• Barbie, Midge, Robin and Me

    The father of my best friend Robin owned a tool business franchise which provided two young girls with opportunities to fill bins in his wonderful red truck, to bake cookies he could share with customers, and access to dozens of interesting empty boxes.

    Robin attended 95thStreet School and I went to parochial school, but we had matching pencil boxes in our desks. Most kids found a source for cigar boxes, but we had decorated paper boxes not needed in his truck into unique containers with compartments for pencils, color pencils, scissors and such. We didn’t know each other’s school friends, but we shared something deeper: hours of playing with Barbie, Midge, Skipper and Ken in wonderful houses, stores, airplanes and schools constructed out of even more empty boxes.

    When the weather was cold, Robin’s basement became a town for an afternoon of play. Her Barbie had a flight attendant outfit, mine had a tailored suit. We shared a plastic pseudo-Barbie car that took one to the airport and the other to an imaginary office. Neither of us knew anyone who worked in an office or flew on planes so eventually the story turned back to all the dolls sitting at little box desks with one Barbie, attired in a skirt and sweater, called teacher.

    Robin had an older sister and we both had moms so we knew real women weren’t built like our Barbie crew, but we didn’t know flight attendants, nurses, doctors, brides, or girls who wore wonderful ballgowns. Our parents didn’t buy us Barbie’s plastic house or bedroom furniture, but Robin’s dad shared tape and scissors and boxes to build furniture and a variety of workshop towels to make blankets. We stood next to him in his wood working shop as he made small frames and blocks that could extend our Barbie furniture building. We learned how to sand.

    Our Barbie phase lasted less than a year, a simple time when we creatively explored, built and did what kids are supposed to do. Parents helped feed our play then stepped back. And we did okay. And I wish I could say thanks to Robin’s father and all the other parents who stepped out over the years with camping trips or garden planting or an evening at the opera to expand the world beyond the girl toys of Barbie and her crew. And those who do that today as  they parent another generation of kids.

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  • I travel to experience difference.

    Montana

    I travel to experience difference.

    I want my heart to pound with exhilaration. To swell and beat against my body. I want to instinctively hold my breath. I want to feel fear.

    On the Big Mountain in Whitefish, Montana, I held my breath and pushed off the 6,817 ft. summit. My skis foreign under me. It had been years since I had downhill skied. I worked to tilt my skis onto their edge, providing the resistance I needed to slow down. Juan Jose’ and Crystel’s ski lessons from when they were four rose in my memory, “Pizza, Mama. Pizza.” I pizzaed and french fried down the mountain.

    My first step off the summit, had the same feeling as jumping off a cliff the height of a 3-story house into Lake Atitlan, Guatemala.

    Ultra Extreme zip- lining, flying over and through the jungle of Guatemala, jumping out of a plane in Wisconsin, and bungee jumping off the historic suspension bridge in New Zealand, where bungee jumping began are not things I need to do again. Nor is parasailing.

    Never say never. I can imagine the kids wanting me to join them and there I’ll go again.

    I travel to experience awe. Awe-inspiring landscape, whether it be in Montana, Guatemala, or the ocean is a feeling I want to hold onto forever. I want to breathe in what I’m seeing so deeply that I never lose my sense of wonder. I experience a connection with something greater.

    Destin

    Hiking along ancient paths in Sedona, the Upper Mayan Trail in Guatemala, and the Badlands provides a profound sense of being with the ancients whether it is the Yavapai of Sedona, the Kachekel Mayans of Guatemala, or the paleo-Indians of the Badlands. I can envision the singular, winding, upwards path of those who came before us, shouldering their belongings, carrying their infants, moving towards shelter.

    When I travel, I often learn something new about myself or come to a deeper understanding.

    It was in Destin, Florida strolling towards sunrise on the fine soft white sand, that it came to me: I feel most alive walking into the wind. That I create the world I live in. That right now, this moment, came to be because of all the choices that I have made before.

    Jody, Cozumel

    Family travel, sharing adventures, having others hold their breath in awe and fear are joys. The best thing Jody and I can give our children is the world in their palm and a passion for new experiences. Then, they too, can cultivate new and lasting relationships with the world and those around them.

    We are planning a family trip to Japan in 2020. Crystel is organizing our travel plans. She is teaching herself Japanese. Juan Jose’ will also be traveling to Germany with his German class.

    Travel is fulfilling. Rejuvenating. A time to take stock. Stretch boundaries. And, if you plan it right, to hold your breath.

    One response to “I travel to experience difference.”

    1. bbachel Avatar

      Here’s to travel…and holding our breath. I hope to have ample opportunities for both in the months ahead.

  • Can’t Do Kondo

    http://clipart-library.com/clipart/495960.htm

    At a recent gathering of women, I was impressed by how excited some of them felt about Marie Kondo (The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up). Her new Netflix show has boosted interest in the KonMari method. It is alluring—all those well-organized spaces. The simplicity of only keeping what sparks joy. The peacefulness of an orderly home that doesn’t contain random piles of junk. It all looks so virtuous. But I’m skeptical.

    The key step in her process looks exhausting. You make an enormous pile of your stuff and then make endless joy/no joy decisions. I flash back to sorting out my mother’s household goods after she died. And then doing the same with my Aunt Corinne’s things. Repeatedly deciding which items were too good to throw away but not good enough to keep took such an emotional toll. After a while I stopped caring. Soon everything looked like junk.

    It appears that’s the point people come to as they engage in the KonMari process. You become overwhelmed and stop making decisions. Everything except absolute essentials goes. So that’s part one of the magic. You have less stuff and feel lighter.

    The young couple featured in the first episode did need help. They were unhappy about how out of control their home and life with two toddlers had become. They stuck with Marie Kondo’s process and voilà! Eventually they brought order out of chaos.

    Last fall I dabbled with doing a little KonMari on my clothes. Admittedly, I only watched a short video about it and didn’t read her book. I didn’t pile up everything in my closet and dresser. Instead, I considered how long it had been since I’d worn something. I evaluated each item’s fit, style, and level of shabbiness. As a result, I cleared out a lot of stuff. Then I had the hassle and expense of replacing essential items that no longer were up to par. I’m still looking for wonderful replacements that spark joy.

    After you get rid of stuff and organize what remains, another step in her process is folding clothes differently. I like her idea about folding t-shirts so you can see all of the colors. However, it definitely is more time-consuming, so often my laundry sits for days before I put it away properly.

    What will keep me (or any KonMari advocate) from backsliding? I suspect it’s the painful memory of sorting through the enormous pile. However, I didn’t make a big pile and I’m known to have amnesia when it comes to recalling how hard a project is. It seems very likely that three years from now my closet will be overburdened again. At some point, folding t-shirts her way may be too much trouble.

    I don’t doubt that Marie Kondo’s approach truly helps some people. The couple featured during the first episode came away with a system and new habits that will make their lives easier and more filled with joy.

    Perhaps I’d feel lighter and more joyful if I fully embraced Marie Kondo’s system. But I know for it to work I’d have to incorporate her philosophy as well as adopt new habits. I guess I’m not ready.

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    2 responses to “Can’t Do Kondo”

    1. Eliza Waters Avatar

      I read her book and was inspired to start sorting. I got rid of about 50% of our books, 90% puzzles (I had A LOT), took a ton of clothing, etc. to Goodwill, but then I ran out of steam. As you pointed out, it is emotionally draining. Our egoic attachment to things is a tough habit to go against. I still have a tendency to accumulate magazines and books that I intend to read, but rarely do. Periodically, I go through them and purge, but the slow accumulation just begins again. Ah, well, what can I say?

      1. Ellen Shriner Avatar

        I’m glad you were able to accomplish so much with her method. We got rid of a ton of accumulated stuff when we downsized four years ago. But the hardest part is dealing with the attachment to our stuff and creating the new habits of managing the remaining stuff. I always appreciate hearing your perspective!


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