. . . to tell you that this hiatus was, in fact, unintentional. First our monitor broke. Strangely enough, there was absolutely nothing leading up to it - it was fine and then, a moment later, a nice white screen with some easter egg coloured lines running through it. Lovely.
And then the vomiting began. Barf and blogging are not compatible since I have not had a free moment since the barfing commenced. Well, except for now while I'm allowing my children's productive and creative spirits to putrefy while they watch netflix. As usual, I have been protected from this gastrointestinal distress probably by the mercy of God (or the Universe. Or Twitter. I guess it depends on who you talk to!) because isn't it obvious that the one person in the house who can clean, cook, and wash barfy bedding and clothes without heaving should be the one who is spared? Anyway, I'm absolutely radiating happiness over my good fortune, but I have to pretend I'm at least a little glum because I don't want my family beating me over the head for being too cheerful in the face of their misery. Everyone hates that.
Some thoughts I've been having while playing washerwoman:
- Paring down to the point where I realize we need . . . more stuff? WTH!? Turns out when you only have one or two pieces of furniture in each room, it better damn well look good. We look like we're 6 months out from dorm living. Ahem. Also, minimalism has thrown my organizational skills out of whack and made things that previously didn't seem important really important.
- Unrelieved white. Sanatorium or calming? Methinks I'm wanting tiny bits of color about as long as I don't have to commit to anything but white.
Love the simplicity of this room. Found here.
- Valentine's Day. Meh. Good God (!) the amount of women who seem to feel like they have failed if they are single on Valentine's Day! What are we doing to our girls? As if female singleness is some kind of plague to be avoided at all costs. Must remember to stress to my children that their value isn't dependent on whether they ever find someone and have babies.
- My mom pointed out that it would be virtually impossible to be a practicing artist and an I-can-fit-everything-in-my-backpack minimalist unless you used your computer or your medium was very tiny. I think this is obvious, but it kind of sent me down another path of thinking. As in, minimalism is about keeping (mostly) only what you need, and some would argue you don't need art, and others would argue that you do. I'm not going to get into anything lengthy here. I think art is more important than minimalism. By far. I also think that minimalism has often, perhaps even most of the time, been introduced by some kind of art, whether it be writing or something else. Minimalism ceases to exist if no one has anything in the first place; see most of the world. So, in order for minimalism to even be important, there has to be stuff. I don't know why this is so interesting to me - but I think it's just changed my relationship with minimalism.
- Shocked by the Dervaes Institute (family) trademarking the phrase "urban homestead." Like many other people, I'd understand if Monsanto was trying to use the term for their own purposes, or Hummer was branding one of their vehicles as perfect for the urban homestead, but the Dervaes are going after people who are ostensibly within their own community - people who practice urban gardening, run teaching courses on it, and blog about it to connect and help others. I guess it's too much to ask people of any common interest to stick together. Sad. Good luck Mr. Dervaes, on getting your "urban homesteading" supporters to fund your dream of buying land for a remote homesteading community in South America when you're busy sending them what essentially amounts to cease and desist letters. Check these links out for more info:
So, I'll be back next week, just as soon as I can find where, despite me washing everything multiple times, that barf smell is still coming from. Oh, wait, I think it might be might be the sweatshirt I've had on all week while holding people's hair back while they hurl. I promise that the next time you hear from me I'll be clean!