I also carry my lunch, a water bottle, and a laptop with power cable (I bought an ultralight so this only represents about 3 pounds total).

Play Our Home Version:

• What excess baggage do you carry? 
• What would it tell me about you if I looked in your purse?
• What are you afraid of if you don't carry this stuff?
• When was the last time you actually used most of the things in your purse?
• What's the worst thing that could happen? (In my case, if I'm not carrying the nail clippers I will chew on the rough edge in a most unladylike way. This is not a terminal disease but I prefer not to.)

Feel free to extend the meaning of "if you can't carry it, you don't need it" metaphorically. I've had thoughts that weighed me down and when I finally set them down and rolled away without looking back, I felt light as a feather.

Post inspired by “Instead of Driving . . . I Won a Pack!” on Kent’s Bike Blog. He won a pack and could have received a larger size, but said, “If I have too much space, I tend to take too much stuff.”

Possibly Related Reading

• The Zen of Fingernails: Giving Up Attachment
• The SISO Method for Life Management
• Don't Buy that Case of Stuff on Sale. I'm Serious.
• Does Minimalism Have a Purpose? By Dave Bruno, author of The 100 Thing Challenge. Thanks to Ashley Babino for the link!

The SISO Method for Life Management

As part of my ongoing plan to NOT turn into my mother when I get old—well, this is really only about certain aspects of turning into her since her voice already comes out of my mouth and I’ve been known to say “six of one, half a dozen of the other”—I try to apply the SISO method to purchases.

Stuff In, Stuff Out, that is.

This picture illustrates a bit of that. We’ve “invested” (ha!) in cheap dishware for far too long. It chips, it cracks, it breaks outright, and the dinner plates for the most recent set don’t even fit in the dishwasher, necessitating a lot of hand washing. I also bought a set of deliberately-even-cheaper plastic dishes for use on the patio--as if anyone would ever remember to use those instead of the breakable set.

I’ve always liked Fiestaware and decided to start buying it as an investment in better quality and products made in the US. Not shopping for it like one of those people who tramples others in search of the matching serving bowl, mind you—just having fun poking around antique stores and picking up a plate or a bowl here and there.

I figured this would take a while but we could put up with the cheap stuff (it disappears a little bit at a time anyway) as we built up a cupboard full of colorful fun.

Last weekend I lucked into a batch that nearly makes up six full settings (thanks, Vintage Rabbit, for being such an awesome source!). Eldest Daughter helped me haul our stash out to the car.

When we got it home I faced the test: Would I keep all those other dishes or make a clean sweep of it?

Before the SISO days, I would have justified keeping an entire second set of dishes I didn’t even like stored in the basement “in case we entertain.”

Never mind that the last time I did a sit-down dinner for over a dozen people who would care about matching dishes I had a different husband and still ate meat (that was some prime rib I cooked, too—I still refer to that particular meal as The Day I Did The Full Martha). But no more.

Instead I boxed them all up for Goodwill. I did stash the really giganto plates and the “gold” (plastic) chargers in the basement because I didn't score any giganto Fiestaware yet; if I haven’t used them in six months out they go.

How is any of this being “not my mom”? It all goes back to the weekends I spent sorting through their house preparing for the estate sale before we moved them to assisted living for Mom’s dementia.

I swore then to end my “just in case we’ll need it someday” approach to deciding what stays and what goes. A lifetime of that and they’ll be digging your corpse out from under a mound of empty yogurt containers and peanut butter jars, to say nothing of magazines saved because there was that one recipe you really meant to try one of these days when you had fresh cilantro on hand, or was it fennel bulb?

At any rate, I’m trying to use the SISO method not just on housewares but on my closet, my bathroom, and other places where things tend to accumulate and then multiply in the dark.

If my white sleeveless shell—one of those closet basics they tell you to invest in and They Are Right On This One—is getting ratty around the arms and I buy a replacement then I have to get rid of the first one. No keeping it for back-up. It’s ratty, remember? You replaced it, right?

If I own two pairs of tan capris—one pair dressier than the other so yes there’s a reason I have two pair (pairs?)—then I resist the urge to buy a pair of tan capris with faint cream stripes (different, right? Not duplicative of the other two pair, right?) on sale for 50% off at Bobby’s Boutique which carries the best of the Goodwill best meaning I could have had those babies for $4 instead of $8 and even Eldest Daughter the Uber-Mom-That-Makes-You-Look-Old-Clothing-Critic thought they looked good on me breathe baby breathe it’s okay you don’t need them….

Stuff In. Stuff Out.

Don't Buy That Case of Stuff on Sale. I'm Serious.

Nearly a decade has passed since I helped prepare my parents for a move to assisted living for Mom’s dementia, but whenever I enter into a frenzy of cleaning, sorting, down-sizing or right-sizing I’m taken back to these days.

They owned so much STUFF! I had no idea until I saw it all spread out in heaps and mounds all over the pool table, end tables, coffee table, folding tables, and every other flat surface in their basement.

When I’d visit and she’d tell me she was “busy sorting” I had no idea what this meant. The topic wasn’t much of a conversation-starter so we’d move on.

Once I went downstairs to look for myself, though, it appeared that each and every day of the week she started the task anew based on a different sorting algorithm.

• “Today, I’m putting all craft projects into the craft project pile.”
•  “Today, I’m putting everything into piles by kid so if it’s a craft project by Barb it goes in the Barb pile.”
• “Today, I’m sorting by holidays so if it’s a craft project by Barb related to Christmas it goes in the Christmas pile.”

All of these without reference to the previous day’s system or any apparent progress, so of course she would never finish sorting.

I took the girls with me sometimes to keep me company while I combed through closets, drawers, the three-car garage, and the dusty piles in the basement for anything actually worth keeping.

I had ONE method: if it pertained to one of their six children, it went in a box with that kid’s name, and if it was something personal about Mom and Dad such as a scrapbook or photos it went into the box that would move with them. Other than that, Helloooo, Estate Sale Lady.

We found amazing quantities of some items. I only recently—and I’m serious about this—used the last of the plastic wrap I took with me.

The girls took a lot away from this. Things like finding six unopened bottles of nail polish remover in the bathroom cupboard stick with you, I guess.

Now any time I have more than one of something (due to innocent stocking-up-on-basics-that-are-on-sale on my part, honest) they say with a note of sad warning, “Mom, are you turning into Grandma?”

When we moved into this house about three years ago I wastefully—wastefully!—threw away multiple partial bottles of various skin lotions that promised oh so many magical things, all because one of the girls was there and spotted all the containers as I packed up my bathroom.

I also have to watch my grocery-buying, although that’s getting easier since I’m starting to put up more of my own food. I only have so much pantry space and there will always be another sale on pasta so I no longer buy six bags of bow-ties (we do love our bow-tie pasta).

When I cleaned Mom’s fridge I found three bags of the fake baby carrots. Bag #1 in front was crisp and orange. Bag #2 right behind it was looking a little saggy. Bag #3 behind that had turned into green slime.

I realized that in Mom’s brain the trigger for something like “I need carrots” fired at the store and she bought carrots, but the reset to “carrots purchased, return to neutral setting” never took place. Her brain just keep pinging on “buy carrots, buy carrots.”

Since she’d spent a big chunk of her life producing food in large quantities to feed her six children and their assorted friends and relations, her food-buying philosophy was firmly grounded in the notion that it never hurt to have a little extra on hand. As in, if they dropped the bomb you’d want to shelter in our basement, where you could live the next 40 years on a diet of canned tomatoes, string beans, and pickles.

Couple this lifelong pantry-stocking with an inability to know that you’ve already bought something so you’re buying even more than you meant to….

…and you’ll understand why I make an extra effort to keep tabs on the condition of my bathroom closet and my produce drawer.

And why my girls do, too.