The Joy of Less

by Amy Newmark

  I’d tried for years to cut the cable cord that had been slowly strangling my family, but it took geography to make my dream a reality. In the new house, we didn’t have room to have more than one television. Instead of everyone retreating to a different room to catch their favorite shows, we stay in the same room and watch something together. When someone wants to watch something the rest of the family isn’t interested in, rather than that person going to another room to watch it alone, we talk about it. We compromise. We work things out. Instead of being individuals who get to do whatever they want, when they want, we are a family unit, and we work together to make good choices about what we watch on television.

  I’d tried for years to cut the cable cord that had been slowly strangling my family, but it took geography to make my dream a reality.

  We’ve dusted off the board games, puzzles, and books, and when the weather is nice, the kids go outside to hike or play. But the real proof of making the decision to cut the cord came when my youngest daughter, Princess, had her birthday party. I had a house full of preteen girls and where they once would spend the whole time watching their favorite shows, they had to find something else to do.

  Princess decided to take her friends for a hike around our property. I went with them to make sure they were safe, and as we hiked the property, I could hear them chatter.

  “Pretend my name is Julianna, but you can call me Jules.”

  “Pretend my name is Angelique, and you can call me Angie.”

  “Pretend my name is Constance, and you can call me Constance.”

  They went on and on, building a story world for themselves. The girls were explorers, having discovered a new land on a new planet. We came upon a group of boulders, which the girls decided was the perfect place to establish their new colony. Immediately, they divided up the work, such as foraging for food, finding shelter, and everything you would think necessary to colonize a new planet.

  They spent the entire morning playing on the boulders. This group of girls turned a clump of boulders into a thriving colony on another planet. I didn’t hear any complaints of boredom or fighting over which show to watch next. Every single girl had a good time. As I watched them laugh and play, I realized that I hadn’t just bought a new house, I’d bought a better childhood for my kids. Instead of spending their childhood in front of the television, my kids are outside, using their imaginations and playing.

  Sometimes not having as easy access to television is a challenge. Our family no longer watches the latest shows. We sometimes don’t agree on what to watch. But what we watch, we watch together. We watch less television. We go on more hikes. We work on projects together. Notice the word: “together.” Because that’s the difference cutting the cord has made. My family is closer. When I talk, they hear me. I don’t get the sassy answers.

  A year ago, while we were still in our old house, my husband thought I was crazy when I said we should cancel our cable service. He didn’t see how our family could be happy without the constant blare of television. But as I sit on my couch, looking out the window, watching the changing leaves, the television off, I wish I’d been able to convince him sooner. It took moving to this place without cable service to make my dream come true. We’ve been in the new house for almost six months now, and our family is closer than it’s ever been. Less television has given our family so much more!

  ~Danica Favorite

  The Power of Play

  Creative people are curious, flexible, persistent, and independent with a tremendous spirit of adventure and a love of play.

  ~Henri Matisse

  It was a dark and stormy night. Really. The rain had stopped but the wind kicked up and was ferocious. It howled and the rattling windows sounded like someone was outside beating on the glass trying to get in. It was also New Year’s Eve. We were having our annual party and had a house full of people just starting to celebrate. We really didn’t think that much about the wind because we were inside, safe and warm, and had no plans to go out. Our family and friends were all staying overnight and we had our delicious and extravagant dinner to look forward to as well as our champagne brunch for the morning.

  And then things started to happen. We heard explosions. Loud explosions. We looked outside and up into the hills near our house and saw sparks flying from electrical transformers. We saw one area after another go dark up in those hills. Then there was the loudest explosion of them all and our house went dark too.

  I groped around and found every candle we had and we lit them. If you could forget that we had no power, the candles actually made everything look very lovely. Kind of soft and glowing. But we had problems. Big problems. We had fifteen people standing around and we still had to cook dinner. How would we do that? We had electric ovens and an electric cooktop. They worked great but not without electricity! We needed to improvise.

  The barbecue! We would cook on the barbecue. Our New Year’s Eve menus were always extravagant and the gourmet menu this year included Beef Wellington, lobster tails, twice baked potatoes and asparagus — not really your usual barbecued items. But barbecue them we did! The men went outside, some holding flashlights and others cooking. They did a wonderful job cooking our feast. The women stayed inside, out of the wind, and got the salads and desserts ready.

  Everything was delicious. I don’t think we have ever had a better meal and I don’t think we have ever laughed as much as we did while preparing it. But what would we do for the rest of the evening? We still had a few hours to go before the beginning of the new year so we all sat around the dining room table and sang. And harmonized. We started with the letter “A” and chose a song title that started with that letter. Then on to “B” and so on. We had problems with “Q” and “Z” but we made up song titles that started with those letters and the lyrics to go with them.

  And then it was just a few minutes before midnight. We couldn’t gather around the television and watch the ball drop in Times Square but that wouldn’t stop us from celebrating. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1… bounce! Bounce? What was that? Why it was a tennis ball hitting the hardwood floor. Instead of watching the Waterford crystal ball drop at the stroke of midnight I stood on a chair in our dining room and, with the help of someone’s watch to tell us the time, we all counted down and I dropped a tennis ball! We all screamed Happy New Year and popped the champagne open. We didn’t need electricity for that!

  The next morning was beautiful and sunny but we were still without power. Now that it was daylight we could see the extent of the damage from the wind. A big tree had blown down in our front yard and there were trees down all over the neighborhood. We could see the neighbors out walking, surveying the damage… in their PJs. We decided to join them so we all went outside, also in our PJs, and walked around. We all wished each other a Happy New Year. The damage to the trees was terrible, the streets were littered with debris, but thank goodness no people were hurt and no houses were damaged.

  After our morning stroll, we went back in and started making breakfast together. We cooked omelets, bacon, sticky buns and more… all on the barbecue. We boiled water for coffee… on the barbecue. And we popped the champagne open to wash everything down.

  Now it was time to watch the Rose Parade, but that wasn’t happening without electricity. If we couldn’t “watch” the parade, we decided we would “be” the parade. Maybe our floats would not be as beautiful and artistic as the ones in Pasadena but ours were certainly creative. We took turns — two people at a time — making up the themes for our “floats” and parading down the hall and past the dining room door for the rest of us to see. We had the dish-drying float — our son and his wife each took a plate and a dishtowel and marched by the door, pretending to dry, as we sang marching songs. Then there was the dog-walking float. Yes, even our dogs participated! We put their leashes on and paraded back and forth past the dining room door. A pot-lid-banging float, a kazoo playing float, and a tennis ball bouncing float were only a few of our concoctions.
r />   I don’t think we have ever laughed so much or had so much fun as we did the New Year’s Eve when we lost power.

  Our friends and family left in the afternoon. No one showered because we didn’t have any hot water. The power didn’t come back on until the next day and we were very thankful when it finally did. We still get together with the same group to celebrate New Year’s and we still talk about that special night. I don’t think we have ever laughed so much or had so much fun as we did the New Year’s Eve when we lost power.

  ~Barbara LoMonaco

  The Joy of Sharing

  Pass on the Party

  This is the power of gathering: it inspires us, delightfully, to be more hopeful, more joyful, more thoughtful: in a word, more alive.

  ~Alice Waters

  I used to love those “home parties” where a friend would invite the gals over to pitch cookware or jewelry or designer baskets. We “guests” would chat and sip Sangria while the “hostess” demonstrated the latest make-up trend or showed us a great new gadget for chopping cucumbers into fifteen distinct shapes. Then she’d pass around the order forms as we nibbled tiny pastries and decided what to buy — because we always felt like we had to buy something.

  “Just come for a girl’s night out, it will be fun!” the party-thrower would insist beforehand, but those evenings rarely ended without all attendees opening their checkbooks.

  Somewhere along the line, these purchasing parties began to lose their appeal. It seemed suddenly everyone I had ever come in contact with had me on their invite list, peddling a dizzying array of consumer products. There were events pushing charm bracelets, designer stationery, wine, nutritional supplements, children’s books, T-shirt appliqués, lingerie, gourmet chocolates, even “fashions for the well dressed pet.” And thanks to the Internet, declining an invitation due to schedule conflicts or family illness was not even an option.

  “You can attend electronically!” the hostess would gush whenever I hesitated about my participation. “I’ll e-mail you a link, just click on it and you can see what we’re offering and order directly online.”

  Of course, this meant no munchies, no social interaction, just fork over the money and we’ll drop your merchandise in the mail. Even so, I kept on going, often begrudgingly, enjoying the food and fellowship less and resenting the pressure to purchase more.

  The worst part about being on the home party circuit was the stuff I was steadily amassing. Stuff I did not need. Stuff I did not really want. Stuff I bought out of a sense of obligation, then tossed onto a back shelf or stacked in the garage.

  So when the mailman delivered a little cream-colored “you’re invited!” postcard from my neighbor Marlene, I was dreading having to either make up an excuse or write another check. But to my delight, this invitation was very different from the other get-together requests I was used to receiving from family and friends. Her card read:

  It’s a Pass It On Party!

  Bring something you bought and never used

  Share the story of when, where and why you got it

  Enjoy refreshments while telling your tale and listening to others

  All items will be donated to our local elementary school’s silent auction

  I actually laughed out loud reading this incredible proposal! After years of acquiring unnecessary things, I now had the opportunity to hand merchandise off to people who could really benefit from it. All while enjoying the best part of these events — gathering with friends and trying something new. I immediately sent Marlene my acceptance, then spent a good part of the afternoon going through my “home party inventory” to find a suitable contribution to the cause.

  The Pass It On Party was the best girl’s night out I’ve ever had. We sat in Marlene’s comfy family room sampling veggie trays and tea sandwiches as each woman took a turn showing off her treasure and describing the circumstances under which it was obtained.

  “I really thought I needed a 30-piece cake decorating set,” my friend Patty laughed, pointing to the large box beside her. “When I ordered it I had visions of birthday parties with cakes that looked like some prize-winning project from The Food Channel. Of course that never happened, and the kids have been perfectly happy with plain old cupcakes and frosting from a jar.”

  Sarah held up a collection of still-shrink-wrapped make-up brushes, fanning them out so we could see all eight. The smallest was about the size of a toothpick, and the big one looked like it was designed to put bronzer on an elephant. “Why did I ever think I had to have these?” she said, rolling her eyes. “They’re supposed to be made of Angora rabbit fur or mink or something; I don’t remember. Maybe I thought I could use them to clean around the house?”

  The worst part about being on the home party circuit was the stuff I was steadily amassing. Stuff I did not need. Stuff I did not really want.

  And so we made our way around the sofa, simultaneously admiring and deriding the assortment of superfluous stuff. Our assembled lot included my canvas handbag with a dozen interchangeable covers to complement any outfit, a gold necklace and matching earrings sporting an Egyptian pharaoh motif, two gallon jugs of “miracle cleaner” guaranteed to get ANY stain off carpeting, a nested set of blue plastic serving bowls with matching lids, and four different configurations of scented candles in various decorative jars. The night was fun and funny and therapeutic. Everyone had a great time, and no one had to write a check.

  About a month later, I got another postcard from Marlene. This one said:

  Thanks to everyone who contributed to the Pass It On Party! Through your generosity and the contributions of others, our school earned over $3,200 from the silent auction. The money will be used toward new play equipment. You’ve made a lot of children very happy with your donation! And if you enjoyed our get together and think this type of party would work for your event, be sure to pass it on!

  ~Miriam Van Scott

  Birth of the Rototiller Club

  Coming together is a beginning. Keeping together is progress. Working together is success.

  ~Henry Ford

  After many months of fruitlessly searching for our perfect first home, we decided to build in a small development in a rural area of New Jersey. The houses were great starter ranch-style homes that attracted other young cash-strapped couples. Because we were all new to the area, it was easy to make friends and the neighborhood quickly bonded.

  The first spring in our new home we decided to try our hand at planting a vegetable garden. Other neighbors shared our enthusiasm and planned to do the same. Unfortunately, the ground in our development was hard and filled with rocks. Our attempts at turning over the soil with a pitchfork didn’t last long. We needed a rototiller but it was too expensive for any of us to purchase on our own. So we decided to share! Five families chipped in and we even put aside some extra cash for future maintenance.

  It was early spring 1976 when the rototiller arrived. The five families gathered for a celebratory backyard barbecue. Thus the Rototiller Club was born and we dubbed our barbecue the First Annual Rototiller Picnic.

  Over the years, the tiller was well used, well maintained and celebrated at our yearly picnic. Our gardens grew and so did our families. One family was transferred and one departed for a larger house in a nearby town. Rights to the rototiller went along with the sale of the houses.

  On July 4, 1991 the three remaining families hosted a fifteen-year reunion of the original members of the Rototiller Club. All five of the original families attended along with the new members who had inherited rights when they bought their houses. The tiller was ceremoniously rolled out looking like new, all decorated in red, white, and blue streamers. It was started up to the sound of cheers and clicking cameras.

  Best of all, sharing that rototiller with our neighbors produced not only successful gardens but beautiful lasting friendships as well.

  Through the pooling of our resources in those early cash-poor days we saved money, had one less material possession, freed u
p garage space, and shared maintenance costs. Best of all, sharing that rototiller with our neighbors produced not only successful gardens but beautiful lasting friendships as well.

  ~Mary Grant Dempsey

  The Rain Jacket

  No one has ever become poor by giving.

  ~Anne Frank

  I was not a shopaholic. Yet, duplication abounded in my tiny one-bedroom apartment and somehow I never got around to purging the excess. One night, I remember Patrick, my then fiancé, pointed this out while I poked through the closet, coming up empty handed. “I have nothing to wear tonight,” I claimed.

  “Really?” he returned. His playful look of disbelief sent me back to look again. He was right. “Nothing to wear” doesn’t make a lot of sense coming from someone with so much to choose from.

  Months later, after we married, the subject of clutter clearly needed to be addressed. Our abundant shower and wedding gifts needed places to call home. The purging process was really necessary, yet still I fought it.

  I remember one day Patrick questioned why I had two rain jackets. They were very alike and both did the job effectively. One was red and the other green. “I know,” I said sheepishly. “I can’t decide. I love them both and I just can’t decide.”

  Months later, on a rainy afternoon, my indecision was defeated in the blink of an eye. It was the same day I was wallowing in self-defeat. I had just been “downsized” at a job where I had worked incredibly hard for four years. I had given my heart and soul to that job in a way that had pushed out other important things in my life. In the end, the crushing weight of the way I was dismissed wounded me. Instead of accepting a demoralizing three-month descent into part-time work, I handed my boss my resignation in the most polite language I could muster.