In Praise of (A Small Amount of) Clutter

These are our bookshelves, well about half of them. The other half are in the playroom, which underwent a major reorganisation last weekend. Some books moved from here to there, such as my Malory Towers and St. Clare’s collections. Eldest Orchid is dipping into more and more of my beloved childhood reads and this sparks great joy.

Every so often we get an urge to purge and take out all of the books on these shelves and go through them and 99% of the time every single book goes right back onto the shelves. This process means for about 3 days there’s a system to how the books are arranged. These are deep shelves, so there’s two layers of books on each shelf and sometimes the urge to purge means we rediscover the second layer’s delights.

I have a complete paperback collection of the Drina books I so enjoyed as a child, one or two of which are at the read-so-much-they’re-falling-apart stage of life. To my delight, I was able to get my hands on hardback replacements for 4 of them and they arrived this week. I enjoy the slight editing, with references to Hungary rather than a fictional Iron Curtain country and some of the uniform is nylon rather than silk. I pondered a while on who’s job it was to edit the originals and what decisions were made to bring them up to date. I especially enjoyed the covers.

I have no space for these books, nor do I have space for the 3 library books I collected yesterday. Books on loan to others come back post urge to purge and I forget they need space. There are books shoved hastily on top of neat rows of Chalet School treasures. There’s a cookbook that should be in the cookbook cupboard in the kitchen. There’s probably a stray Miffy somewhere. There’s definitely a less than perfect order to the whole.

While I do prefer less clutter on the whole, I took a moment to appreciate these shelves while shoving my new Drinas in this morning. These are the shelves of people who read books, who dip in and out of interests, who get a thrill from a musty second hand copy and who want to spend more time reading and enjoying the books than keeping them shelved backwards or looking like a rainbow. Sometimes clutter does spark joy, and that’s something to celebrate.

Weekend

It was one of those really, really good weekends. Every week it feels good to reach Friday and feel like maybe we’re a week closer to the beginning of some sort of end to level 5 and lockdowns.

We had the most delicious meal from Uno Mas. We have ordered from here before, and it was really good. This time we went for a duck feast and it truly was a feast. We had leftovers for lunch on Monday and saved our dessert for Sunday evening’s Antiques Roadshow.

I also caught up on a few small jobs like clearing my wardrobe of anything that hasn’t been worn since March last year. Mainly work dresses and clothes that don’t fit because of All The Eating and Drinking since March last year. I also found the beautiful cardigan my mother made for me in 1994. I’d wear it now if it came in my size.

I marked one year of This Shitty Situation with banana bread. I used up some questionable dates and very old frozen bananas. It was delicious and just what we needed with our afternoon coffee.

Mother’s Day was such a lovely day. For breakfast I reheated potato cakes on the cast iron pans that are my favourite kitchen equipment-every time I use them I exclaim how much I love them and how I can’t believe I left them unused in a cupboard for so long. Flowers, cards and homemade treats were all very welcome.

Finally, I’ve been listening to a lot of You’re Wrong About, especially after That Interview. This copy of the Sloane Ranger has been amusing me.

A Very Minor Affliction

I reread Live Alone and Like It last week. I haven’t read it in a long time, even though my blog is named after and very much inspired by Marjorie. One of my habits is reading the same few books over and over again, until I get thoroughly bored of them and moved on to another set. Taking this off the shelf was like getting together with an old friend.

The metaphorical kick up the backside it gave me was long overdue. I seem to have excuses for everything lately, and some very bad habits have crept in. I’ve been using lockdown number three as a way to explain away too many silly choices. Marjorie was absolutely correct when she cautioned against getting a bit musty and feeling too sorry for yourself.

Reading the Cases again made me wonder what advice Marjorie would be dishing out to Case Me right now. Would she be telling me to stop moping and make sure I kept my wardrobe up to date so I didn’t droop when I did leave the house? Would she be cautioning me against letting it all get Too Awful? Would she hint darkly at the dangers of drinking too much? Would she advise me to look seriously at my spending and try to save enough for the rainy days ahead?

Marjorie would have lived through the flu epidemic over a hundred years ago. I wonder how she handled it? Was she the sort of ‘perfect hero’ described in A Tangled Web? Did she roll her eyes at restrictions and buy masks in the same unexciting shade as her best coat and hat? Maybe she let herself wallow a bit, and then sternly took herself in hand, roll up her sleeves and Get On With It?

Rereading this is a good reminder that what I have to put up with now is so very minor. I am safe at home, working in a dedicated office space that doubles right now as laundry room, gym and ballet practice studio. I have a strong feeling Marjorie would be ok with very occasional bouts of Feeling A Bit Crap About Everything, before reminding me that help is on the way, there’s always someone who has it worse off and that misery isn’t a particularly enjoyable state of mind if I can shake it off.

So this week I shall plan an early night after a bath, as she suggests, a new(ish) book by a favourite author and a little wardrobe audit to make everything as chic as possible under the circumstances. I don’t live alone, but I can learn to Like Living Through All This if I try a bit harder.

Tiny Sparks of Joy

Birthday ‘parties’ Covid style. More memories framed beautifully. A lot of art from Eldest Orchid (makes me happier than almost anything else). Date nights at home, cooking together and enjoyed a glass of wine. New books from the library, and time spent wondering what if…….

Tiny Sparks of (Holiday) Joy.

We stayed home this year, and so for the past two weeks turned our attention ever more inwards. Jobs were done, bargains were found, new recipes were tried, books were read, wine was drunk, jars and bottles and tubes were finished, memories were unearthed, rooms were rejigged, masks were bought and a whole lot of relaxing was done.

I’d have preferred the three weeks in France we had planned. But this wasn’t a bad staycation.

Somebody That I Used To Know

I ordered this book from the library in The Time Before, when I didn’t own any fabric facemasks and have a preferred brand of hand sanitiser. I knew the basic plot because I’d  listened to the Bad On Paper podcast review of it, and I figured it would be an easy read.

It isn’t a stand out book for me. I enjoyed it, but not the few glaring typos and slightly forced dialogue. It did, however, stir some not too pleasant memories of about ten years ago. Friendships can be complicated for me, and I don’t make friends terribly easily. I really value the few precious friendships I’ve managed to hold onto over the years.

The slightly toxic dynamic of the three main characters rang true for me. I’ve had that sort of intense friendship, the kind of closeness that means you’re texting each other several times daily and staying too late at wine bars sharing things you’ll never tell anyone else. And even if you don’t know it at the time, that friendship won’t last no matter how many glasses of red you’ve consumed with each other or how many expressions of delight at the friendship are slurred over the months and years.

Losing a friendship suddenly and without warning felt like a bereavement to me at the time, but it wasn’t something I wanted to talk about with anyone. I felt embarrassed by being dropped, and unsure of how as an adult I could feel such sorrow about something that seems to happen to virtually everyone. Deep down, I didn’t want to acknowledge that I was going through this upsetting thing and I only broached the topic with other friends years later.

Reading How Could She? made me rethink How Could She in my own life, and I processed a few years worth of memories over a few days. When almost a decade has passed since I could have called her a friend, I have some clarity even if I don’t have closure. The friendship wasn’t without its flaws and irritations. I gave a lot, and I’m not quite sure this was reciprocated. I can’t have been that valuable when I could be dropped so quickly and comprehensively. I can admit that this time of life upset me terribly, probably more than I let myself understand.

I still wonder what happened to her, now that she’s just somebody that I used to know. I’ve thought about writing about this for a long time, and whether it would be good for me. I’m able to admit how embarrassed I am by this episode and that I still mull over questions like How Could She, while being able to understand that some people are friends and are in your life for a time for a reason and that it’s okay for people to be Somebody That You Used To Know.

Tiny Sparks of Joy.

A Saturday dinner, just the two of us. We cooked together and talked. Bliss.

Making plans, and having the time (fingers crossed) to see them through.

A science kit for €5 from the local charity shop that kept the Mini Orchids engaged for days.

Sunny days and catching up on laundry, including a long overdue couch cover wash.

Books ordered from the library before The Great Covid lockdown. One is okay, the other is better. Either way, I love reading something new.

Unwinding.

We had a good weekend. For the first time since March, we went out for lunch as a family. And it was delicious. I ate half of my burger before I realised I wanted to document the moment. The three bellinis I drank with it were also very, very good. We also did a small bit of necessary shopping, hit two playgrounds and went to the National Gallery. Life felt almost normal, apart from the masks.

I packaged up books I don’t need, and they’re ready for new homes thanks to my Chalet School Facebook group. Nightdresses and a bottle are off to people who need them. Our double buggy has gone. Clothes we don’t need or have worn out have been donated and recycled.

I’ve baked bread and reorganised our cupboards so I don’t keep buying the same jars of passata every week. I know now we don’t need any more tins of coconut milk. We’re using up the contents of the freezer I stocked in anticipation of shopping difficulties at the start of all this.

My gym has closed down for good. I miss it, but I started couch to 5 k yet again. I’m on week four and I ran in the rain and listened to a podcast. I wish I’d done this back in March, but better late than never.

The fog is lifting a bit. I hope this lasts.

Tiny Sparks of Joy

A group on Facebook that invites us to share amusing things we see in charity shops. Makes me laugh every day.

Some new to me clothes. I have admitted that some of the breastfeeding tops which have given me good service for the past 16 months are well past their best.

Painting my first canvas on a quiet Friday afternoon at home.

A three day weekend, thanks to some much needed time off.

Once again, our local library which delivered books that kept me going during an enforced period in bed last week. The wellness industry can FRO.

Reading Material

One lovely thing about being off work for a few weeks and making a decision to put the phone away for stretch is that I’ve taken full advantage of our library’s ordering system to make sure new books come my way ASAP. This is one of them, and I have mixed feelings about it, feelings I’m still mulling over.

I’ve read some that I loved, some that I wasn’t particularly interested in, some I haven’t finished and some that I forced myself to finish because of my doggedmindedness. Doing a concentrated chunk of reading has been so good for my mental health and I’ve remembered how important reading has always been to me. Some of my happiest memories revolve around the joy I felt as I read a book I adored.

Today I’ll be collecting and dropping off yet more books on my way home. And this sparks enormous levels of joy.