living simply

sim·ply (simplē/)
1. in a straightforward or plain manner.
My husband and I have moved into our studio above the garage. Our home is on the market, and we realized that it should be kept tidy for showings, so we moved all the junk into a 600 square foot space, and staged the house for maximum appeal.
Now that we are here, we love it! We feel so content in our small space, with only a few necessities (cappuccino machine!) to keep us comfortable.
Now when I go into the house, I see it for the beautiful home that it is, but I don’t miss living in it. The echoes of our children’s laughter, along with their heights written in pencil on the wall, are reminders of the wonderful years we spent in it.
But now that we are on our own, with our son and daughter having flown the coop (texts and e-transfers the extent of our parenting), we have a renewed sense of joy.
This is astonishing to me. I remember, in my twenties, living in a small space and hoping to one day own a home. After many years of renting, I met my future husband and we happened upon a foreclosure sale and bid on it. Despite living in two different cities, we found ourselves mutual homeowners.
This all happened in September, 2001. NOT a great time to withdraw RRSP’s for a down-payment, as the markets were in turmoil after 9/11. We scraped up the $6,500 to qualify for the mortgage and proceeded to finish the inside of our “built to lock up” court-ordered sale.
Fast-forward 14 years. Both kids have graduated and moved on. We found ourselves rattling around the house and feeling anxious, not knowing why. Turns out we just needed a change.
So bigger is not always better, and living like a 20-something in a one bedroom studio is the best thing that’s happened to our marriage. We are physically closer (least of all that you can toss the dish cloth in the sink from the couch), which brings a new intimacy into our relationship. We share this space with our two dogs, who have adjusted totally to the switch.
Now when I vacuum, the zen is abundant.
Simply abundant.
coffee for one

hot coffee

She couldn’t seem to drink her coffee while it was hot. Other women took time for simple pleasures, surely.  The sun had just risen, her day about to start, but she lingered beneath the quilt. She imagined a morning in Paris, a slender woman sitting at a tile-topped table on a 4th floor patio, coffee tray and newspapers at the ready. A thin gold bangle slid down her wrist as she raised the fine porcelain to her perfectly painted lips, and drank. No hurry, no frantic pace.

The alarm buzzed, erasing the vision, and she rose. She snatched leggings and t-shirt from the floor then raced downstairs to start breakfast and make lunches for the kids. As the coffee machine burbled and the fresh brew filled the air, she emptied the dishwasher and folded the clothes. With her first cup poured, she leaned against the sink and contemplated her day. Her musings were distracted by a family of crows flying past the window, cawing and chirping, their daily forage begun. Their cries reminded her that she had to meet her son’s teacher today. There would be cawing, of that she had no doubt.

As four little feet pounded down the stairs, she smiled. She set down her cup and embraced her son and daughter as they bowled into her, their sweet, squeaky voices filling the kitchen and her heart.

When she returned from the school run, she saw her cup on the counter, untouched, cold. Hot coffee is overrated. She dashed the contents down the drain, washed the cup, and decided Paris, too, might be overrated.


monkey bars

Caroline lay in her bed and listened for any sounds of movement outside her room. She would do this before getting out of bed each day, as she preferred to not creep around on her own.

Today was Saturday, and that was Caroline’s favourite day. Her mother was not at work on the weekend, and Caroline got to spend time with her, but more importantly, she got to be alone with her mother on the bus on the way back and forth from Caroline’s ballet lesson.

Once Caroline heard the toilet flush and the water running in the bath, she knew her mother was awake and getting ready for the day. She lay in bed awhile longer, not having to go pee yet herself, and quietly talked to Teddy, the keeper of all Caroline’s secrets and wishes. She murmured to him about the usual things, like wishing her two brothers, who were still asleep in their bunk beds in the next room, were nicer to her. But they were older than Caroline, and best friends to each other, so their little sister was not important to them. Caroline sent her Daddy a special wish up in Heaven, then said something new to Teddy. “I wish I had a best friend.” She had never thought to wish for that before now, but as she said it, it gave her a feeling of contentment. Almost like knowing, by asking for it, but not expecting it, her wish would be granted when the time was right.

Caroline then felt able to get up and go find her mother, and hopefully get to make her own slices of toast by pushing the chair to the kitchen counter while her mother stood behind her and made sure she didn’t put the knife into the toaster while her bread was browning. Caroline knew not to do this, she was a big girl now, but her mother always made sure to be near when Caroline was doing these kinds of things.

Later, after having taken the bus downtown, Caroline and her mother arrived at the old municipal building where her dance class took place each Saturday. Twenty-five little girls and their mothers arrived in the space of about 10 minutes, and ballet slippers replaced lace ups and little girls girls giggled and the mothers chatted until Madame clapped her hands smartly for their attention. Pink legs stood in first position with hands still and pointing down towards upper thighs.  The piano began and 25 pairs of legs bent at the knee forming “fenetres”.  Bums and round bellies stuck out, but Madame ignored technique and repeated “Plie down…one, two, three, four” and “Rise…one, two, three, four” as all eyes were focused on reflections in the bank of mirrors on the opposite wall.  Caroline tried to keep her toes turned out and her heels together as she bent and rose, her thin legs wobbly and her knees not exactly over her toes.  Madame said “bra bas” and her hands realigned.  She isn’t sure what “bra bas” actually means, but she knew it makes Madame happy to point her fingertips towards the space that makes a triangle, where the tops of her legs don’t quite touch. Caroline can see her mother in the waiting room.  She isn’t watching.  Her mother is talking to Grace’s mother, and they have their heads bent together so their whispers won’t disturb Madame.  Madame is the only person Caroline knows that keeps her mother from talking loudly.

The other girls are moving about the floor, so Caroline joins them in a circle as they skip to the beats of Madame’s clapping hands.  “One, two, three, four” Madame repeats to each clap.  The piano is playing furiously as they skip and move in a faster rhythm.  Caroline doesn’t understand what skipping has to do with ballet, but her mother tells her that Madame knows what is best, and Caroline must always do what Madame says.  “Ballet lessons are expensive, Caroline.  You must always pay attention and do what Madame says so you can learn how to become a great dancer.”  Caroline likes the feel of her tights rubbing together as she skips in a circle.  Her ballet slippers make shushing sounds on the wooden floor and she starts to feel winded from all the movement.

The lady playing the piano is very fat, and wears an old-fashioned dress and very clunky lace up leather shoes.  Her hands dance across the keys faster than the Caroline can keep track.  She must have practiced a lot to be able to play so many songs.  Her flabby arms jiggle as she plays, but she doesn’t seem to care about that.  Her head moves side to side and up and down with the music, and she seems lost but in a happy way.

Now the girls are in the corner of the room, and Madame is saying “jete” which Caroline remembers means “jump”. She waits until it is her turn and then steps forward with her right leg and tries to leap at the same time.  It is very hard to “jete” but she manages to get at least 4 jumps in before she reaches the opposite corner.  Her favourite thing to do in ballet class is to rise up on her toes and twirl around making tiny steps with her feet with her arms raised high above her head.  But that part is done now until next week so she concentrates really hard on the cross-floor movements until it is time to cool down.

Once all the girls are back in the waiting room Caroline changes back into her lace ups and puts her slippers into her little case.  Her mother chats for a few minutes with Grace’s mom, and then they descend down the long staircase and come out onto the street. Caroline’s brothers do not come to dance class, as they are able to stay home on their own.  This is the only time Caroline spends alone with her mother, apart from bed time stories, and before they cross the street to catch the bus, Caroline reaches up and places her hand in her mother’s grasp.  Her mother has lovely soft hands, and Caroline hopes she will too when she is a grown up lady.  Her mother rubs Caroline’s thumb with her own as they cross the street to the bus stop. The bus ride takes only about 10 minutes, and soon they are home again. Another Saturday ritual ended.

When they arrive at their apartment, Caroline’s mother goes to check on the boys and Caroline has some time alone in her own bedroom until lunch.  She puts her ballet case in her closet, but keeps on her leotard and tights and sits cross-legged on the floor with her teddy to tell him all about her morning.  Teddy is very attentive and listens to everything Caroline has to say.  This is not true of Caroline’s brothers, who don’t listen to anything she says.  They have eachother to play with and seem to enjoy excluding Caroline in almost everything they do.  Caroline is not allowed to enter the room they share, nor is she even allowed to stand in the doorway to watch them play.  “You are breathing our AIR” they shout.  “Go AWAY!”  So Caroline plays quietly in her room, usually talking to Teddy or reading books.  She LOVES books.  She can’t always pronounce all the words, but she knows the stories well enough, and the pictures are wonderful to stare at.  Sometimes her brothers come barging in to her room, even though they aren’t supposed to, and start wrestling and throwing Teddy back and forth.  This makes Caroline very excited, but very upset too, and even though she laughs out loud she really feels more like crying.  “Stop it, give him back to me!”  She laughs and laughs but soon she is wailing and the tears come streaming down her face.  Her brothers think this is the best part, and always rejoice when she is reduced to tears.  Her mother yells from down the hall “Pack it in down there!” and her brothers scamper off to their room and leave Caroline snuffling and hiccuping as she wipes her runny nose and tries to calm herself.

Caroline must have fallen asleep talking to Teddy, because she is awoken to her mother calling her for lunch.  She gets up and places the bear on her pillow and then joins her brothers at the kitchen table where her mother has soup and sandwiches waiting.  Caroline loves her mother’s soup.  There is a pot on the back of the stove and her mother puts in all sorts of vegetables and whatever leftovers she has in the fridge, and it gently bubbles away all morning.  Today’s sandwich is tuna, which isn’t Caroline’s favourite, but she dunks her triangle into the soup and takes a bite, all dripping and juicy.  The soup is too hot to eat, so Caroline finishes dunking her sandwich until the broth is cooler.  She then picks up her spoon and carefully spoons each mouthful until it is all gone.  She realizes too late that she forgot about her glass of milk.  Caroline doesn’t like milk.  She usually tries to drink it while eating, so she can swallow each mouthful right after taking a bite of food, to avoid tasting the flavour of the milk.  But she was enjoying her soup so much that she forgot to alternate with sips of milk.  Now she has to drink the whole glass before she can leave the table.  This is the hardest thing for Caroline.  Her mother says she must drink her milk “It’s good for your bones, Caroline”. Her brothers love milk, and always tease Caroline when she makes faces and gags while trying to swallow hers.  But today she manages to drink it down, even if it is a little warm, and then she takes her bowl, balanced carefully on her plate, to the sink.  She then goes back to the table and drags her chair in front of the sink so she can do the dishes.  Caroline loves doing dishes.  In her Henny Penny book the chicken has on an apron while she does dishes, and Caroline thinks Henny Penny is a very sensible and wonderful character.  Caroline puts on the frilly white apron her mother made especially for her, and fills the sink with water and squirts in just enough soap to make bubbles.  She swishes the soapy cloth over each plate and bowl and glass and then rinses them in the second sink she has filled with warm, clean water.  Her mother takes the dishes one at a time from the dish rack and carefully wipes them with a clean towel and puts them all away in the cupboards.  Caroline wants nothing more than to be a mother when she grows up.  She wants to make yummy soup, and do the dishes, and sweep the floor and wash the clothes.  Caroline imagines her grown up self making creamy scrambled eggs as she stands at the stove, chatting with her own children who are sitting at the table.  Caroline’s children will be sweet and good to eachother, never yelling or making each other cry.

After lunch, Caroline’s mother makes a phone call and her brothers go outside to play in the playground at their apartment complex.  Caroline changes from her dance clothes into her play clothes, and then joins her brothers in the playground.  Caroline loves to go on the teeter totter, but her brothers always push too hard and they make it bump when she goes down, so she avoids that and instead chooses the monkey bars.  Caroline is a good climber and she can get to the very top.  She even has little calluses on her hands from gripping onto the metal. Once she’s at the top, she grabs the middle bar and swings her legs down so she is hanging about two feet off the ground.  If she swings hard enough she can bring her legs back up to the next bar and pull herself back up to the top.  Caroline keeps jumping down and climbing up again, until she hangs down once again but loses her grip and falls to the pebbly ground below.

Caroline stares up at the sky as she lays under the monkey bars, trying to catch her breath. She is staring at the puffy white clouds against the blue sky, and for some reason she doesn’t cry even though her back and legs are hurting from the fall. She hears the shouts and chatter of the other children all around her, but because she is still, no one comes to check on her. She prefers to sort things out for herself rather than have people fussing around her asking questions. So she lays there for a few more minutes, daydreaming and gazing at the slow-moving clouds, until she feels a bit better and is able to sit up and look around.

As her mind returns to the activity in the playground, she realizes there is a boy watching her from the swings. He is still, not pumping his legs, just sitting there with his hands around the chains. He is about her age, with light brown hair and a striped t-shirt and green shorts. There is a band-aid on his left knee, and although he is about twenty fee away, Caroline can see that he has very blue eyes.

She picks herself up off the ground and wanders over to the swings, not staring at the boy, but casually moving in a way that says “I think I will go on the swings now.” She sits down on the swing next to his and starts pumping her legs to get going. This seems to give the boy an idea, and he too starts pumping his legs, and soon they have managed to coordinate it so that they swing in unison, swings moving in rhythm so they soar high and return back together. Caroline starts to laugh. Not in the hysterical, emotional way she does when her brothers tease her, but from her belly, without restraint. The boy glances at her, and seems to make a decision. He smiles at Caroline, then a giggle escapes his lips, and soon he too is laughing. Together they laugh and pump their legs, the warm breeze blowing Caroline’s hair straight back. The other children in the playground pay them no mind, and for a few minutes, Caroline feels so free and happy that she knows this is a very special moment, though she couldn’t explain it in words if asked.

After awhile Caroline starts to pump her legs less vigorously, and together she and the boy slow their rhythm until they both come to a full stop by dragging the toes of their sneakers on the pebbles below them.

“I am Caroline” says Caroline. The boy gazes back at her through his clear blue eyes, and replies “I am Timothy”.

They hold their gaze for a moment, and without another word, they jump off the swings and run to the teeter totter. They are the same size more or less, and Caroline knows somehow that Timothy will not let her bump on the ground when she goes down, and together they move up, down, up, down until she hears her mother calling her to come in for her bath.

As they each scramble off the teeter totter, Caroline waits for him to walk over to her. She says “Thank you” and he says “You’re welcome”.

They smile at each other and before she turns to leave, she says “See you tomorrow!” and Timothy simply says “Yes.”

In that one word, Caroline knows that she had made a new friend. What she doesn’t realize is that, like Caroline, Timothy had also made a wish that very morning. Funny how things work out sometimes.



In the midst of my ‘very important work’, and the frustrations surrounding my inability to make things happen exactly as I wish they would, I must take a moment to remind myself that there are millions and millions of people who would give anything to enjoy my life.

I have recently embarked on a project that is slightly frustrating in that I am not in total control of all aspects of the job at hand. I have limitations, and therefore must rely on others. This is the part that I do not enjoy, as I am usually the one to find the solution or dig in and work overtime to meet the deadline. I cannot do that in this case, and my “Zen of Vacuuming” mindset is really necessary right now.

However, this is all in my head, as is everything, or so ‘they’ say. The entire universe is merely my perception of it, so if I want things to be different, all I have to do is perceive them to be and poof! Everythng is perfection and light and love and blah, blah, blah….


This is all well and good for those of us who live in the top 1%. And by this I do not mean the top 1% of the top 1%, I mean the top 1% of the entire world population. I read that if one has a roof over one’s head, food in the fridge, and can read and write, then one is abundantly richer than almost everyone else living on the planet, by a huge margin.

But the philosophy to merely change one’s perception isn’t so readily attainable for those people, adults and children alike, struggling with extreme poverty, governmental corruption, famine, war, and debilitating illness or disability. Try and tell them their life experience can be swiftly altered simply by ‘changing their perception’. I am sure, on a purely philosophical level, this argument can be made, but let’s be real. Life is hard, and living it isn’t always a joy. There are joyful moments, to be sure, but for the most part having to get up and deal with the endless process of surviving merely to get up and do it again, day after day, is not joyful. It is a huge burden. But miraculously, or stubbornly, humans have been getting up and dealing with whatever is put before them for millennia, regardless of all the impediments in their path.

So I remind myself of the burdens carried by millions, nay billions, of fellow humans at this very moment, and am thankful that my perceived ‘problem’ is really just an illusion. For I have the luxury of stepping away from the keyboard and going into the rural beauty of the nearly 10 acres of land that I own, spread my arms wide, whilst breathing fresh air and enjoying the freedom to walk, think, speak, eat and dream without restriction or subjugation.

My false perception is that anything in my blissful world could ever be a problem, as I am sure millions or billions of my fellow humans would attest.

Stop. Breathe. Observe the observer and quit whining. You are one lucky person if you have read this post. Consider the alternatives.