My Grandmother's House...

I woke up this morning thinking of my grandmother's house. There's a lesson to be learn from my grandparents, they were true minimalists. My grandmother was born in Oklahoma Territory in Bradley, Oklahoma and traveled in a covered wagon at times as a small child. My grandfather, depending on what birth certificate you look at, was either from Tennessee or Texas and traveled the world as a young man installing power lines in Asia and Northern Africa at the turn of the century.

My grandfather was a diabetic and had lost his sight due to cataracts before I was born. I can remember my grandmother giving him his shots and then boiling his syringes and needles. Believe me, they were not the little needles of today.

Their house in West Tulsa consisted of a screened in front porch,which I slept out on a roll-a-way bed in the summer, living room, dining room, kitchen, bedroom, added on bathroom, enclosed back room and a very small enclosed mud room at the back of the house and one small closet. The house was 20 feet wide and 40 feet long, not much larger than a 5th wheel and was four doors down from the train yards so I would always hear the 4 am train that came through as there was a crossing at the end of the block.

Grandma had a sofa, chair, lamp and small bookcase with a radio and little nick knacks that I would play with as a child in the living room. I would sit by my grandfather being sure to not knock over his tobacco spit can and listen to the stories that he would tell me and wish I could see all the places he had been.

The dining room had a dining room table with 4 chairs, a television in a large cabinet with a six inch circle screen, a gas heater and my great grandmother's treadle sewing machine which I learned to sew on starting at age 3. That's when I would spend Saturday nights at her house and play on the treadle sewing machine. I just could reach the peddle to get it to move and move the material under the presser foot but without a needle, many years later I made my wedding dress on that old treadle machine. On Sunday mornings it was a treat for her to give me sweet coffee milk. It made me feel like a big girl.

My grandfather's room consisted of a bed and small dresser. My grandmother's room consisted of a day bed that opened up into a full size bed and dresser and a very small closet that hardly held anything. Her room did not have any heat so it was always cold back there and the insulation consisted of cardboard and newspapers. That is where I would stay when I came to visit.

The kitchen was the hub of the house, providing wonderful smells and great food. The food was simple but oh so good. My parents would come on Sunday afternoons and we would have dinner together. Grandma would fix a roast with potatoes, onions, carrots, cabbage, green beans and homemade rolls.

Out in the back of the house was a shed with a chicken coupe. Grandma kept about 6 to 8 chickens. So I grew up having the freshest eggs one could ask for.

My grandparents didn't have much but there was love in our household and that's what's important.

My mother was raised in the depression era and did with out just like a lot of other people did. I sometimes wonder if that's why she placed so much value on material things and could never toss anything away. I grew up in a house that had a basement an unfinished upstairs and a garage that we never put cars in. So everything that she wanted to save went upstairs or in the basement or the garage. The main floor of the house was neat and uncluttered but out of sight out of mind was the rest of the belongings. When we finally sold mom's house it was amazing all the stuff that was tucked away in various areas, and my mother wanted to take it with her and ended up having to let go of a lot of stuff as she could not take it all with her when she moved to Norman.

Is that why we can't seem to throw anything away? The habits of our parents instilled in us, and in turn we instill in our children the same habits, that everything we have done in life has some importance, no matter how insignificant it is and cannot be gotten rid of?

Do we really need more to be happy, or is all of this stuff bogging us down in a mire of helplessness, unable to process it and move the junk out of our lives?

We have so much to go through and toss before we get to the state of getting out on the road. It takes time and since time is what I am going to have on my hands for 6 weeks, what better time than the present to start the paper tossing process. Ruthless...is what I have to be. But we can do it. Together Dave and I can start to make a larger dent in what has to be done.

776 days and counting!

See you out there...