Small is Beautiful

I always complain about how our apartment is so small. It is, I think, the smallest living space of anyone we know. I'm already worried about how we're going to serve dinner to the couple we invited over in a few weeks' time, because we don't have a table. We usually just eat sitting on the sofa or standing up in the kitchen. Ah well, we'll manage. Maybe they'll think it's charmingly bohemian to sit around on cushions on the living room floor.

But - three things I really like and appreciate about this space, and will miss when we eventually move out:

1) It's always warm in winter. It's one of those old-fashioned apartments with radiators, and it's super-warm even when we don't turn them on. We can walk around barefoot in comfort and even crack a window open for some fresh air. Normally I would worry about energy use and the environment and all, but it's out of our control. Someday when we get a house and are responsible for our own heating bills, I will probably feel compelled to turn the thermostat down to 60 degrees all winter.

2) It's easy to clean. There's just not enough space to get dirty. I can whisk through and pick up clutter, wipe down countertops, sweep the floors, and have the place looking decent in only a few minutes. With a big house, the cleaning must be never-ending.

3) It's only two blocks to the grocery store. I'm used to dashing out to get something for dinner, or going to pick up milk in the morning before work. Most people have to get in the car and drive somewhere to get groceries.

So, with these things in mind, no grousing. :)

Biophilia

My daughter's really into animals and animal noises lately. Things she knows:

Bears, lions, tigers, and - what the heck, most other animals - go "rrrrraaugh."
Cows go "mmmmmmmm."
Cats go "mmmmew."
Elephants go "aroooo-ugh." (based on my pathetic imitation of a trumpeting elephant)
Dogs go "eh. eh. eh."
Snakes go "ssss."

Things she doesn't know:

What a bear, lion, tiger, cow, elephant, or snake actually IS. She only knows their pictures in books. Doesn't she wonder sometimes, "what's the point of all this? Why do they drill me on this stuff, asking me 'What does the cow say?'" How do pictures of elephants - or even real live elephants - have any relevance to her life?

I should be teaching her useful stuff. Like, for example. what a table is. Or how to differentiate between a cracker and an apple. Or how to put on her socks.

We have an inordinate number of books with titles like Farm Animal Babies and Milo Goes to the Zoo lying around the house, either because most books for babies have animal themes, or because she's indicated an interest so those are the books I keep getting out of the library for her.

If she does just naturally incline towards animal pictures and noises, even without exposure to animals in her life, it suggests that there really is a kind of innate biophilia.

Teaching

As a kid, I always used to think I might make a good grade-school teacher. I used to pretend that I was my teacher, Ms. Koster, and imagine how I would organize the lesson. I still get a kind of wistful happy feeling when I'm on school grounds. On Election Day, I voted at the local elementary school. The hallways smelled of crayons, chalk, and lemon disinfectant. The lines of voters wound past bulletin boards displayed "Our Super Stars" and essays on "Why I Like to Exercise by Mrs. Kimmy's Class." It seemed like such a friendly, cozy environment, one where I could thrive.

But maybe not as a teacher, maybe more as a school secretary or something. Teachers have such enormous responsibilities. They have to be attuned to the individual academic and socialization needs of an entire roomful of children. If anything goes wrong they're the first to be blamed for not noticing or following the proper protocol. And they're stuck in the middle between an administration that sometimes doesn't understand their needs and parents who are fiercely, insanely defensive of their children. It's scary to have any profession where you're responsible for other people's children.

Maybe that's not how they see it. I was at the school playground yesterday, after school hours, and 20-some kids ranging in age from 5 to about 10 were romping around the junglegym and swings while three teachers supervised them. I guess they were waiting for the parents to pick up their kids. It was a pretty chaotic scene. The kids were constantly hitting each other with sticks and jump ropes, getting in minor arguments over whose turn it was, tripping and bumping their noses, running off into the woods. My only job was to supervise one individual kid, my own, who is only a toddler so easy to catch and unlikely to hurt anyone else. But I felt slightly stressed even doing that because there was just so much going on. The other kids were all over her, wanting to touch her, asking me how old she was. I had to keep a sharp lookout and physically deflect the occasional frisbee or ball that was about to hit her, and keep her from getting kicked or run over as she toddled around. I felt like if I was the other teachers, responsible for about 7 kids each that were constantly in motion and in danger from themselves and each other, I'd feel pretty frazzled. I tried to keep track of one little girl for a few minutes but she was zipping around like a chipmunk, I kept losing her in the fray. Yet two of the teachers weren't even paying attention to the kids. They were chatting together and laughing. The third teacher was comforting a kid who had grazed his knee and was periodically calling out things to other kids: "Ramon you put that down." "Kelsey, it's Diane's turn on the swings." "OK Amy, that's enough." She didn't seem frazzled either, but calm and in control. All I could think was, if I had her gig, I'd need to really chill out from where I am now.

YEA!!!!

We finally got it right. I am so happy.

Fabric Dreams

On my way back to the office after my lunch break I stopped in at the fabric store. It's such a tactile experience, I felt like a toddler again, enjoying using all my senses instead of just my eyes and ears. I spent a happy ten minutes running my hands over different fabrics - lifting shimmery silks, testing the pile on thick velvets. For some reason I always seem to be drawn to "old lady" fabrics - dark, flowered velvety material that looks gorgeous on the bolt but that I can't picture using for anything besides pillow coverings in a fussily decorated parlor. Back when I used to work as a cashier in a fabric store, I would wait until fabric like that went on extra discounted super sale - and then buy a yard of it, just to have. Then there were the notions. I lingered over shiny buttons, iridescent reels of ribbon, and bowls of thimbles. I'm probably the kind of customer they hate because I touch everything but buy nothing.

No one I know makes their own clothes any more, but the store where I worked was always full of people (okay, women) with craft projects. They were buying Halloween print fabrics to make costumes for their grandkids, tartans to make skirts, yarn to knit caps and socks, fleecey fabric to make coats for their dogs. They all had more ideas for projects than they had time to do them. And just in case a customer walked in who needed inspiration, every season the store was redecorated and we'd put out the new seasonal print fabrics, notions, and catalogs.

Perhaps now that the economy is in the toilet there'll be a return to old-fashioned ways of doing things and more people will frequent fabric stores. Not to make coats for dogs, but to make coats for kids. Which sounds sobering, but really it can be a good thing. I'm all for home haircuts, home cooking, and homemade gifts, so why not clothes, too?