Living with a blank canvas

After Thanksgiving, I cleared everything off the mantle, dining table, the shelf behind the table, and the coffee table. I moved my pottery collection temporarily to a corner of the kitchen. I'm living with a blank canvas (by default, Ed is too). Not forever – in fact, just for 10 days or so. I needed a break from "stuff," the chance to move around in a clean, uncluttered environment.

It looks terribly bare. But that's okay. There is something calming about it. It affords me a sense of clarity, quietness, and peace.

I can stand back and think about what I want to place back in the space. I can be selective. I can choose belongings that I haven't tried putting together before. My old stuff can look new.

In my previous life as a graphic designer, I would often subtract elements one by one from a crowded page. The elements that were left, surrounded by lots of white space, were somehow stronger. I think the same is true for interior design. Instead of white space, it is called negative space – and in those spaces I often find positive energy.

I read somewhere that introverts thrive in negative spaces – in fact they need them. I know that is true for me. In rooms with too much fullness – too much going on – I get overwhelmed. The same is true for overly stimulating stores or restaurants.

If you think my experiment sounds weird, I challenge you to try it on a small scale. Clear a table, or a shelf. Live with it for an afternoon. Embrace the negative space. Then, when you are ready, be mindful about what you put back. See if you don't feel the positive energy from the exercise. Let me know.

Wishing you clarity. quietness. peace.

Not my thing

I love to make a good mess; I hate to clean one up. Worse, for me, than cleaning up one mess is cleaning our entire house. Not only do I not like it, I'm terrible at it. It's just not my thing.

When the kids were little and our days were jam-packed, we had a wonderful housekeeper who would come every other week and make the house sparkle. When we moved to the country, our housekeeper moved on to a full-time job. I've never been able to find a suitable replacement for her, and so I struggle to keep the dust bunnies at bay and the house looking respectable.

In October, after an especially frustrating day of cleaning, I sent daughter Mary a string of texts with "Tips for Housecleaning." They said things like:
1. Try not to break things.
2. Do not trip over the vacuum cord.
3. Don't get blood on the couch pillows from the cut you got from tripping over the vacuum cord.

You get the idea. Cleaning is just not high on my skill set. So I wasn't really surprised when, on Tuesday, I was cleaning the upstairs bath and knocked over a top-heavy aloe plant. Dirt went flying and, much to my dismay, three large leaves split from the central stalk. I swept up the soil and headed downstairs to compost the leaves. But then I didn't. Instead, I put them in our shower.

Next time I was showering, I ran my fingers down both sides of one of the leaves and extracted a mound of pure aloe vera which I then slathered on my legs before shaving them. The next leaf, I slit open and rubbed on my freshly shampooed hair, left it there for a few minutes, and then rinsed. Next, I added a bit of the gel to some baking soda and scrubbed my face. And the last dab I used to smooth down my wild eyebrows.

So, I'm sorry I knocked over the plant but I'm pleased with my recycling efforts to reuse the leaves. Turns out, there are many more uses for aloe vera. Here's how beauty experts use the gooey stuff to get gorgeous.

Namaste

In my life before Farm Dover, I occasionally did hot yoga. You know, the kind where you and a couple of dozen other people pay an insane amount of money to sweat like crazy in a 105-degree room while bending and stretching and contorting. I was terrible at it. My body is just not put together exactly right. I could never even get my arms stretched overhead as far back as my ears. I never did a back bend, handstand, or even a very strong tree pose. But I stuck it out because in some perverse way, I did enjoy it -- and it did make my achy muscles and joints feel better.

Fast forward five years. I've not touched my toes or worked my way into a downward dog pose since we moved out here. In many ways I'm stronger than ever. I can walk for miles, haul nearly full five-gallon buckets to thirsty trees, weed-whip all afternoon. But by the end of the day, I'm stiff and sore. My balance is not good. My lower back often hurts. My joints ache at night.

But over the last couple of weeks I've rediscovered yoga. And the best part is I don't have to leave Farm Dover. I also don't have to pay for individual classes. And the teacher doesn't scold me for my poor form. Thanks to sisters Sherry and Julie, I'm on to 30 Days of Yoga with Adriene. Yep, every morning, I head upstairs to the little kids' bedroom. Turn on my ipad. And begin my 20-30 minute practice. (I actually downloaded the series so I don't need to use up my valuable and restricted internet service -- but for those of you with unlimited internet, you can just click on YouTube to follow along.)

Adriene is this young, very sweet, slightly goofy instructor. She makes yoga fun and always gives variations for different levels of ability. I look forward to it each morning and am grateful for the way it makes me feel afterwards.

A quick search reveals dozens of yoga videos on YouTube. I encourage you to check them out and find one that you like. And if you are not convinced, then read this article that covers 38 health benefits of yoga including:

• improves your flexibility and balance
• builds muscle strength
• perfects your posture
• prevents cartilage and joint breakdown
• and makes you happier.

Let me know how that cat/cow thing works out for you and whether you agree that yoga is a great way to start your morning. Namaste.

My Pantry

I read cookbooks the way others read novels. Nothing I like better than to curl up with a new cookbook and begin reading on page 1 and keep at it until the last page.

My friend Jane sent me Alice Water's new book, My Pantry, and yesterday as it poured down rain all day, I poured through the pages. The book was written with the help of Alice's daughter, Fanny Singer, and includes dozens of Fanny's lovely ink illustrations. The book is organized by category, beginning with spice mixtures and condiments and ending with sweet preserves. It includes essays and recipes for pantry staples that many people would not think to make – but ones that can turn a simple meal into something special.

Many of the items in Ms. Walters' pantry can also be found in mine. And, after reading this book, I plan to add a number of new ingredients, so I can cook like Alice! I'm so inspired I might even make Alice's apple peel cider vinegar, or almond milk, or homemade corn tortillas. She also makes a convincing argument for making your own ricotta, chevre, and yogurt. Gives me something to shoot for in 2016...

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My pantry and spice drawer are much more robust than they were when I lived in the city. In my prior life, it was all to easy to just swing by Burger's, Doll's Market or Lotsa Pasta and pick up the odd ingredient or two that I was missing. Not so these days. It is at least 10 miles to the nearest Kroger and I find that if I stock my pantry well, harvest a big garden, and fill our basement freezer with frozen soups and meats, I can go a long time between grocery runs.

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Apple Peel Cider Vinegar
Reprinted from "My Pantry," by Alice Waters with Fanny Singer. 

Rather than throwing away the scraps after you make a pie or tart, freeze them, and when you have enough, make this mellow, fruity vinegar.

ingredients
2 quarts apple cores and peels
2 quarts water
1/3 cup sugar

Put the apple cores and peels in a large glass or ceramic bowl. Dissolve the sugar in the water and pour over the cores and peels. Cover with a plate and weight down with something heavy to keep the solids submerged. Cover the entire bowl with cheesecloth or a kitchen towel and leave on the counter out of direct sunlight for 7 days.

Strain the cores and peels from the liquid and discard the solids. Put the liquid in jars or bottles and secure a piece of cheesecloth over the opening with a rubber band to allow airflow. Allow to age at room temperature out of direct sunlight for 6 to 8 weeks, until the desired flavor is achieved. A "mother" will begin to develop after about 2 weeks.

I'm assuming that after the aging period, you can cork the jars and place them in your pantry. 

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Plates

As we were helping my dad dismantle the home that he and my mom had shared for years, we were pretty successful about finding good homes for the beautiful antiques that my parents had collected over the years. In the end, there were just some odds and ends left and sister Sherry arranged for someone to come in and haul the rest away, allowing Dad to move, unencumbered to his new apartment.

Among the items still left was Mom's good china, which had no sentimental value to any of us since, to our knowledge, she never used it. When no one spoke up for it, I brought it home and put it in my basement, hoping someday one of my children might want it. 

A couple of weeks ago, my niece, Amy, called and asked if she might use it until someone else wanted it. I was delighted that it would be used and enjoyed. I brought the box upstairs and opened it. Mom's china is very simple, very pretty – just a creamy white plate with a wide teal band and a silver edge. As I pulled out the plates, I felt a sudden connection to Mom and I called Amy and asked if I could wait a couple of weeks before delivering the box of china to her. I wanted to use it when my sisters come to Farm Dover for a birthday lunch on Feb. 20. I thought they too might appreciate the connection to Mom.

I set my table with it last night and posted a photo to my instagram account. Daughter Maggie saw it and called to say that she would love to use it once she and Nate complete some renovation projects on their home. 

So I'm going to use it for a romantic valentine dinner with Ed and for sister Kathy's birthday party. Then it will go to Amy to enjoy for a time, then eventually on to Maggie. 

I'm hoping Maggie will use it for as long as she enjoys it and then offer it to her siblings or one of her cousins, who will use it for a while, and then send it to its next intended destination. 

I'd like to think that Mom would be happy that we are enjoying her china and have found a way to form a sisterhood around it. 

The Art of Puttering

I am at the perfect point in my life to putter. Children off living their own exciting lives, no clients clamoring for last-minute changes to their marketing materials, no dogs to tend to -- just an easy-going husband and days without demands. And so, I putter.

Yes, I get things done. But they are usually not the things on my "to do" list, but rather things that occur to me as I move about the house and garden. I'll notice a grimy spot on the door out to the garage and find a Magic Eraser and, like magic, I've made it disappear. But then I'll walk around finding other spots that need a bit of a scrub. Then, I'll open my spice drawer and see that I've spilt thyme all over the place, and that I have two half bottles of cumin, and that I'm almost out of my favorite Krazy Jane salt. So I'll spend an hour or three typing out spice labels on an old typewriter and alphabetizing my spices. (This is only remarkable in that I'm not known for my organizing skills.)

Or today for example, I noticed that my bottle of mouthwash was simply disgusting and so I funneled the rest of it into a pretty, recycled maple syrup bottle. I kid you not. It was very satisfying.

Puttering doesn't have to be a solitary activity. Sometimes I putter with Ed. We'll go out with the intention of doing one small job and end up hours later trying to remember why we went out in the first place. But, in the meantime, we may well have cut down dozens of invasive honeysuckle bushes, mulched around all the trees up and down the drive, picked up a load of long-ago cut wood, and laid down cardboard in the garden to thwart the weeds. We only stop puttering because it is time for lunch.

In a June 2011 New York Times editorial, puttering is described as "small-scale, stream-of-consciousness problem-solving." That's what I do. I solve one problem and then calmly move on to the next one that presents itself to me.

I got to thinking about puttering after reading this post today by one of my favorite authors: Anne Lamott. She says: "I pulled on some baggy pants, in case I accidentally ate a few more cookies than might be ideal. THEN, and only then, I got up, and went to the kitchen, where I put the coffee on, and did the sacrament of putter while it brewed." The sacrament of putter. I like that. Yes, I think there is something almost religious about the art of puttering. Something meditative. Something calming and centering.

In my old life (pre-Farm Dover) I was constantly multitasking, constantly beating myself up for not getting enough done in a day, constantly behind on every work project, every home project, every child project. My whole life seemed a mess of "I'm-behind" projects.

When I putter, I never multi-task. I just do what I want for as long as I want and then move on to the next thing that captures my attention. And yes, I do realize that this is a luxury afforded me at this particular time in my life.  And I'm grateful for it. But I have to tell you, I'm getting really good at it.

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I'm writing this in our study, with a fire going. Ed is in the main living room watching a UL football game, but just stopped in to see what I was up to (and bring me a piece of chocolate and refill my wine glass). "I'm writing a blog on puttering," I tell him. "The most important thing is to keep your head still," he tells me.