I’ve been thinking a lot about simplicity this Thanksgiving season. Occupy Wall Street is big in the news, and they say their message is all about Corporate Greed. But sometimes it seems like Corporate greed is just an extension of personal greed. We all want too much, all the time. But I guess I always do think about simplicity around the holidays, because there is so much excess on display. The TV special about 30 million individual bulbs in a big NYC department store window’s holiday display, and the months spent planning for that display and others like it. Black Friday shoppers macing one another, and fighting, pushing, stomping each other, all to get some item they probably don’t need at a price they may or may not be able to afford. All this on the day after we celebrate our holiday about gratitude, albeit with a show of gluttony that is so uniquely American you can’t help but admire it. And I do love Thanksgiving. I love the feast, the football, the parade, the whole nine yards. I am just fine with staggering around with a food baby so large I need a cane to keep from toppling over.
Yet, I still think about simplicity. We all do. There are magazines devoted to living simply, though, this being America, the best selling of them mostly try to sell you things which will make you better organized so you can live more simply. I find this hilarious.
I’ve seen a lot of iterations of simplicity in my time. I knew a guy in college who, upon graduation, lived in a one room flat with nothing but a lawn chair, a sleeping bag, a can opener, a pot, and one set of dishes. He lived that way until his school loans were paid off. It’s a little extreme, but very effective. I know another guy who couch-surfs so he can make his child support payments. That is a priority choice in an economy where you can’t find good paying jobs all the time. Another perennial couch-surfer I know is one of those magnificent human beings without focus or direction. He’s not in debt, but he doesn’t own anything either. It works okay while you’re young, but you wonder about the retirement plans.
Probably the most questionable of the simple lifestyle choices would be those of the homeless. It doesn’t get much simpler than a tent or a cardboard lean-to under a freeway overpass. I’m not saying it’s a choice a lot of them make consciously, but there are those who just aren’t comfortable with the other housing options that are available to them. From time to time, as I drive past the freeway encampment that is on my way home from work, I think of Miriam. Back in the day, when I was all about WWJD; my well-intentioned Bible Study group “adopted” a homeless woman, and she lived with each of us in turn. Miriam was intelligent, articulate, well mannered, and literate. She was also bi-polar. She worked part-time as a medical transcriptionist at the University Hospital. I had a mental image of her typing away on the then high tech IBM Selectric Roller Ball typewriter: “the transverse colon was resected after a thorough running of the bowel, and anastamosed to the sigmoid colon using layers of 3-0 silk and chromic gut.” I imagined her wearing the headset on her perfectly coiffed blonde hair, the multisyllabic words pouring effortlessly from her elegant fingers, without a single spelling error. I’m sure she was welcomed whenever she chose to show up. When she didn’t go to work, she rode the metro bus line, taking full advantage of the free transfers, rolling about the city, observing whatever it was she was looking for, riding endlessly through the night. She only required lodging, and paid for her own food. While she lived with me, that food was mainly butter. Now, I like butter. Not as much as Paula Deen, but I like butter. Before Miriam, I had never seen butter eaten like a banana: the wrapper on the cube slowly peeled back, and the butter savored slowly, bite by bite. It actually put me off butter for a while. Miriam lived with me for several months, I don’t remember how many. I finally lost patience with her unwillingness to meet my need to close and lock the apartment door. It seemed an odd social nicety to refuse to honor, since in other ways she had such exquisite manners, but there it was. When I explained that I’d come home to an open apartment for the last time and she would no longer be welcome as a house-guest, she became less polite. She suddenly realized that I was demon-possessed, and called down the wrath of God upon me before she left. I changed the locks. I’ve never been too concerned about the wrath of God, in any of my religious iterations. The point is, she had a very simple life. Every preppie knows that with a good sweater set, white blouse, decent skirt, a nice pair of slacks, a little black dress and the right pair of shoes, you can look good almost anywhere. Miriam carried those in her shopping bags. She totally had it figured out.
You can take simple too far, of course. My MIL, Boone’s Farm, one famous Thanksgiving, decided she would “simplify” the meal by not roasting a bird. Because she was on a "simplify life" kick, we had baked salmon and broccoli for the feast. That’s it. No mashed potato and gravy volcanoes, no cranberry sauce, not even pie. Four kids under the age of 8 were present. We had driven through some of the worst holiday traffic ever, turning a 90 minute drive into just under 5 hours in the pouring rain. Offers to bring side dishes to help with the meal had been turned down flat, with “oh I don’t want anyone to go to any trouble.” No prior mention of salmon had been made. Okay, IF the pilgrims had landed in the PNW, I’m sure salmon would have been the main course at this celebration. But they didn’t, did they? They landed at freaking Plymouth Rock! Where there is precious little salmon, but apparently a plethora of turkeys! I had to promise the boys to cook a proper Thanksgiving meal when we got home to keep them civil. And we never visited Boone’s Farm again without a hamper of food in the trunk. Just in case seaweed salad was on the menu. The moral here is: Please don’t simplify anyone else’s life for them!
So how do you simplify? You could do it as Boone’s Farm’s husband, Box Wine does. He offers to pay anyone who removes or breaks anything in their house a buck an item. He’s been driven to this, of course, by Boone’s farm thrift store addiction and hoarding tendencies. It’s true. One of the boys accidentally broke some tsotschke which was a souvenir from a wedding the in-laws had once attended. We lectured the boys about being careful, Boone’s Farm cried, and Box Wine gave them each a dollar. Propel was so confused he sat down in the middle of the floor and got very quiet. Sarsaparilla asked for a hammer.
In general, in our house, when something comes in, something needs to go out. The boys are encouraged to clear out their old toys and video games. If they can sell them, they keep the money. I try to give things to people who will appreciate them or need them. Folks were very generous with us when we were starting out, and, I want to pay it back. But we still put out bags to Goodwill every month. I cull my closet to make room for new clothes. Like many families, we rent the boys’ pants from Value Village. The boys outgrow the pants before they can wear them out. Then the pants go back to VV again. The two of them have different sizes, shapes, and ideas about what makes a proper pair of pants, so there are no hand-me-down pants in this family. Value Village is also a great place to rent suits. Any clothing item worn once a year or so is basically a rental for a teen boy. It’s amazing what you can find second hand for one-time wear.
The suggestions for simplifying the season are as many as they are hackneyed: try to give experiences, instead of things. Draw names to reduce the number of gifts; give money when not sure what would be welcome. Some relatives request no gifts, or gifts to charity. Some families have age limits (after college, no gifts) Different things work for different folks. I don’t think there is a one size fits all solution. Try to buy quality, things that will last, can be shared, or will have multiple uses. Cook fresh and eat leftovers. Co-host big meals with other families to reduce cost and food waste. Reuse wrapping paper, ribbons, and gift boxes.
But really, like so many things, simple isn’t so much about things, as it is about a way of thinking. Do I need this? Can I afford this? Is there a better way to spend my time, money and energy? Should we go on the Christmas ships, or just go to the dock to see the Christmas ships, and join the carolers around the bonfire?
When I was about 8, I really wanted an Easy Bake Oven for Christmas. I mean, I REALLY wanted one. That page in the Sears Toy Catalog was lit up like the Star of Bethlehem. My Mom was not impressed. “You have an itch to bake?” she asked me. “Come on in the kitchen, I’ve got an oven for you, and a stool to stand on so you can reach things.” I was crestfallen. Easy Bake ovens were the coolest things going! You could cook by 40 watt bulb! Miniature cakes right in your own bedroom! Two flavor choices! I still can feel the disappointment, but I still marvel at the rightness of her wisdom. I learned to really bake, and to love the kitchen, to love food, starting about then. Sometimes, it’s better not to get the hot new toy, and better to get the experience. Even if you don’t know it at the time.
Dry Gin Martini, M.D. Straight up, no chaser.
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