From the bean of Green Bean.
I hate my house.
I know that we green types are supposed to "bloom where we are planted." We supposedly love tiny little houses squeezed in between other tiny little houses in an uber dense urban setting where mass transit, farmers' markets and recycling facilities are abundant. And, yes, I've read and re-read the country mouse post. I get it.
And still . . .
I hate my house.
Okay, maybe hate is a strong word. And it's not the whole house. Just parts of it. Big parts of it.
I miss the vintage kitchen in my old house. The character, the temperamental Wedgewood stove, and the enormous make shift pantry that was born as a broom closet.
I miss the spacious back yard in my new (yet to be found) house. The sunny spot for raised beds. The back corner cozied up with a chicken coop. The rugged climbing tree with a homemade tree house and the large (unwatered and totally chemical free) lawn big enough for the boys' dog (also yet to be found).
Although we've lived here for years, I've never found space for all my things. The shelves above the washer/dryer bow under the weight of our towels and bedding. The one car garage - too small even for my husband's sedan - bursts with paint cans, last year's jam and chutney, small kitchen appliances, camping and exercise equipment and the "riding stock" (e.g., bikes).
Yet, here we are. And, I suppose it is high time that I, like my garden, bloom where I am planted.
With that in mind, I spent the weekend finding my space in this space. I cleaned. I reorganized. I let go of the meaningless, the unused, the clutter. I went a little Chile.
In doing so, I found fabulous metal stakes for labeling plants in the garden.
I came across a wooden board and had Mr. Green Bean fashion it into a shelf for an armoire.
I cleared out a garage cabinet and found a home for the canning jars. Some extra clothesline I came across along the way, plus some hooks and nails already in place, became home to those pesky canning bands.
I rediscovered a vintage recipe folder, picked up at an estate sale years ago, and filled it with recipes. It turns out that, for most of my cookbooks, I've only found one or two recipes that I really use. Those recipes stayed, the cookbooks found a new family and the shelf found a bit of breathing room.
I unearthed a pile of river rocks and moved them (along with some supplements from Freecycle - someone else's decluttering) to the front of my Victory Garden fence. There, they hide the weeds and pretty up the garden.
I found space in my closets, my cupboards, my pantry and my dresser. I also found a big ole pile of things that I don't really need after all. And I guess I found myself a garage sale, a load for the rummage sale or a Freecycle Rampage.
My house, minus loads of clutter, plus some creative re-design without spending a dime? I don't hate it so much after all.
Dislike seems the more appropriate term. ;-)