minimalist goals

soxarchology
As you know if you read this blog now and then, I embarked on a self-promise to devote this summer's knitting to finishing pairs of socks. My habit has always been to complete one, maybe start a second and then, due to SSS (second sock syndrome) or because there's a new color or pattern beckoning,  I stash the project somewhere moth proof and blithely move on. Once a year or so I debox those half-pairs and finish. Since June I've managed to knock off six pairs - which I've photographed on my feet, on mannequin feet, in trees and flowerpots, and posted one pair at a time until we're all sick of seeing them. So here they are all at once - it hurts less that way. Nice mindless beautiful socks that will feel good on lots of future happy feet.

Ron is working very slowly on building a deck off his studio. In the process of unearthing the roto-tiller in the garage, a large plastic storage box of UFOs became visible. And guess what was in the box? Right! So yesterday was devoted to sorting. It seems I'd stashed most of the socks with their needles, but forgot. In the ensuing weeks, months, (years?) I often ran out of certain needles (like 2.50 mm) and bought more (I know, I know). When everything was finally sorted, labeled, and ziplocked, I realized I had enough stitch holders, circs and dpns to start my own notions and pick-up-sticks shop (and enough unfinished socks to last till September 1 when I will officially end this blasted promise to myself).

Now, a major rule of decluttering according to "the joy of less" by francine jay (the lack of caps is hers) -  the book I bought for my Kindle because there's no room on the bookshelves - the first thing to do when clearing-stuff-out, is count how many you have of one item. This includes handbags, yarn, books, shoes - you get the picture. Oh yeah, and pictures. It is called see your stuff for what it is. This dealing with reality is cruel and unusual and flies in the face of the other book I'm reading on self-compassion. I dream of a major yard sale in my future and the hope of mindfulness, liberation, space, and cash.

You have to remember though, that I came from a depression era magpie family. They didn't steal things like the birds do, but they saved everything. After their deaths, we spent days and weeks in the hot attic and other places in their three-story house (where they'd lived for forty years) clearing stuff out. Finally at the end of the summer, my brother and I sold the house with what was left still in it. I admit I've been haunted by mild guilt feelings through the three decades since, but really, did anyone want the cabinet sized tube radio? or the rusted tools, boxes of clean mayonnaise jars, stacks of neatly folded brown grocery bags?

The concept put forth in the book is to own "just enough to meet our needs, and nothing more." The author calls it the holy grail. I call it a serious challenge.