Blogaversary

A year ago today I began this blog. All day I have been musing on the distance travelled since. And on the stretchiness of time. Its circularity.

A year ago I was about to embark on the write-a-novel-in-a-month adventure. And where is that novel now? (this is a rhetorical question; I know exactly where it is: hiding in some dark corner of my C: disk). All year, I've been answering questions about THE novel with stories about the need for maturation prior to revision, the fact that it was only an exercise anyway, the other creative endeavours that the novel had made possible, in particular crafting. These stories were both contradictory and true, and reading between their lines, there is the story of what I have put of myself into that book, of tears and tears (vowel change), of high resonance and wisdom, of ecstasy and blood and sweat and more blood and more sweat (and ecstasy). Not to mention the staggering number of dried mango's. So much in fact that I can neither throw away the manuscript nor read it all the way through.

These days, my mind is on de-cluttering. The good old 'love it, use it or throw it away' principle turns out to be a tad more profound than I guessed at first sight. What does it mean to 'love' and therefore keep something? Why do I 'love' clothes I never wear, letters I never read, photographs I never look at, manuscripts I never get around to revising. Because somewhere deep inside I believe that these objects are me. I seem to have locked some shred of myself inside them; a shred too painful to look at, yet to dispose of it would be cutting off my own finger (or worse).

But what if the things I hold on to are only a reflection of what I hold on to inside. If I were to let go of the letters, the clothes, and the manuscripts, would I also be letting go all that I have locked up in my soul, all that I am carrying around in my backpack? But surely, if I carry it still, it is because I am not done with it? If I no longer have these gates into my previous experience, can I trust that what I have not worked through yet will come my way again? Can I trust that it will come at the right time?

Because if I can, oh the freedom of it. The lightness of being. The stretching of my wings. The amount of free space on my C: disk.

I look at that picture above, of a three-year old curly miracle in her bath, all the way back in 1977. I look at the curly three-year old miracle in my bath tonight. And I think maybe I do trust. Trust that all that I still need to see, read, hear and feel will come my way again. And again. At the right time. Even without reminders.

Day 22

Day 21

Day 20

Day 19

Day 18

Day 17

The months

The no-spending month is slowly but surely nearing its end. I wanted to write ‘it has been an amazing experience’ until I realised that my tense use was all wrong. It is still, and will remain, an amazing experience. This seemingly innocent decision, to stop spending money for one little month, has brought along a paradigm shift of such intensity and scope that it is still busy swallowing up my life as I knew it. Conscious spending, and in its wake conscious living, is true liberation. Instead of frustration, I found rich food for my soul. Instead of tension, release. Instead of doubt, deep certainty.

I have thought about it, and I think it’s the months that do it. Last year, by participating in the NaNoWriMo, an enormous paradigm shift was set in motion, impacting primarily the creative area of my life. The result was this blog, my ever-more serious flirtation with photography and the amazing discovery that one can actually make beautiful things with a sewing machine (of all things). To think that none of it existed even a year ago! No room of my own, no Japanese crafting books, no sewing machine, no toys, no bags, no blogs… What was it like to be me? I can’t even begin to imagine…

NaNoWriMo, No-spending, 30 Days of Living: all these projects last a month. A month is how long it takes for a paradigm shift to occur, to nestle, to seep through all the layers. And then, once the month is over… there comes the voyage of discovery through brand-new and breath-taking landscapes which have always been there… an old/new room in my house, an old/new window through which to look at the tree in my garden.

Last night, I found a book on the floor of my sewing room. Isabelle had apparently pulled it out of a bookshelf and left there. I don't remember buying it, and I have certainly never read it. It is called Soul Coaching: 28 Days to Discover the Real You.

28 days… Oops, there I go again!

Day 16

Day 15

Day 14

Day 13

Day 12

Day 11

Day 10

Day 9

Day 8

Day 7

Day 6

Day 5

Days 3 & 4 (by Marc)

Day 2

Day 1

After running into it four times in one week, I can no longer resist the temptation. I'm going to ride the 30 Days of Living wave. Anybody joining in?

Library tales

I am a great fan of libraries, and an active member of three of them (two public and one University). I love libraries because they offer a cheap way to read an immense number of books you might not want to buy. Or do they?

Today, I heard that through a mistake in the system the University library has been sending me reminders to an old e-mail address I no longer use, which is why I didn't get any reminders, which is why I now owe them 35 euros (and the books of course), which is why I cannot borrow anything anymore until I pay the 35 euros, which wouldn't be such a tragedy if it weren't for the non-spending month (no, that's not true, it would be a minor tragedy regardless, but now it's aggravated), during which clearly I can neither a) buy the book I want to read nor b) pay the fine (although presumably, bringing back the books to ensure the fine does not increase any further should be not only possible but commendable).

Now, if this were an isolated incident, I might shrug my shoulders and blame it on the fickleness of fate. Unfortunately, it isn't. In fact, apart from the minor detail of the wrong e-mail address, I could tell this tale every month.

It seems that although I understand the borrowing bit of the library system, I have trouble coming to grips with the returning. It's not that I don't want to bring the books back, it's just that it consistently slips my mind. Until I need new books, at which point I'm desperate enough to pay whatever fine. But if I'm brutally honest with myself, I think being a member of three libraries, in my particular case, has been infinitely more costly than actually buying all the books I have been reading. And I read a lot.

So for the rest of the month, as I re-re-re-re-read the Forsyte Saga and long for Gilead, I will endeavour to invent a system that will help me out of my fining (or should it be fined) habit. Any help is welcome!

Corners of my home

This is the formerly very white wall in our kitchen. It has a total surface of approximately 18 square meters, and for as long as we've lived here, there has been nothing to break its paleness.

I have had many ideas: painting the wall some interesting colour (exciting but scary, what if I don't like it? and ultimately too much trouble, me very lazy), breaking the wall to make an opening into the living-room (somewhat outside the budget...), covering the wall in interesting vintage plates (don't own that many plates...), etc.

Then I had THE idea. I am slowly but surely covering the wall with paintings by my very favourite artist. So far, she's pretty affordable, she hasn't really been discovered yet (who knows, maybe this post will do the trick), and I simply adore her work.

33

My first frugality test: Marc's birthday. Everything homemade. The card. The gift.The cake (all gone now, Pear & Polenta from the River Café Cookbook III). The sheer pleasure. What a lovely way to do celebrations. I'm hooked (I hope Marc is too...).

And here he is, the birthday man.


In this picture is everything I love about him. He is kneeling on the floor in the kitchen, rubbing shoulders with his two-year old daughter, wearing a flowery apron (not homemade alas), and pounding 200 gr of bleached almonds with a wooden spoon. It makes me cry, just looking at it. The strength and the fragility in him. He is such an amazing man, and I am so very lucky. Thank you Marc, for sharing your life with me.

For free!

Following a minor breakdown, I have decided to skip NaNoWriMo for now. Instead, I'm going to be kind to myself for an entire month AND spend nothing. The 'being kind' bit means you will see/hear less of me for a while. The 'spending nothing' bit means I'll want to share my discoveries with you. For instance, at the end of our street grows a magnificent, absolutely massive rosemary bush. I occasionally visit it with a pair of scissors.