The Life-Changing Magic Of The Orange Gingham Dish Towels

"Life should be chic, glamorous, and colorful, and so should your home." 

"Beautiful, playful art shows people the second that they come into your house that they're in the presence of a provocative funster."

-Jonathan Adler

It all began with the orange checked dish towels. 

Looking for a gift, I was browsing around the Crate & Barrel website when I stumbled upon these dish towels. 

Immediately, I was obsessed. 

Night after night, all week long, I went back to look at those towels, wondering if I still loved them as much as I had the night before. 

I did.

And I began to seriously consider buying them. 

But wait, I told myself. You don't buy orange dish towers. You buy white and black and grey dish towels. 

Hmm, that's true. But I used to buy orange dish towels. What has happened to me?

And it all came rushing back.

* * * * *

Seventeen years ago, I realized my mother had the early signs of dementia.

Eight years ago, I got involved in her daily care.

Four years ago, my mom died. 

Pick out any one of the countless events during those years that pulled us both deeper into the darkness that is Lewy Body Dementia, and I can draw a line to a corresponding change in my home.

I stripped the colors out of my rooms and left black, white, and shades of grey.

I pulled much of my art down off the walls and minimized what was on display.

I put away most everything that did not serve a useful function. 

I needed my home to be almost bare and tediously tidy. 

And it's been taking me a long time to work my way out of that dark place.

Wow, this is heavy stuff. Isn't this supposed to be a story about chic, glamorous, and colorful home decor and orange gingham dish towels?

Yes, hang on, I'm getting to that. 

* * * * *

In just the past few months, I've felt something stirring in me.

No, not an absence of grief. Losing your mom is not something from which one will ever fully recover.

But ever since I found those orange gingham dish towels, I've noticed the small and quiet awakenings of some things I have not felt in a long time.

Playfulness.

Fun.

A lightness of being. 

I realized that I'm ready to lighten the mood of my surroundings too. 

So I bought the orange gingham dish towels. They bring me a really ridiculous amount of joy. 

And they have inspired me to slowly and deliberately invite a few more things into my house, and I'm hoping they too will inject 

some color, 

some whimsy, 

some fun. 

Here's what I've done so far:

^ In my living room, which had been completely overrun by plants and neutral colors, a few new throw pillows from Society6 bring in splashes of orange, yellow, and green, and a vaguely sixties' retro vibe. Between the colors and the graphics, the pillows make me feel very connected to childhood me, and that is a lovely comfort. 

^ The coveted orange gingham dish towels have been granted a place of honor on my kitchen counter. I don't even use them; I just smile to see them folded neat and clean, each and every time I walk into the room. 

On the shelves are two orange bowls and a bright blue flowered plate, both of which I picked up at a thrift store years ago, and had stashed in the back of my overflow dish cupboard. To be honest, I'd forgotten completely about them until I got the dish towels, and then my brain connected the orange dots. They've all become great friends. 

^ As part of my use it or lose it adventure, I came across this orange painting stashed in the garage. It used to hang horizontally in my bedroom, back when my bedroom was colorful, but somehow when I looked at it now, my brain saw it in a vertical presentation and I knew that this long and narrow space would be a perfect new home. 

I tossed a new giant gold throw pillow on the couch in front of it, and felt intense pleasure. The coordinating candles on the side table were just a lucky find in my candle stash, and I took them as confirmation that this color story was meant to be. 

* * * * *

I didn't plan for orange to be the new coming-out color of my reinvigorated home. But I think it's more than a happy coincidence that this is the color I'm drawn to. Orange speaks to me 

of confidence

of sunshine

of fun.

Thanks to the magic of the gingham dish towels, orange is the color that is bringing out the provocative funster in me, and I am relieved to have her back. 

* * * * *

More stories about my reinvigorated home:

The Life-Changing Magic Of The Orange Gingham Dish Towels

Don't Let 'Em Push You Around

Use It Or Lose It: Office Updates

Welcome, come in! You've just stepped in my front door and glancing to your right you get your first look at my library.

Well. It's not really my library. Allow me to clarify.

We've traditionally referred to this room as our library. Which makes perfect sense since it's chock full of books and a fabulous place to read, down here at the far end of the house from the kitchen which makes it quiet and fairly orderly. But since Covid, my husband has taken over as head worker-from-home and commandeered the space for his finance director-y business. So these days, it's more an office than a library.

And since my husband is in here grinding through spreadsheets, wrangling consultants into line, and Zooming with his homiez, this room is not really mine anymore. At least, not during the day. Once the sun goes down and my husband signs off of chess.com for the day and heads upstairs to sleep like a normal human being, Gracie and I take over for the midnight shift. 

Anyway, come on in and look around. Thanks to my new use it or lose it policy, which dictates that I not just hang on to possessions I want to keep but actually put them to use, I've made some changes in here lately, and I'll tell you what's new.

I mean, first off, you're sure to notice the giant red beast snoozing on the couch.

Correction. Her couch. 

Contentedly, Gracie sleeps through my late night work sessions curled up just like this, usually cuddled  on her favorite throw - too hot for that today - and her beloved pillow, almost completely hidden under her cute little head. 

But notice behind her the slim table tucked between the couch and the window. 

Recognize it? It's a little gem that was born to serve as a bench in my bedroom, created from a slab of live maple that I sanded and finished with my own two hands, and a set of hairpin legs. And it was adorable in this purpose...until I realized the little darling had become a treacherous drop zone and in a burst of late-night furniture rearranging, I brought her down to use as a coffee table in front of this couch.

Which was a wonderful concept. But remember the big red dog who considers this couch to be her very own? Yeah, she has no need of a coffee table in front of her couch, nor any special regard for one placed there. 

Which means that every night when she came chugging into the room and took a flying leap toward the cushions, my lady bear could not have cared less if the darn table rocked on its curvy little legs, or the tokens on top got knocked around. 

Which made for a dangerous situation. 

So several months back, I gave up on this arrangement and, defeated, put my maple table into the scary place known as my garage. 

Nooooooooo! I'm supposed to be taking things out of there, not adding to the heaps!

Well, don't worry. This story has a happy ending. Not an hour later - the spiders hadn't even had a chance to spin any webs on it - I snatched my table back out of the garage and marched it back into the house to give it yet another home - behind the table, where reckless airborne dogs cannot disturb it. Now it is a peaceful home for plants and a perfect spot for a reading light, and Gracie and I are both pleased as punch about this new arrangement.

Alright, now please direct your attention to the back wall of the room. Remember this work-from-home annex table, designed to be a gathering place for my husband's hordes of transaction summaries and account reconciliations? That was a shining use it or lose it moment, and I'm pleased to report that the desk is doing a bang-up job of keeping the papers corralled but in full disclosure, it's become a bit of an eyesore. I hauled off about fifty pounds of pulp before I took these photos and then dragged it back into place to be at my husband's fingertips come Monday morning. 

How about that art arrangement? You may recall that just a few months ago, I had hung a thrifted oil painting of a happy mountain a la Bob Ross and mentioned that sooner or later, I was bound to replace it. 

Yep. That day came. 

One might argue that the former landscape introduced a bit more variety into this assortment of art and had a charm all its own, and I wouldn't disagree. But every time I glanced up at the wall, this is new painting is what I saw in my head and I decided it was high time to create my own reality. 

Couldn't be happier with how my wobbly black circles turned out. But I saved the Bob Ross mountain art, just in case. 

The IKEA Knixhult bamboo lamp got shuffled out of the family room when the big pine cabinet came in, and in a desperate attempt to find him a new home, I tried him in here. Bingo. Now he springs to life every night on a timer, and splashes beautiful golden light across this arrangement. I'm fairly obsessed with timers on my lamps these days. Best idea since sliced bread. 

And stacked to the left of the lamp are my husband's current library reads. Yes, he really has chosen to plow through War and Peace, just for the fun of it, during quarantine. 

He's an Enneagram 1 and an ISTJ. Are you shocked?

Alright, one more stop on this tour of new homes for displaced objects. Take a look at this wall, opposite the window, loaded down with desks and tech gear, and dominated by a huge striped painting, done by my second-born during her college days. I am crazy for those stripes. 

Off to the left, over my desk, I've been collecting up from around forgotten corners of the house a few smaller compositions that seem to speak the same color language as the big stripey boy, and adding them to the mix:

The bottom painting, all white stripes and angles, was also done by my second-born. Her art always feels good in my head, and I love to have those reminders of her faraway self all around my house. 

The middle painting, a study of fruit, came from my nephew, who now paints professionally in his home on Martha's Vineyard and makes a living selling his beautiful rural landscapes to the tourists. 

And the top painting is a watercolor of an adorable store in Vermilion, Ohio. just a block off Lake Erie, where my husband's great-uncle used to run a grocery. We visited there last summer and I'm delighted to say that the yellow striped awnings still hang overhead. 

In a fit of rebellion a few years back, I painted the inside of the door the same shade of red found in the big painting's stripes, though they don't look much of a match in this lighting. 

I love the way these pieces talk to one another. 

I love how the colors repeat in subtle variation.

I love how each composition is unique, and true to itself.

And I'm glad I hung them here on my wall, where I can look at them and smile every day.

So there you go. That's a lot of use it or lose it projects for one weekend, and I'm feeling quite satisfied. Deciding how to add the things I love to my rooms in interesting and un-cluttery ways is a demandingly creative process, and I must say that I am enjoying the ride. 

* * * * *

More stories about my Use It Or Lose It adventures:

Thrifted Cubbies

The Marriage Tester

Small Quilts

Office Updates

Shaker Stool

Use It Or Lose It: Small Quilts

Use 'em or lose 'em.

After a year spent intentional decluttering a garage fairly bursting with lovely things, I've concluded that just liking something could no longer serve as an adequate filter for what I can keep and what to let go. 

If I like something enough to keep it, then I need to find a way to use it.

Which makes sense and seems like a reasonable strategy but man, is it every difficult to do.

Take my collection of small quilts.

Most of these gems adorned the walls of my home during the countrified 80s and 90s. All were handmade by me or my mom, or better yet, both of us. 

And there is no way in heaven or earth that I'm going to get rid of a single one. 

Well. I'll gladly pass them off to a daughter. But right now, none of them are expressing an urgent need for mini quilts. 

So keep them I shall.

Someday, when my baby birds have all vacated this nest and the secondary bedrooms fall under my purview, I plan to fold them all with deliberate care and matching dimensions, and then layer them into an old pine cupboard (that I'm also keeping for this express purpose). And when my future grandchildren come over and find themselves in need of a nap or a snuggle session, they will be invited to run to the cupboard and pick out a little quilt to use. 

I can't wait for that. 

But in the meantime, what am I going to do with them?

That's a good question. So far, I've washed them all out and hung them to dry in the summer sun. As I pegged them to the clothesline yesterday, I found myself awash in sweet memories of my life with these precious gems. 

^ My passion for quilts sprang from the old school Amish quilts that married strong geometric form to solid color fabrics. This model is a perfect example. It lived in my mind's eye for several years before I finally made it during countless late-night sewing sessions while my husband snored in front of Star Trek: The Next Generation. Once completed, it hung on the wall over the couch in our family room for many years, and my daughters have fond memories of running their arms behind it and even lifting it over their heads as they stood on the couch beneath it. Oh, the joys of being a toddler. 

^Using the same diagonal blocks to a different effect, my mom made this tiny little quilt for my daughters to use with their dolls. She put to good use odds and ends of fabrics left over from other projects and created this darling color story which is just perfect for a teddy bear tea party. Now that I think of it, I remember that, clever grandma that she was, she actually gave us two of these lovelies, making it much easier for four little girls to share them. I'll have to track down the other and reunite them.

^ By the 1990s, handmade quilting had gone mainstream and America's Main Streets were full of quilt shops and hundreds of clever patterns for piecing elaborate shapes. My mom really got into this trend, as evidenced by these precious angels (and several other recognizable flora and fauna shown below.) I especially love the border of square bits and even though one of the dark red fabrics bled into the white background, I/m glad to have this in my Christmas repertoire. 

^  This baby doll quilt began its life as a hanging in my bedroom, tying together the colors of several other quilts in the room. I was particularly fond of homespun plaid fabrics, of which this quilt features several, and the most delicate and simple of floral designs. I remember creating it almost as a sampler of my favorite fabrics, and it served my eye as fine art. Later in its life, we took the tiny thing down and wrapped it around a pile of chilly Beanie Babies, so it served humanitarian purposes as well. 

^ I designed this quilt and my mom brought my vision to life. This was a nature division of labor for us and the secret sauce of our successful quilting partnership - I had way more ideas that I did time, and my mom was a mindbogglingly precise quilt-making machine. This classic basket pattern done up in my favorite colors of the day hung above my bed for many years, and honestly, I'm thinking that I wouldn't hate having it hang there again. 

^ Another Shaker-inspired solid-color classic, this might be my favorite mini quilt of all time. I made this one by myself from start to finish, and it turned out just as I imagined it, with one slight oversight: I never got around to quilting the four navy rectangles. Ahh, the years of torment I suffered, feeling like a failure or at least a lazy bones because I went ahead and hung this unfinished piece in my living room and left it that way for years. Now I take pride on how much I was able to accomplish with so many little ones on hand, and smile at my wildly unrealistic expectations of myself. 

^ A holiday piece that I did all by myself, this is probably the most technically proficient of the collection. The trees are outlined with a simple design, but the red areas are richly quilted in swirling designs and I love to run my hand over the fabric and feel the rich texture of the stitches. Too bad the dyes in one of the red fabrics bled onto the white; even though I always prewashed my fabrics, this tragedy occurs from time to time in the life of a quilter, and now I find it almost charming. 

^ When my first-born moved to her big girl room, my mom offered to make her this jumping bunny quilt to hang over the bed. I green-lighted that plan in a snap, partly because I loved the overall vibe but, very practically, because this helped the set of perfectly fine tan sheets that we had on hand for her bed make a lot more sense for a toddler. The sheets weren't brown; they were bunny-colored! I have fond memories of my daughter doing her best running rabbit impersonations as we were "winding down" for bedtime. With my little delayed sleep phasers, bed time was always a bit more energetic than I'd imagined it would be. 

^ The geese quilt. Another one of my mom's tried and true patterns; I think she made a version of this mini quilt for everyone in the family. She gave me the one with the red background and green borders; I used it for Christmas. Eventually, I added her own model - blue background with red borders - to my collection and they make an adorable pair. 

^ Last in this collection but certainly not least, this is the hanging I made all by myself for my firstborn's nursery. Even though it was very much in keeping with the times to find out the gender of your unborn child, I was a purist and preserved for myself the surprise of my baby's gender until birth, and thusly created what we now call a gender neutral nursery. Back then, I just went with the colors I liked, and this is what came out of my head. I love this quilt, and feel the happy rush of those long ago days just by holding this quilt in my hands. 

* * * * *

Use 'em or lose 'em. 

Those words keep ricocheting around my brain as I sort through my little quilts and think of how much they mean to me and wonder if there isn't some way I might put them to use right now. 

Hanging quilts are not so much my jam anymore. But I'll keep pondering the possibilities. 

And I promise that I will never let these sweet quilts go. 

* * * * *

More stories about my Use It Or Lose It adventures:

Thrifted Cubbies

The Marriage Tester

Small Quilts

Office Updates

Shaker Stool

Deception Pass At Last

Site 217 looks okay to me. Go ahead and make our camp, humans. 

Deception Pass is near and dear to my heart. It's less than an hour's drive from my house, whether you hop the Mukilteo ferry and drive up to the north end of Whidbey Island or dash up the interstate and come down from the other direction. 

And it's a piece of pure Pacific Northwest heaven - a massive and ridiculously picturesque bridge (or pair of bridges, if you want to get technical), beautiful vistas of tree-topped islands floating in the churning waters, beaches covered with huge bleached logs, endless smooth stones, and bits of coarse gray sand. 

While I've visited here dozens of times - bringing my babies for their first outings, hauling up carloads of teenagers to hike the hills, even making some midnight runs with my daughter and her telescope to look at the stars - I've never spent the night.

Yes, there's a campground tucked in between the beaches here, and all these years, I've dreamed of making a proper overnight stay.

This week, my daughters and I finally made that dream come true.

Little did I know what a magical moment was waiting for me. 

Traveling makes me thirsty. Did anyone pack me some ice?

Planning for just a one-night stay, we rolled in on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, and first set up camp.

My fourth-born and I are a well-oiled camp-pitching machine. 

Mom? Mom! Where did you pack my treats? I need some. 

I arranged the kitchen gear and set out our bags each on our own seat in the car. Like duffel-bag closets. 

I don't mind sleeping in the tent as long as Mom doesn't hog the air mattress. 

She is the tent princess. 

At campfire time, I just lie in the dirt like a common animal. 

I believe it's called, "roughing it."

And whoever finishes first sets out the chairs. This time, it was me. 

Our site was huge with big bushy boundaries that kept our neighbors from view, though our ears immediately filled with the chatter from next door. Seems a group of twenty-something former frat boys were gathering to celebrate a birthday, and they were amped. Though their language would have made a pirate blush, and their sense of humor was on par with a fifteen-year-old, we found them endlessly entertaining and spent a good part of our time spying on them and whispering about their latest rantings. 

Every camping trip comes with a few characters and these gentlemen did not disappoint. 

My job is to guard our vehicle. Mission accomplished. 

While we worked, Gracie waited in the car. 

Rugged adventure dog. 

With our chores done lickety split, we headed down to the beach.

Beaches, to be technical.

Here, let me offer a brief geography lesson:

Deception Pass is a strait that separates Whidbey Island to the south, from Fidalgo Island to the north. The east side of the pass opens up into the relatively tame Skagit Bay, while the west flows out into the Strait of Juan de Fuca and the Pacific Ocean.

I know. That's super confusing. So think of it like this: the water makes the shape of a letter H, and our camp was located inside the bottom half, just underneath the cross bar and up against the left hand edge.

So as we hiked out a short trail to the north, we soon came out of the trees to find ourselves on North Beach.

And that's where we played first. 

Hey, follow me! I think I know the way. 

Once Gracie was soaked to the skin and my shoes were full of sand, we decided to head over to West Beach.

To get to West Beach, which faces out to the Strait of Juan de Fuca and the Pacific, one must take a short hike thought the woods. You'd think that the beaches would connect but there's a huge rocky bulkhead in the way. Don't even thing about swimming here - the currents are notoriously strong, unpredictable, and crazy dangerous. 

Resting on a bed of sticks. 

Over on West Beach, gentle waves lapped at the shore as toddlers ran back and forth in pure delight, and big boys threw rocks out into the placid water. Hazy clouds gathered over the western horizon as we ambled about; the air was warm and soft. Resting on a comfortable beach log, my daughters and I all felt drowsy in the pleasant sunshine, and decided to head back for a quick nap before dinner.

This is what happens when delayed sleep phasers get up early to go camping. We need naps. 

Zzzzzzz.

Thankfully, Gracie is always agreeable to some snooze time. 

Dinner?! Yes, I'd love some. 

And you remembered to bring me my usual post-dinner apple? Thank you!

We cooked our traditional packet dinners over the fire and decided to save our s'mores till later. 

Then, with our day continuing to unfold like calculated clockwork, it was time to walk down to West Beach for the sunset. 

* * * * *

We hiked back through the woods, and down a low hill to the open air of the beach.

The instant that we stepped out from the cover of the trees, every predictable thing about my day disappeared in a flash.

Gusting winds hit us so hard we staggered. Glancing ahead, I was dumbstruck to see huge five-foot white-capped waves slamming into the stony beach, with a sound and fury unlike anything I've ever experienced. 

As I tried to make sense of this glorious and slightly terrifying commotion, I noticed that the orange ball of sun had just slipped out from under a layer of cloud, and lit up the sky with gold, orange, yellow, pink and purple. 

Awestruck, we stood fast in that moment, just taking in the unspeakable power of sea and sky.

Then, our eyes still glued to the scene, we walked twenty meters down the beach to the corner, the place where the water turns, and we climbed up on the rocks to the highest vantage point. 

And the effect was even more spectacular. 

I have seen some mind-blowing sunsets in my day. 

Over the Indian Ocean in Langkawi, Malaysia.

Under towering Atlantic thunderheads in Cuba.

Out on the Pacific Coast at my beloved Kalaloch.

But I have never experienced the majesty of a moment quite like this one. And as I stood on a massive rock high about the churning, crashing water and stared out at the watercolor sky, I knew I would remember forever this life-changing moment in my long-awaited camping trip to Deception Pass. 

* * * * *

More stories about my trips to beautiful Whidbey Island and Deception Pass:

Over And Back Again

Town Mouse, Country Mouse

Whidbey Island Adventures

We Both Like Whidbey

Christmas Refreshment

Deception Pass At Last

Use It Or Lose It: The Marriage Tester

Use it or lose it. 

Gleaned from my year-long decluttering experiment, my new mantra demands that I dig my most beloved possessions out of their hiding places and put them to daily use, even if that means getting rid of slightly less beloved alternatives currently in use. 

This process is rough. I get emotionally bonded to my possessions and it's hard to play favorites. But one look around my overcrowded furniture warehouse of a garage - not to mention our jam-packed storage unit a few miles down the road - has convinced me that the time to make some truly desperate choices is nigh.

I wrote all about my busy dining room during the 2018 Christmas holidays, and I'm glad I captured the old pine cupboard in all his former glory. 

Our story begins with this lovely old pine cupboard that dates back to the 1800s and entered my life in 1984 when my husband and I bought it at an antique sale in Chelsea, Michigan. A great beast of a thing, we lugged it up a steep set of stairs to our second-floor apartment around midnight on a Sunday evening, cursing ever so quietly so as not to disturb the neighbors, thereby earning this lovely piece of furniture the nickname, "the Marriage Tester."

For many, many years, it lived here in our dining room, serving as a lovely backdrop to family meals with four little girls who eventually grew up and became full size humans. 

At which point I realized that the Marriage Tester was also a bit of a space hog, and put a serious cramp on the elbow room for diners on that side of the table.

The fatal blow for the loyal beast came in early 2019, when we prepared for some work on our floors, and moved him temporarily to the garage. Or so we thought. 

But what happened is that we enjoyed having the extra space in our dining room so much that we decided not to put the cupboard back. 

And so, thus ostracized, the Marriage Tester began its lonely life in the garage. 

* * * * *

A year passed. And then almost six months more. 

Which takes us up to last weekend, as I dug and shoveled around my garage, muttering "use it or lose it" under my breath and throwing 90% of what I found into the discard pile.

But not this cupboard. 

I wouldn't dream of getting rid of it. 

Then began an earnest conversation, first with my family and then in my own head, about where to put the little darling. 

In the house, all the good spots for a hulking piece of furniture were already spoken for. So, I sadly determined, someone was going to have to give up his space. 

Here's a proper homage to the newly bisected Techline bookcase from just a year ago.

^ This white laminate bookcase in the family room quickly emerged as the most likely candidate. It has its own sweet history. From a furniture line called Techline, we bought it in 1989 at a local family-owned Scandinavian design store, and that's a legacy worth preserving. And I love the way the white brightens up this shadowy corner of our family room. 

But even so, a basic bookcase cannot measure up to the Marriage Tester's mojo. 

And so the swap was made. 

^ As my husband and I once again gritted our teeth and set to relocating the cupboard - we've since learned to take the doors off for transit which makes the job considerably easier - I had some serious doubts about how this big dark beast would look in the corner. 

First, I tried it with the doors closed. 

^ Hey, not too bad. 

^ Feeling bolder, I threw open the doors and styled him up real quick-like.

^ There's no denying that he is bigger, bulkier, darker, and decidedly different from my streamlined little Techline. 

But he is also my dearly beloved. and I could never part with him. 

Welcome back, my darling cupboard. I'm happy that you're here. 

* * * * *

Postscript: There's also happy news for the Techline bookcase: my eldest daughter, who's already taken custody of the matching unit, has agreed to take in this piece as well. So glad that there's a place for all my beloved furniture within the family. 

* * * * *

More stories about my Use It Or Lose It adventures:

Thrifted Cubbies

The Marriage Tester

Small Quilts

Office Updates

Shaker Stool

Use It Or Lose It: Thrifted Cubbies

Remember back in May of 2019  when I committed to a year-long decluttering experiment? Well, those twelve months have long since come and gone but what I learned will live with me forever. 

 Before I began this challenge, I considered myself already a devoted and skilled declutterer, so I'll admit I was a little bit cocky, thinking I had nothing new to gain in this endeavor. 

Well. I was wrong.

What I learned, my friends, is that simply getting rid of stuff I didn't like or want is just the tip of the proverbial decluttering iceberg. And the easy part, to boot. What was hard was coming to the realization that even if my stashes are all good stuff, there is no point in storing things that I'm not actively using.  

I'll say that again. There's no sense in keeping things that I'm not going to use. 

I abbreviated that wisdom further to my new decluttering credo:

Use it or lose it. 

Now to be fair, I'll clarify that sometimes in life, it's fine to hang on to stuff that you'll be able to use in the not-too-distant future. Saving up furniture for the day you move into a full-size house, or keeping childhood treasures for your future kids - those are fair and logical reasons to keep things that you aren't currently using. 

But besides my giant LEGO hoard and a cupboard full of board games and puzzles saved for my adorable grandchildren waiting to be born, I am in the full bloom of my life. There's simply no reason for me to squirrel away treasures for the days to come - now, NOW is the time for me to enjoy the belongings I've got, or else pass them along to someone else who will enjoy them for me. 

This summer, I've been challenging myself to put my new philosophy into practice. I'm cleaning out every nook and cranny of my garage - seriously, how many times will I clean my garage before it's actually empty enough to make me happy? - and pushing my creative self to find new ways to put my old things to use. 

* * * * *

Fun fact about me: I'm obsessed with any sort of cubby device. I love the visual geometry of anything with small-ish uniform compartments, and I have a deep passion for the sorting and display purposes that cubbies present. 

So when innocently browsing through a thrift store last fall and stumbling upon a pair of wooden cubbies for less than ten bucks, I snatched 'em right up. 

My husband was puttering around the garage when I got home, and I asked him if he could extract the wooden boxes from the weird assortment of hardware attached to them, which he promptly did. 

And then I set my adorable little wooden cubbies aside. 

Oh sure, I thought about the little darlings. I considered a dozen different places they might go around the house, and a hundred different ways I could use them. But thinking was all I did. 

So the boxes sat in the garage all winter long. 

And all spring too. 

Last week, during yet another of my post-midnight garage cleaning sessions, my eyes fell upon the poor castoffs and my mantra rang through my head.

Use them or lose them.

So without another instant of design agony, I grabbed a paintbrush, dashed on three coats of weatherproof polyurethane, and convinced my husband to hang the little darlings on the house. 

With sweet satisfaction, I gathered up a couple handfuls of the shells, driftwood, and pretty rocks that accumulate in the corners of my yard, and tucked them into my newly repurposed cubbies as the true treasures that they are. 

And then I moved on to my next decluttering challenge. 

* * * * *

More stories about my Use It Or Lose It adventures:

Thrifted Cubbies

The Marriage Tester

Small Quilts

Office Updates

Shaker Stool

We Are One

No, I am not traveling on a vibrantly decorated train through the heart of India, but I've got my own version of dreamy pastels gilded in golden sunlight here in my backyard. 

This summer has set me adrift on a sea of deep and difficult emotions. 

No, I'm not necessarily talking about Covid, though the random life-or-death hand that this viral card has dealt us is probably ramping up the intensity of emotion I feel.

I am walking with several friends who are going through desperate times. 

Truly desperate. 

And despite my endless energies 

for doing, 

for fixing, 

for hoping, 

for always finding a way, 

I experience myself truly at the end of my abilities to make a difference in their lives. 

I'm at a complete and total loss. 

I've always assumed that if I ever found myself in this out-of-options place, I would then find myself also feeling broken, defeated, and utterly lost. 

But what I am learning is that this is not true.

What happens next, I discover, is a letting go.

I'm letting go of my need 

to do, 

to be, 

to think. 

to say,

anything at all for my friends.

I am simply, silently walking alongside of them. 

* * * * *

It's such an easy thing to talk about this soul-deep letting go, but I find it very difficult to sustain this head space. 

Falling, falling, falling. This can't be happening. I need to find a way to stop this madness. Don't I?

When I find myself diving headfirst into panic, I remember what I need 

to slow myself down, 

to stop myself, 

to regain my perspective:

Beauty.

Intense colors, pastels punctuated with deep yellow, vibrant red.

Sunlight, angled and golden.

Layers of pattern and detail, texture and depth.

When I surround myself with beauty, I find myself able to breathe. 

* * * * *

Night before last, as I struggle to sleep and feel the familiar frustrations welling up inside me once again, a new thought bursts into my mind.

Darjeeling Limited. 

It's been well over a decade since I saw this Wes Anderson 2007 release, and I saw it only once, but in a heartbeat, I know that I need 

to watch this movie, 

to take in these images, 

to let them soothe me back to a right place of mind.

Thank goodness for streaming. 

Moments later, I'm taking in the opening sequence, and already I feel myself drifting back into peace. The visuals of this film have an amazing capacity to still my mind and calm my soul. 

The story suits my mood as well. It goes like this:

Three brothers have become estranged from each other as well as their surviving mother since their father's death a year past. They meet on a train in India, resume their old bickering ways, and travel toward spiritual enlightenment and an unsatisfying reunion with Mom. Along the way, they try but fail to save the life of a drowning boy, and find themselves invited to the funeral.

What unfolds is a minute-and-a-half-long uncut scene of the three men walking among villagers on their way to the ceremony, and what we later learn is that this experience helps them begin to heal from their father's death.

Visually breathtaking, emotionally transforming, technically exquisite, the scene knocks my socks off. Here, I invite you to watch for yourself. 

As I see 

the golden light suffusing the scene,

the flowers tossed into the air, 

the sheet pulled over the young boy, 

I feel my tensions ease and my pain subside. 

Life is full of love and loss, this scene whispers to me. Beauty is found in the joys, for sure, but it also comes, intensely and vividly, in life's sorrows. We must find the courage to accept the pain.

* * * * *

On my third or fourth viewing of the funeral scene, my ears awake and I notice the song playing under the images. 

It's Strangers by the Kinks, and this is the refrain:

Strangers on this road we are on

We are not two, we are one. 

Now the dots connect and the idea comes full circle. 

I cannot save my friends' lives. I cannot fix what it wrong, I cannot heal what is broken.

But I can walk with them, reminding them now and again that I'm with them, telling them that they are not alone.  

We are not two, we are one.