Monthly Archives: January 2021

About Snow, Sort Of

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(Tim, Sam, Gil and Simon – the stars of today’s story – 22-plus years ago.)

[For your reading pleasure today, another Throwback. Or…should I say SNOWback? Oh, my sides. Enjoy, in spite of bad puns.]

They say that in the Inuit language, there are about fifty different words that can be translated into one English word: snow. Those conversing about snow in that language are able to understand perfectly what kind of white stuff is being referred to since the description is inherent in the word.

We are not so fortunate in the English economy of words. Snow, other than the original meaning, can also refer to the fuzzy reception on your television (talk about a throwback) or in alternate verb form, to trick someone. All this can be very confusing to a small person. Hanging out with my small children, I can hear a lot of funny interpretations as they attempt to translate the adult language around them.

Kids are literalists. On the morning of the first frost, Gil was calling his little brothers’ attention to the crystallized scene out our window. When he referred to it as frost (there’s probably a really appropriate word for it in Inuit), Tim’s eyes got very big and said, “That’s a pretty big cake out there!” Although he’s old enough to know that the frosting outside isn’t sweet – not that Timmy wouldn’t test the theory – he got the connection immediately. In another “chilly” scenario, while picking some sticky burrs off Simon’s sweatpants the other day, I asked a little friend of his if he ever had burrs. To which he replied, “I only get “brrrs” when I eat ice cream.”

My two older boys have sibling rivalry down pat. They are constantly scrapping about…well, everything. So when Tim went off to spend the day with Dad last week, I had a relatively peaceful day with the other two. Later that evening, when I called Gil’s attention to the fact that there were no fights that day, I inadvertently told him that he and Tim were “the problem”. He took it upon himself to explain this to Tim as they lay in bed that night. Using the best analogy he could come up with, we overheard him say to Tim, “It’s like the world is a big math book and we’re the problem!”

As if single words weren’t enough, kids have to decipher phrases as well. My nephew Sam is the star of a favorite family story. One day, as his mom was bent over cutting his fingernails, he decided to investigate something that his mom had repeatedly told him. Reaching into her hair, he prodded her head, then said, “Oops, sorry, Mom. I poked you in the eye.” Puzzled, she denied that his fingers had gone anywhere near her eyes. To which he replied, “I meant the ones in the back of your head.”

Be careful what you say to your children. They might take you literally and poke you in the eye – oops – I mean the head.

About Minimalism

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I watched the Netflix show The Minimalists: Less is Now this last week. Minimalism is pretty hot these days which is interesting since the recycling of Amazon cardboard boxes is also trending. Minimalists like Joshua Fields Millburn and Ryan Nicodemus of theminimalists.com or Joshua Becker of becomingminimalist.com tout that they have all had the experience of ditching most of their accumulated “stuff” and then reaping that inverse proportion – maybe even more – of happiness, contentment and meaning.

Hmm, sounds familiar, sort of: “Give, and it will be given to you. Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you.” Oh yeah, that was Jesus, one of the original minimalists. Well, okay then.

I actually love this message which is why I continue to watch such Netflix shows about minimalism and purging (the good kind, a la Marie Kondo). On the flip side, I enjoyed an unhealthy fascination with hoarding shows when they first became popular, but mostly for the after pictures that are shown in the last five minutes of the show. I love me a good makeover, especially if it’s just about scaling down the room or the hair or the makeup so you can see the real foundation of what is actually there, which is probably pretty darn good.

Ah, but there’s the mystery. Who are you really underneath it all? And what do you really want your rooms to look like? Along with digging through stacks of newspapers and storage bins, the proponents of minimalism say you have face up to who you are and where you want to be – both figuratively and literally. For some, it may result in selling it all and moving into a motorhome to go find the answer.

Again, Jesus: “If you want to be complete, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow Me.” This is where the heebie-jeebies set in: sell ALL my possessions? THEN I can follow Jesus? Or find zen? Or 42, The Answer to Life, the Universe and Everything?

Well, no. But yes. If what is keeping you from happy is stuff, then logic follows that the stuff needs to go. Of course, physically getting rid of the excess is the “easiest” way to free yourself. But there is also a metaphysical component to freeing yourself. Sometimes it means getting in a car and going on a road-trip with a suitcase full of comfy clothes and hiking shoes to find out what it is that you really miss. (Chances are it’s people.) (But not dusting or looking for your keys.) (And maybe it’s the road.)

I’ve had my own aha-moments with minimalism, first precipitated by so many moves. Pack outdated university textbooks and boxes of old magazines more than once and you soon realize that you need to SCALE IT DOWN – or suffer a hernia. And then there was the time we got ourselves in a bind mortgage-wise and downsized from an acreage to a teeny-tiny bungalow. When we stood the couches on end just to get them into our new house, we pretty quickly realized that a bunch of it had to go. Fast. Before a falling couch wrecked one of our kids.

But those were good lessons because we found out two things: One, we didn’t need a lot of that stuff. And Two, we didn’t even like a lot of that stuff. The binary choice of this couch or that one made it easy to see what we liked because we couldn’t have it all. And sometimes it resulted in deciding we like neither couch and that we needed to save up to buy a new one that suited us better. And the surprise of all surprises, for both Rick and I was that while we still valued a few Things, we found out we really valued Space. Which really is Nothing. Talk about minimalism!

I’m not getting rid of everything, because frankly, it hurts for me to sit cross-legged on the floor all the time. But I keep working at having LESS because LESS is MORE. At least in my books. And in the minimalists’. And Jesus’. So there.

About Routine

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It’s weird, you know. After Christmas is done, after all the extra tasks I’ve given myself of shopping and card-writing and wrapping and cooking and cleaning and celebrating, by the time January 2 rolls around, I’m looking longingly to the return of my mundane routine.

I’ve worked primarily from home for a long time and have been able to “set my own hours” while I homeschooled my boys and managed my home and work responsibilities. For years, I sort of flouted a set routine, I’m sorry to say (or am I?) When my kids were young, we sort of flew by the seat of our pants: we got our schoolwork done (somehow) but we didn’t always start at the same time of day and sometimes we spontaneously took a day (or two or three) off. As the boys got older and busier, it felt like the calendar dictated my days and weeks as I ferried them to music lessons and youth group and theater and part-time jobs. And because I still had to make sure we were all fed and the house was cleaned and my work-work was done, it was a pretty busy season of life.

As an empty nester, you would think that there’s plenty of time to get all that I want to get done in a day. But for some reason, it doesn’t work that way. If I let time go unbridled, I can easily get sucked down an Instagram or Internet or Organizing vortex and then NOTHING gets done – because really, I’m kind of a minimalist and the house doesn’t need to be organized, again.

Schedule, schedule, schedule! That is what gets me down to the basement to work out regularly or out the door to walk, it’s what gets my butt in the chair to write and what keeps me from falling into those vortices. And because I have #goals when it comes to writing, I have learned this last year or so to give myself small assignments every day. Have I always been good at following through? Noooooooo. But I keep trying and refining and failing and getting back up again.

Because no one else is telling me what to do, I have to tell myself. Everyday I write down three things I want to work on. The first one is the most important and the thing I really need to do that day. The second thing is the thing I do when I’ve completed enough of the first task or finished it completely and I need to switch tasks – after a break and a coffee and maybe a small amount of time in the Instagram Vortex. The third thing I may not even get to that day – but that’s okay because it’s not as important as the first and second thing and at least I worked on those and the whole day wasn’t lost. And sometimes it helps to write down the three things the day or night before so that I don’t have a brain lapse when I look at an empty day and think I don’t have anything to do that day.

For the most part, I have a routine: I get up, read, drink some coffee, exercise, drink some more coffee, etc. But then it’s time to get to my three tasks. All the other stuff – laundry and lunch, errands and extras – that gets fit into the spaces in between of what I’ve decided are the most important things to do that day. And yes, sometimes lunch or laundry is the most important thing if a friend is coming over (that used to happen, right?) or we just got back from holiday (that used to happen, too.)

Is it boring? Well, yes, maybe it looks that way on the outside. But if the outcome is between finishing a writing project or finishing Netflix, Future Bonnie is gonna be happier if she finishes the writing project. And if I get to my writing chair on time everyday, there still is plenty of time for Netflix.

About 100 Dreams

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Photo by Benjamin Sow on Unsplash

I am a big believer in writing things down and a lover of lists of all sorts. So when I came across an idea from author Laura Vanderkam last year, I knew I wanted to try complete it: a List of 100 Dreams. Well, not complete it in the sense of get everything on the list “done”, but first just try to actually write down 100 Dreams.

I’m not talking about the visions – or nightmares – that visit you at night. This list is about writing down all the things you want to do, places you want to go, people you want to meet – no holds barred. And like a lot of things, it’s easier said than done.

I first heard about the idea from Vanderkam on her podcast Before Breakfast – she’s known for time management and working from home – two things that were especially hot in the work world after March last year. And she likes to address not just the working side of a person, but the other rest-of-life person, too. All work and no play makes for an unhappy person all round.

And so, The List of 100 Dreams.

The first thing I did was cue up a world map on Google and I systematically wrote down all the places I would love to go: Italy, France, Ireland, Poland, Hogwarts, the Shire. Remember, this was before regular people (a.k.a. not Alberta MLAs) had to shut down all travel plans. But it was a list of dreams and therefore perfectly okay to write down even the most frivolous desires of the heart.

On the one hand, I dream about travelling. On the other, my dreams are things that can be accomplished for the most part at my desk at home: write a memoir, write a novel, learn Greek and Latin, read all the books. I haven’t finished my list yet – there’s a lot of things in between going and staying – and I plan on writing a full 100 in my new 2021 planner. But even though the list’s title gives me permission to dream with abandon, I still find it hard to Dream Big.

It all comes with getting older, I think, and more…realistic? After all, I’m over 53 now. It’s not exactly Over the Proverbial Hill, but let’s just say, my age precludes any Olympic aspirations yet unmet. Reasonably: I don’t have that kind of time. Or, that kind of bod.

But that very reasonableness – or wisdom – is actually a gift. When we’re babies, we can dream all kinds of things: become the first woman to live on Mars, finish Netflix, read the Wikipedia, become a hermit, become famous. But getting older, we are able to filter out the things that are just Frankly a Waste of Your Time to Dream. For you. Because everyone gets to decide what dreams they want to cherish and what dreams are just downright Cuckoo-For-Cocoa-Puffs. For them.

The other gift of getting older? An awareness of your own mortality. Not in a morbid kind of way, but more in a way to galvanize your sorting: this thing matters, this thing doesn’t. And there’s nothing like your impending death to make you sit up and say, “Wait! I just need to get this one thing done first!”

You get to decide what to dream and to express what dreams still lie in your heart that you never did decide on – they were always just there. It is never to late to Just Dream.