Yesterday we had the glass panels replaced in our sun room. The view now is clear and we are told that the new glass will keep both the summer heat and winter cold out. But I want to tell you about the process of preparing for the workmen, which meant clearing out everything, and about our plans for putting nothing back. Well, almost nothing.
The room is an extension of our kitchen so the task was to move everything out of the sunroom area. Of course this included all the furniture—an upholstered couch and chair, a wooden table and four chairs, a rocking chair, an end table, one trunk serving as a coffee-table, three lamps and an enormous forty year-old jade tree. That’s about it for the big stuff.
But then there was the little stuff: our collections and collectables, which we call sitters and hangers--figurines, books, candles, plates, plastic frames with family art work, little signs that such as Blessings on this House, wind chimes, old wooden sports equipment including ice skates and a golf club, and mugs, mugs, mugs. There was also a printer’s shelf, on which were balanced about one hundred tiny “sitters” in the fifty tiny niches. The entire place looked like a museum or an antique shop.
My description doesn’t do justice to the “before” scene, and alas I didn’t take a picture. But it’s the “after” prospect that has me energized. We’ve decided be minimalists, which to us means having very little stuff. Most of the furniture is back, but the jade tree, which burst its pot on the way out, is now only a little possibility of an outdoor plant. The sitters and hangers are not going back. We’ll keep one or two, offer some to our kids and grandkids, sell a few, and box the rest for the church rummage sale or the “put & take” at the dump.
What a relief. Ever since I started going to the cottage by the sea, I’ve been searching for simplicity, and now I actually feel that I’ve found some. Plus, I’ve gained some new skills and attitudes to help me discover even more. And yet being a minimalist isn’t going to be easy. I already miss the museum and it will take some getting use to not to live in an antique shop.
The room is an extension of our kitchen so the task was to move everything out of the sunroom area. Of course this included all the furniture—an upholstered couch and chair, a wooden table and four chairs, a rocking chair, an end table, one trunk serving as a coffee-table, three lamps and an enormous forty year-old jade tree. That’s about it for the big stuff.
But then there was the little stuff: our collections and collectables, which we call sitters and hangers--figurines, books, candles, plates, plastic frames with family art work, little signs that such as Blessings on this House, wind chimes, old wooden sports equipment including ice skates and a golf club, and mugs, mugs, mugs. There was also a printer’s shelf, on which were balanced about one hundred tiny “sitters” in the fifty tiny niches. The entire place looked like a museum or an antique shop.
My description doesn’t do justice to the “before” scene, and alas I didn’t take a picture. But it’s the “after” prospect that has me energized. We’ve decided be minimalists, which to us means having very little stuff. Most of the furniture is back, but the jade tree, which burst its pot on the way out, is now only a little possibility of an outdoor plant. The sitters and hangers are not going back. We’ll keep one or two, offer some to our kids and grandkids, sell a few, and box the rest for the church rummage sale or the “put & take” at the dump.
What a relief. Ever since I started going to the cottage by the sea, I’ve been searching for simplicity, and now I actually feel that I’ve found some. Plus, I’ve gained some new skills and attitudes to help me discover even more. And yet being a minimalist isn’t going to be easy. I already miss the museum and it will take some getting use to not to live in an antique shop.