`e Simple Home Chapter V 74
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`e Simple Home
Chapter V
74
Wabi-Sabi
wabi-sabi: the Japanese aesthetic that embraces the flawed, incomplete and ephemeral.
Underplayed beauty is so appealing, is it not? The delicacy of a pot amongst wilting vines, the deep green rosemary sprouting from the wooden stalk, vivid blooms above the muted ground.
At Christmas time when the conversation turns to gifts I am often stuck for suggestions. Apparently I’m incredibly hard to buy for; I’m an idealist with a very clear idea of what I like and what I don’t. In retrospect the best gifts I have received are those imbued with the thumbprint of their maker, the patina of age or the essence of nature; a handmade teacup with the grooves of the potter, an old mirror, a succulent plant in a vintage pot. Last week a friend gave me a collection of vegetables and herbs from her garden; their roots wrapped in damp paper towel, their stems tied with string — the perfect gift.
I always favour tradition over trend. I prefer colours that I see outside the window; those that appear naturally and then fade — olive green, smoky grey, unbleached white — and I like to bring them into the home. Right now there are five shells lining the balcony rail, dried herbs hanging from the kitchen window pelmet and lilac hydrangeas on the table. I light a beeswax candle every night to smell the sweet, clean scent and watch the wax soften and melt. It’s all simple decoration, placed with intention.
Wabi-sabi is simplicity but it’s also being mindful of what you buy and recognising what you already have. It is the ultimate lesson in sustainability — to mend and make do. I first came across the concept of wabi-sabi in a design magazine years ago. I tore the article from the book and placed the dark, filmic images in a box for keeps. The pages are frayed and the author’s name is long gone, but here is a little excerpt:
“The word ‘wabi’ literally translates as poverty. It looks to remove the concern about material things, of having ‘stuff’; to find a balance between the pleasure we get from things and the pleasure we get in finding freedom from things. ‘Sabi’ acknowledges simple realities — nothing lasts, nothing is finished and nothing is perfect.”
Che, in his innocent ways, unknowingly practises a little wabi-sabi. He gathers ephemera, round stones and fallen gumdrops and he carries them in his pockets. He places them on his bedside table, arranges them for a while and then they disappear, only to be replaced by a petal, a shell, a stalk.
Wabi-sabi doesn’t have rules; it’s born from intuition
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My essential kitchen ingredients include:
ginger — in tea to boost the immune system, with fruit and vegie juice to revitalise, a pungent addition to an Asian-inspired meal.
fresh herbs — I’ve just planted my essential herbs after neglecting them for a fair few months. I love society garlic (you can eat the flowers, too), flat-leaf parsley, thyme, rosemary, chives and mint. Aesthetically pleasing and an absolute kitchen staple.
wooden utensils — I have a jug full of them in all manner of shapes and sizes. Some are stained with the red of tomatoes, others wear the burn marks of a rushed cooking session.
beeswax — I light a candle in the kitchen each afternoon/evening; it sees me through preparing, cooking, eating, cleaning, contemplating.
eggs — preferably from mama and popa’s chooks who roam through the herb patch, these beauties are a meal in themselves and taste best when gooey and met with toast soldiers. The ultimate comfort, they truly make a fluffy batch of pancakes, a celebratory cake, a hearty quiche.
loose leaf tea and a pretty strainer — a necessity for a tea ritual and therefore a necessity in my life.
honey dripper — because swirling golden honey from the jar onto hot toast is one of life’s simplest pleasures.
a tea spoon — with a curved handle it happily sits on the side of the teacup in case a little more stirring is required.
big handled scissors — for cutting herbs and flowers stalks.
sea salt + pepper — enough said.
garlic — always organic because nothing else compares, it’s probably best when roasted with dutch cream potatoes; or sautéd with onion and bacon; or when it infuses good quality olive oil, or.....
lemons — for a citrus-inspired roast chook, or sprinkled over steamed greens, with cream cheese for delectable cake icing or with ginger in that immune-boosting tea mentioned previously.
linen — absorbent and soft to touch, linen pretties the kitchen setting
berries, fruit or flowers — bought, gratefully received or found, a touch of decoration on the windowsill completes the scene.
Essential Ingredients
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It’s so easy to bring motherguilt into the kitchen; to make a meal and think about how much better or healthier it could be. The meal is placed in front of the family and then, perhaps, there is complaints and sour faces, and the ritual of eating becomes a chore.
When I’m sad I stir sorrow into soup; it tastes bland and bitter and I wonder why I bothered at all. But then a joyous roast or happy batch of muffins balances the kitchen mood. I recognise that cooking is an emotional practise, that food is the magnet that brings us together to celebrate, divulge, reminisce and console.
I’ve been savouring Tamara Adler’s An Everlasting Meal, reading it ever so slowly and making notes between paragraphs. “I only mean to show you what cooking is: an act of gathering in and meeting out, a coherent story that starts with the lighting of a burner, the filling of a pot, and keeps going as long as we like.” Adler starts her story with the simple act of boiling water; in her eloquent prose she shares a little piece of kitchen wisdom, so apt for mothers to hear: “There is a prevailing theory that we need to know much more than we do in order to feed ourselves well. It isn’t true. Most of us already have water, a pot to put it in, and a way to light a fire. This gives us boiling water, in which we can do more good cooking than we know.”
It doesn’t take a long list of ingredients, fancy technique or significant time to cook good food — a mother’s kitchen mantra if ever I heard one.
There is so much emotion wrapped up in cooking for a family, especially if we’re aiming to improve meals, vary recipes or adhere to the numerous tastes and needs of our children. In my past posts on wholefood, guilt has been a common theme in the comments section. Mothers are, primally, the nurturers and nourishers, feeding our family is intuitive, but I don’t think guilt belongs in my kitchen or yours.
Cooking a meal with doubt or guilt, stirring half-heartedly and then eating it with shame, is, quite simply, not worth it. Cooking with love is an esoteric thought but, perhaps, the most important lesson we can take with us into the kitchen. Regardless of whether you’re cooking wholefood or real food or quick-and-easy food, a casserole or a stock or eggs with soldiers, consider bringing it to the table with gratitude and thanks. The opportunity to gather, share and eat together is a beautiful one (even if the little ones prefer weetbix).
`e Emotional Cook
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Our humble table is the centre of our home. It’s where we gather to eat and talk, play and work. More often than not it holds the weight of our days; literally and metaphorically. We place books, pencils, homework, diaries, cameras and flowers on it. Over meals we laugh, talk and argue.
A few days ago I cleared the table and left a candle, some freesias and a pot of thyme; it was a relief to see the surface with all its imprints; marks of makers and too-hot teapots. When I rose the next morning I found Che playing there whilst the sun and window created shadow plays on the wall. He stayed there while I cooked pancakes and took photos. Right now it’s the foundation for an array of miscellany and I’m typing amidst it all.
Our home is a little rough around the edges; thick cobwebs vignette each window and the paint is chipping on the edge of the walls. If I stand in the middle of it I can see each room (it’s easy to find quiet toddlers). Sometimes Daniel talks about the day when we have another baby and the fact that the house will be too small. I then tell him about the beauty of small homes;
so conducive to good conversation, cuddles — actually living together. But more importantly, small homes are comfort caves to return to once evening falls; they encourage you to move out into the world, even if that means walking barefoot to the bottom of the garden.
I think we’re accustomed to large homes in this country. But in reality, a lot of us, out of necessity or choice, prefer small spaces — spaces that require less of our time and are therefore, easier to live in. However, little houses get filled easily; with school notes, collected bits and pieces, children’s projects. If you don’t stay vigilant piles of “things” start to sprout from the table, windowsills, benches, door handles. Before long you realise that your simple home has become a higgledy piggledy cottage complete with scooters in the hallway.
And so, as spring nears and the seasonal clean approaches, I am starting to get rid of the wintry clutter — giving the walls some space to breathe, giving us a little more space to move.
Your Small Home Begs For SimpliciÙ
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How to Simplià Your Home
I usually write about decluttering when I’m in the midst of a purge. At the moment I’m going through a lot of my clothes; applying a newfound ruthlessness to the process and saying goodbye to some much-loved but no longer worn items. I’ll admit, it’s a relief to open my wardrobe every morning and actually see everything (no searching required). Whilst I have written many posts about decluttering I don’t think I’ve ever really shared how I do it. There’s no tricks of the trade but I have found, over the past few years, that a certain mindset is required for a successful simplify.
The act of simplifying is profound — for your home and your life. It’s a beneficial process on every level and whilst I won’t go too deeply into the emotional side-affects I will say that it gives me both clarity and satisfaction. When you simplify you are ultimately creating breathing space; regardless of how small the room is. Let it be known that calm and clutter do not go hand in hand (in my experience, anyway).
However, if you set out to declutter your entire home it’s expected that you’ll feel overwhelmed; for some it’s a daunting task that gets put off over and over and over again. But there are some steps you can take to ensure it gets done, quite literally, one drawer at a time. Consider the home you want to live in — do you want to be surrounded by stuff or surrounded by space?
• be determined and focussed and have a clear goal in mind.
• apply the 15 minute chore rule (set the timer to keep you motivated, stay clear of online distractions and work for 15 minutes — no stopping). Start with a drawer or surface/benchtop that is used regularly eg. cutlery drawer, tupperware drawer, bathroom cabinet, hallway shelf where the keys, mail, miscellany lives
• when decluttering the kitchen have a good think about the items that you use at least once a week — keep them and then place everything else to the side. Do you really need it all? Probably not (I had a big clear out of my kitchen cupboards recently and took everything to the op-shop — the next week I found a $6 cast-iron frying pan waiting for me — op-shop karma).
• go through your pantry, your medicine cupboard and your bathroom and throw out everything that is out of date. Be warned, you might not feel so good when you witness all that waste.
• your energy and motivation will easily wane. Keep reminding yourself why you’re decluttering...create a mantra if you need to.
• some people like to wander around the house, choose 30 items and take them straight to the op-shop. A good option for those who prefer spontaneous, ruthless decluttering.
• when deciding whether to keep or donate an item, ask yourself: do I need it? What does it mean to me? Is it beautiful? Is it necessary?
• think of the stuff on benchtops, under beds and jammed into cupboards as distractions; items that weigh you down. Clear space and you’ll breathe easier and sleep more soundly.
• when it comes to baby clothes keep the sentimental/really beautiful items and pass on the rest. If you are planning on having more children remember: there is always someone ready to donate a bag of wondersuits to you.
• look at your wardrobe — if you haven’t worn something for a year then you might want to consider whether it’s worth keeping. Or just get rid of it.
Decluttering is just the beginning of simplifying, though. Once you have created more space it’s time to consider where everything lives in the home. The family home can be complex, too — there is always going to be toys, books, artworks and lego lying about somewhere. I’ve come to realise that simplicity doesn’t mean tidy; my home is often messy but cleaning it is much easier than it used to be because there’s less stuff to pick up and put away. I also make a point of clearing walkways as often as I can — if I can walk from one end of the house to another without tripping over or dodging items I don’t feel hindered.
Then there is, of course, the buying aspect of simplicity. What’s the point of decluttering if you’re just going to buy new things to fill the spaces? Let it be known that yes, I buy non-essentials and I like shopping. But when I do purchase (whether it’s new or pre-loved) I run through a checklist to make sure I’m applying mindfulness and awareness. These points comes from a book that has become a daily read for me... Rethink: The Way You Live is a constant source of inspiration.
consider what you buy
don’t fall into fashion fads
ask yourself if you will be bored with this object by next year?
will it endure my family’s lifestyle?
do I really need another one?
...and I add to that list: is it practical, useful, necessary, beautiful?
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I’m quickly learning that perfection in the family home is neither achievable or desirable. `ere will always be clothes to fold, toys to pick up, dry bread crusts under the couch.
I wiped the table just the other day and noticed Che’s handwriting ingrained in the surface; the happiness of such a discovery is still with me. `e floorboards in our loungeroom are worn from years of fancy footwork, they need more oil, sometime soon. `e paint is starting to chip on doorways and sills but last week I wiped down walls with hot water, bicarb and vinegar and it felt like new — good enough.
Perfectionism is exhausting and I’m starting to let go of it. We had visitors on Friday and they told me that they loved the “lived-in” feel of our home, its authenticity and comfort...its beautiful imperfections.
I hope you can look around your home today and see the story of your family.
The Story of Your Family
“Home is not simply a mark upon a map,
anymore than a river’s just water.
It is the place at the centre of the compass
from which every arrow radiates and where
the heart is 0xed. It’s a force that forever
draws us back or lures us on. For where the
home is there lies hope, and the future wais
and everything is possible.” - closing quote
from an episode of Call `e Midwife.
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