The Road to Soup

My efforts this week at soup are so far only a mental exercise. I managed to pull out the appropriate recipes from my pile of printouts — tortellini spinach soup, cold beet soup with fennel. Even printed Julia Child’s classic Salad Nicoise recipe to round out my meal plans. I’ve got the cans of stewed tomatoes and organic veggie broth stacked near the stove. Maybe I can take some partial credit after all – I did boil green beans and potatoes this morning, getting ready for the Nicoise. Gavin took immense pleasure in poking the boiling potatoes (every 4 seconds) with a fork.

But where is the soup? Still simmering in my mind.

Soup pleases me. Maybe it started with the Stone Soup story when I was a child—each guest adding something until the idea of the soup becomes the real thing. As mom gets older and doesn’t cook as much for herself, I love the idea of making double portions so I can share the wealth. I love the sloppiness that soup allows for-—not-so finely diced vegetables, a little extra broth, a little shortage of spinach, and it can still end up tasty. When I manage to make a batch, it is the lunch special for the week at home, sometimes the dinner special, too. It’s a dieter’s secret for filling up, and it’s usually a pretty cheap endeavor. To indulge an expression I heard a lot growing up on Long Island, “What’s not to love?”

So why the thinking about soup, the writing about soup, but not the soup? I managed to buy everything but the (ahem) beets for the beet soup. The sink is full and I don’t want to empty it before I cook. I haven’t written much this week. Worst of all, the book Crazy Busy has sat on my dresser since July 27, when I brought it home from the Kent Library book sale. Sad to say, too crazy busy to read much of it so far!

Soup is my analogy for the concept of Inching Toward Simplicity. I am getting there, and each time I create something new I feel rewarded. People taste it and ask for more. But sometimes I stray away from the path, distracted by bills, or family, or the dog, or daydreams. Tonight, I am thankful that I have reunited with my efforts at Inching Toward Simplicity, soon to be followed by the emptying of the sink and, hopefully, the beginnings of two pots simmering. I’ve also thrown in an old writer’s favorite recipe: Deadline Soup!

Cutting the Fat

Connecticut readers: On DECEMBER 1, at 7:30pm, SIMPLE LIVING AMERICA will host a special Q&A with the director of What Would Jesus Buy, Rob VanAlkemade, following a screening of his movie. As a contributing author of Get Satisfied, I will also be part of the Q & A.

Please come!

CRITERION CINEMAS
86 Temple St., New Haven
Call (203) 498-2500 for info.

Tomorrow is weigh-in day. Yes, I’m in the company of countless middle-agers who have joined Weight Watchers, and so far (it’s only been 2 weeks), so good.

It feels good to regain control, to stop and think about balance, and my attraction to this approach has got me thinking beyond my waistline. If only I could “track points” in every area, look thoughtfully at my consumption at the end of every day, and regroup. How great it would be to have this feeling of mastery over the money in my wallet, over my energy use, over the ebb and flow of my relationships. How useful it would be to have it all mapped out on a spreadsheet for my perusal, to be able to say “today I excelled”, or “this morning I overdid it.”

But the real world isn’t like that. And if I managed to design a “system” for everything, I’m sure it would become tedious very quickly. Getting back to the Weight Watchers model, you’ve got to leave room for a splurge, allow a reward for a week of wise eating. Feeling starved will only lead to a food fest. But after the splurge you might want to conserve a while, to avoid tipping the scale.

Splurge, to me, has a happy, bubbly sound, while binge takes on an ominous tone. I am thinking of these words, specifically, in relation to Christmas. It is so easy to leap from splurge (one delightfully indulgent item) to binge (can’t stop shopping even though I hate the mall) in a matter of minutes.

Does consumer binging arise from feeling starved? When we binge with our wallets, are we hungry for renewal, craving approval, starving for a deeper satisfaction? After the binge do we feel any better, or just drained? Best to back off the retail buffet if your consuming starts to make you feel consumed.

Extremism doesn’t work for most of us, not for diets, not for shopping, not for simplifying our lifestyle, and almost never in the long run. But an attitude of thoughtfulness can really effect some change. In my new weight loss effort, it occurred to me that I don’t need to eat right after awakening. I am a very early riser, and come to think of it not really hungry as I march first thing to the pantry. A simple rule of sticking to just coffee until at least 7 has defeated my Hobbit-like craving for “second breakfast” every morning.

In the Christmas shopping swirl that starts to deepen into a vortex, similarly small changes have kept things more sane this year. Mom is leading the charge to each buy 1 gift per person, and the in-laws suggested no gifts for the grownups (what a relief!). Tom and I are getting a coffeemaker and exchanging pajamas. Mom’s effort is founded on simplicity, the in-laws’ on their practicality, and Tom and I share the love for all things warm at the holiday. Simple, practical, and warm sounds quite inviting to me. And it feels like quite enough.

Joyful Juxtaposition

Pragmatics

Sometimes contrasts allow us to see better. Some thoughts on the topic:

• I found another writer who married juxtaposition with joy. Here are some thoughts on learning from contrasts in the workplace, as well as the garden
• This is the second reference I found to the joy of juxtaposition in gardening.
• Here are a photographer’s thoughts on how the act of simplifying allows, by contrast, the important things to stand out.
  

Prose

I finally tackled it yesterday. Well, some of it. The mess in our house had reached critical mass, partly the fallout from busy schedules, part the fallout from domestically unfriendly choices (like using precious spare time to write). My disgust with the clutter grew for weeks, and it was this disgust that propelled me to clear the decks with the pace of a whirling dervish.

It felt good to be ruthless. Magazines that I hoped to someday read found their place in the recyclables paper bag. Tom’s tool bag and work equipment have landed too many times on the kitchen chair, so I cleared a new home for them in the pantry. Gavin consented to donating his “baby Legos” to charity. Once the decks were cleared, I dusted. I thanked the heavens for our Roomba purchase. The automated vacuum did not come cheap, but it saves me heaps of time and energy. It makes it possible that I can dust and vacuum in an afternoon, rather than having to pick one!

I clean best when indignant and angry—it fires me up. But in the bedroom I ran into some items that quieted my rant. I started to notice the beauty in our mess, framed by the contrast between real and ideal. The primary colors of Gavin’s many books strewn about our bedroom, clashing with our attempt at muted tones. A “great job” giraffe sticker stuck to the top of our otherwise sleek alarm clock, a memory of a worthwhile day at Kindergarten. A cardboard “treasure chest” next to my jewelry box, recalling the day when Gavin split his gems with me. Countless shells and rocks and leaves, cluttering our windowsill but also memorializing many fine walks. Any decorator worth her salt would have me hustling to remove this “clutter”, and I did find better homes for most of the items. But I appreciated those imprints of a busy, happy family and all of the clutter that can entail.

I also thought back to a personal joy I experienced this week. A columnist at the Baton Rouge Advocate gave eloquent thanks for things not owned, a thought that propelled me reduce and recycle (and acknowledge that there are some things I can’t reuse). Even better, he called my essay in Get Satisfied "charming”, definitely a banner moment.

The contrasts outdoors are getting more extreme: branches against sky, the sharp cold against our skin, and soon the fall of snow that will soften but also showcase every shape. I'm hoping for a winter where each juxtaposition lends a lesson, each contrast uncovers a forgotten joy.