A Simple Life

Cottages & Kings

There are houses that haunt me, that linger in the back rooms of my heart. I saw this cottage last weekend at a sale: the estate included a grand house facing the water, this guest house, and a barn with two apartments upstairs. The property had sold for a few millions, and it was rumored that everything would be demolished and replaced with the sort of house now seen along the water: huge, pristine, and empty most of the year.

Intrigued by the small size and the house’s scrappy garden, I went into this dank, neglected cottage with its galley kitchen, rectangular living room, bedroom, tiny bathroom. One step over the worn threshold, the dream began in earnest. In this fantasy, I have whittled down my possessions to those things that are either useful or beloved. Every chair, table, plate, picture, book, fork, and spoon is essential to the happiness of daily life. One tiny closet holds all my clothes: winter and summer.

This is an illusion of grand proportions, since I live in a more spacious house that doubles as my factory/studio and is artfully chock-a-block with orphaned chairs, estate sale detritus, innumerable black dresses, paint-chipped shutters and doors, as well as all the tricks of a collage scrapper’s trade. Mixed in with this cool stuff is the near and dear: a portrait of my mother as a baby, grandma’s ledgers, friends’ art, and boxes of family photographs.

When I think about downsizing, I immediately head for the bag of corn chips, the jar of dark chocolates, or the door. A task of such Herculean proportions seems as overwhelming as making croissants, repairing the roof, writing a novel. I read the little book about taking each object in hand and asking, “Does this bring me joy?” Often it’s hard to say…joy, no joy? On this old door doubling as a work table, there are lots of things that don’t exude joy but they’re used: stapler, pens, scissors, a calendar, notepads, printer, and computer. Admittedly, along with these are a number of things that please my eye. Joy, maybe not, but delight, yes.

I love the minimalist fantasy though. It’s simple. I live alone. I have a cat. I wear black dresses and Doc boots. I read good books. I eat kale and beet greens. I write poetry. I sleep well at night. I am understated and self-reliant. I stay mostly in the moment. I walk every day. My house is spare and spacious in spite of its small size. Nothing is extraneous; everything is essential.

Joy or no?