Archive for the ‘Home’ Category
Slow Christmas
Sunday, December 6th, 2009Recently, I saw a commercial on TV where a mom and a kid were “baking” together for Christmas. Traditional Christmas music in the background, mother-daughter bonding, really playing at your heartstrings. What were they baking, you ask? They were removing pre-molded cookie dough rounds from the packaging and placing them on a baking sheet. As anyone who was born before 1980 knows, making cookies from scratch takes a half an hour, tops. I worry, is this kid going to grow up thinking this is what it means to bake?
The world is a fast place, filled with stuff and shortcuts. So I guess it makes sense that Christmas would reflect that. The trouble is, we’re all a little broke from living this way, and the planet is groaning from last year’s stocking stuffers. And we’re teaching our children that shortcuts are as good as the real thing. And that having cookies is the same as making them. So what if this year, instead of spending time at the mall buying family and friends stuff they may not even like, I stay home and bake cookies with them instead?
And so it was that I embarked on my Slow Christmas journey. I am chronicling the annual rituals honestly, from Black Friday to the after Christmas sales. I’ll be taking a closer look at our motives, and the motives of the companies who are selling us stuff, and asking if there might be a better way to keep Christmas. The Christmas season means something different to each of us, but what it shouldn’t mean is endless errands and a second mortgage. We need to slow down Christmas, and start enjoying it.
I hope you’ll join me, dear Slow Planeteers, in pledging to give an experience, a donation, or something homemade for Christmas this year. Keep Christmas Slow.
Slow Xmas
Thursday, December 3rd, 2009Slow is not for the faint of heart
Sunday, October 18th, 2009It took nine years, one month, and twenty-four days. But I finally got them ~ the Spanish flamenco shoes I’ve always wanted.
Way back in the day when my first-born was a toddling one-year old and my son was merely a glimmer in our eyes, we hosted an English language student from Madrid. She was a lovely soul who had studied economics and had come to the States to brush up her English. It turns out our Spanish equalled her English ~ da nada. We gesticulated and smiled and admired each other in that friendly nice-to-meet you way most international travellers do. It was then that I started a love affair with Spanish shoes because the girl had a pair I secretly coveted from Day One. They were simple ~black with a delicate strap that said “I am woman. Watch me tap.” They clicked and clacked eloquently across the hardwood floors of our Somerville home, a dancer’s lunge from Boston. Those shoes, in all their brightness, even made me forget how little the girl and I could actually communicate.
For years I searched high, then low, for a similar pair of those black beauties. Our lovely Spanish student went home after completing her language course, sending us a condolence card of thanks because she must have thought the flower on the front was pretty. Patiently, nay, reverently, I looked for a pair of clackers just like she had in every corner of the city. To no avail.
That is, until I recently found myself in Barcelona on a power of slow trip like no other. My sister and I snatched our passports (and our husbands) for a long weekend on the Mediterranean Coast. Passing by a few boutique stores in search of a new handbag, I spotted the long-awaited footwear that seemed to call out to me like a siren’s song.
Within minutes I was the proud new owner of a pair of Flamenco heels that literally announced my arrival along the cobblestone streets. I smartly clacked my way back to the hotel with a renewed sense of purpose.
It may have taken nearly a decade, but embracing the slow fulfillment of a dream such as this was worthwhile and makes every new step I take all the sweeter for it.
Slow Design in a Fast World
Monday, July 27th, 2009Allow me to introduce myself. Trained as a textile artist and fashion designer, professionally I am known as an executive in the world of retail. Retail is not particularly known for its dedication to Slow, but rather is a world which thrives on and requires speed to market. In my field it is all about knowing your customers and responding – quickly – to their needs. To counterbalance this addiction to speed, I have retained my connection to my training as an artist and have become a knitter – a serial knitter, in fact – throughout the past decade.
Thought by some to be the domain of grannies, knitting allows me to start something from the ground up, focus on the practice and the journey . It is amazing to start with balls of yarn and Slowly, Slowly, Slowly create something entirely different. You can carry that creation with you to multiple experiences, keeping the slow rhythm of knitting a constant during meetings, long plane rides, boring waits. Dr. Perri Klass, in her book Two Sweaters For My Father: Writing About Knitting knitted her way through medical school, much to the chagrin of her mostly male classmates. She claimed it kept her alert throughout lectures, a not-to-be-scoffed at accomplishment for sleep deprived residents. It also kept her balanced and focused on the lectures.
With knitting, if you make a mistake, unlike in the rest of life, you get to rip it out and have a makeover. The steady movement of your hands and need for counting stitches and rows provides a soothing counterbalance to chaos around and seems to allow true clarity of thinking. Instead of the mind wandering, the mind seems to focus while knitting. Some think we are not listening when we knit; I have been reprimanded for knitting while attending strategic planning conferences. Silly non-knitters. If they only knew.
This is my introductory post on the concept and practice of Slow Design. The posts will focus on artists who, whether they have named it as such, engage in Slow Design. Those who work in the media formerly known as craft exemplify Slow Design, with their dedication to the connection between the mind and the hand. Stitchers, ceramicists, glassblowers, furniture makers all practice the Art of Slow. As I learn from them, I shall pass it along.
Slow movement grows
Tuesday, July 21st, 2009I don’t have to do a thing
Tuesday, July 14th, 2009All lifeforms with with a complex nervous system are continuously faced with the same immediate question: What do you do next?
Every second, I make decisions based on an enormous pool of possibilities. Right now, I’m typing this post. Every keystroke represent a decision to continue writing, at the expense of other more tempting options. I could make a cup of coffee, I could take a nap on the couch or I could go for a walk. Just my imagination is limiting the possibilities.
Still, I continue typing, even though nobody is pointing a gun to my head.
The point is, everything I do is a based on a decision between many choices. It isn’t always an easy decision, but it is a decision – and it is my decision.
In any case, I catch myself saying I have to hurry with some things and I don’t have a choice. A few years ago, that was basically how I lived my life. I had to work to make money to pay mortgages and car loans. I had to own a house, as opposed to renting one, because that’s how married couples live, at least here in Norway.
I could have filled this post with all kinds of things I have to do, but you have probably gotten my point already. I suppose at least 75 percent of everything I did on a normal day and 90 percent of how I lived my life, was based on the words I have to – usually followed by a “hurry”. Even though I suffer from chronic fear of numbers, I still think these numbers today are a bit different, probably about 40 and 50 percent respectively, which is a great leap in the right direction. Needless to say, I plan to improve the figures further…
The universal law of having to…
I often hear friends and family talk about responsibilities and duties, and if everyone did what they wanted to do, all the time, the world would collapse into chaos. Then they carry on with a long list of examples, like paying taxes, sending the kids to school, making money, not breaking the law, and so on.
As a scientific theory – some things, a human being just has to do (preferably as soon as possible) – not much scrutiny is needed. If you can find just one example of someone who does not do it, it is not a universal law, is it? I’m sure, if you go through your own list of things you have to do, you will find at least one exception to every point. In addition, you’ll probably see that – when you think about it – not everything needs to be done immediately.
So, if there is no universal law, who decided it applies to you? What are your reasons for doing things that start with I have to, as opposed to I decide to? What will be the consequences from doing it like this? I know it’s a paradox, but I often catch myself using things I have to do as an excuse for things I don’t wish to do. I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one thinking like this.
I should probably mention that I don’t think we should stop paying our taxes, sending our kids to school and so on. Also, some things just have to be done fast, and of course we should when necessary. I like to think that I decide to do these things, and nobody’s forcing me. If I choose to do something, I appreciate it even more, and at the same time I take more responsibility. Also, I usually do it at a more sensible pace. I don’t think I’m the only one thinking like this either.
Why do we have to?
Sometimes, I really don’t have a choice, and there is only one option. Is that really true? I think, at least as a general rule, that this statement is more about a lack of imagination than the lack of possibilities.
If anyone, however unlikely, would point a gun at my head and force me to wrap up this post, I would still have a choice. I would probably not like any of the alternatives, but there would still be options to choose from.
Another alternative is of course that I wouldn’t want the responsibility of the consequences of my choices. It wasn’t my fault, I didn’t want to publish this post, but I had to. I had a gun pointing to my head – and so I had to hurry to write it…
This of course, is a pretty common thought in the public sector here in Norway, where I have my daily job. It’s quite common to hear employees hide behind rules and procedures. I can’t know for sure of course, but I doubt they have a gun pointing in their direction, even though they sometimes act like they did – often with a sloppy result.
The bottom line is, I think the “have to”-attitude is transferred to us at a very early stage, as a part of our socializing process (or the social control…). It is much easier to follow orders if I’m convinced I have no choice, and the only way to implement it is to do it as quickly as possible.
What can be done?
Of course, there is no reason why you have to do anything about this. But there could be several good reasons for you to want to and choose to do something.
I’m quite sure that what is done based on an energy that is derived of the notion of having a choice, is far more pleasurable than what is done based on the notion of not having a choice. I’m also sure the quality and value of the result is much higher with the latter.
To end this, I think a lot of the violence in the world happens as a result of decisions based on no other alternatives and no options. I’m inclined to believe that if we gave ourselves the opportunity to slow down, and act based on the fact that we all have the chance to reconsider, and most importantly choose, much violence, bullying and distress, could be avoided.
So now I choose to wrap this post up, so that I – in my own pace – can put away the laundry or clean the house. Or maybe I’ll take a nap on the couch. It’s my decision…
Thank you for letting me rest, Mom
Sunday, June 28th, 2009The children are on a long and long awaited vacation with their father, and it’s peaceful and quiet in the house. That said, both myself and the cats miss the princesses. The latter are constantly searching their rooms while calling for the girls, and sleep in their beds. And so do I, occasionally. I like just laying there, looking around. It gives me peace of mind to feel that they are near, even though they’re far away.
We’ve had a demanding, yet important, spring together. The children have been surrounded by illness and death, and have not been unaffected by the events. Of course, we could have isolated the children from everything that has happened, leaving them unknowing about the most of it. In a busy schedule, it certainly would have been both energy- and time saving if we had “protected” them. With the children living half the time with their father, and half the time with me, we could easily have decided when and where they should live at any time, reduced their worries and hurried through the sorrow.
It was definitely with a heavy heart I let my children be a part of what is the hardest things life has to offer. It was tempting to keep them here, and rather distract them with football games and nice trips. But we chose differently. An almost impossible, but still correct, choice. In a conversation, we decided that together, we own the time needed to go through life with the children, including the part of life that hurts and can be brutal.
A few months ago, I was a bit worried about my oldest princess, who rarely goes home to any of her friends after school, and equally rarely brings someone home with her. When I asked her about this, to find out if anything was wrong, I received a thoughtful answer:
Honestly, Mom. I’m with my friends all day at school. I’m with other kids in drama school at night, handball and my dancing. Of all the people in the world, you, who love to be by yourself, have to understand that I like to be alone as well, without any noise and stress? You don’t have to worry, I have friends, but I just don’t want to be with them all the time.
A few weeks ago, when the turbulent spring was about to calm down, I was, as usual, making dinner in a hurry before the children’s soccer practice. The youngest princess was sitting remarkably quiet in the living room, doing her homework. When I looked at her, I saw a sad girl, moping and swearing at her Norwegian books. As I pointed out that she needed to hurry up, so she’d have time to eat before her practice, I noticed that her eyes, which usually sparkle with life, were dull and tired. Suddenly a thought rushed through my head: “Enough already! I don’t want to do this anymore! This is crazy! Why on earth does she have to go to soccer practice today? Why can’t she do her homework after she has rested for a while? It’s time for us to slow down – starting right now!”
I turned around, went into the living room, and told her she could skip the practice if she wanted to, to which she replied: “Can I really do that, Mom?”
After dinner, both the girls disappeared to their rooms, where they played, sang, and were on their laptops. As bedtime came around, the youngest came smiling and said:
“Thank you for letting me stay at home and rest tonight, Mom.”
There are many reasons why one sometimes can feel like a really bad mother, but this comment, more than anything else, explains what I was about to become. A battery operated hen affected by newspapers’, school nurses’, teachers’ and doctors’ constant reminders about today’s children being too inactive, and that we need to be careful about the health dangers affected by this. Children have to work out, socialize, and of course, be as cool as all the other children. If you accomplish all of this, all the time, you’re a good mother.
I’ve decided , slowly of course, to join The Slow Movement and dedicate some of my writing time to help speed up The Slow Revolution.
Working from home
Tuesday, June 23rd, 2009Nature, animals and little children
Wednesday, June 10th, 2009A couple of months ago I was privileged enough to spend a whole week at my brother’s farm in a far-away place in the Sourthern part of Estonia - among forests and rivers, endless snow and freezing wind. I was accompanied by a four-year-old, a dog, a cat, five Scottish highlanders and two parrots - one light green and one turqoise blue. What a colourful company it was.
When I first heard of the offer I imagined myself switching off completely and doing lots of nothing for the whole seven days. I even thought I would have time to meditate. How silly of me! Did I mention that my main conversational partner was a soon-to-be 4-year-old, a witty and self-willed niece to whom I was appointed as an assistant in household assignments during her parents’ get-away-trip. My holiday turned out to be a whole different story from what I had planned.
But as the old folks used to say: “Life’s what happens while you’re making plans”. That’s why waking up at 6.30 am, making breakfast at 7, going to kindergarten at 8 and reading bedtime stories before sleep didn’t break me. Vice Versa, I got to experience a bunch of new and unfamiliar emotions (since I don’t have children myself).
One of the grandest discoveries was that I really enjoy living side by side with nature. I do have to admit that I’m strongly attached to the human society and although I was cut from the world wide web, a local radio station still filled my need for background noise. Even though I didn’t feel the pressure to cut myself completely off there was still a whole world full of silence surrounding me. It is an experience itself waking up when the sun rises and going to bed once it has set.
This week gave me a lot to think about. I realised that I am at a point in my life where I’m drawing a line between the necessary and the unnecessary, the real and the not-so-real. I understand that the society created by people is irreplaceable. It is a natural progress in the journey towards raising our living standards. But for some sad reason we, people, tend to exaggerate with many things - possibilities, necessities and resources. The present economic crisis is even too primitive as an example about over-demanding and over-offering, but it is also an obvious one. It seems like the whole society is looking for new alternatives and is re-evaluating its actual needs. Thus is drawing the same kind of line as I am.
In order to know where to draw that line it is extremely useful to spend a week among nature, animals and a child. For them that line is undoubtedly distinct. It is us, the grown-up children, who tend to mess up the heads of the little ones. But until they reach the age when they become fluent in self-destruction and self-deception, they are as untouched and wise as nature and animals. If only their parents didn’t fill their little drawers with the dirty socks of the grown-up society without even noticing it.
How much do we really need the noise and flood of information? For whom do we really wake up and make breakfast for each morning? Where is the line drawn between comfort turning into an addiction and necessity turning into a burden?
Ask nature, animals and little children.