I like my stuff

Every time I moved, I would open a box of my crappy old stuff and feel like it was Christmas morning. “Oh look, the can of olives I bought in 1992!” (Shut up! It has sentimental value.) I’d really like to simplify my life, but you’ll have to pry that olive can out of my cold, dead fingers.

Once you kick the kids out of the nest, change the locks, and hire a bouncer to watch the front door, it’s time to consider downsizing. Do you really need to clean four toilets, six closets, and a double car garage? Why are you saving the size six jeans that stopped fitting about the time you started hot flashes?

I’m not suggesting that you move to the country and can your own pickles (dill spears). I just think there are so many things we can do without and still be happy. If you save your used candy bar wrappers, there’s no hope for you. Just sayin’.

The problem with this theory is that I really like my stuff. How can I part with the Christmas cookie cutters, the funky smelling old linens, the tarnished silver (plate), and all the duplicate toenail clippers? I’ve got a leg up on some people, since my fine china has the word “Dixie” stamped on it.

I try to will myself into living more simply. I may as well resolve not to snore or sleep with my mouth hanging open. Wanting it doesn’t stop me from being a candidate for a ridiculous you-tube video when I’m napping on the couch. What I need is a concrete plan.

For starters, I could do without:

Spammers, twenty pounds, rude customer service representatives, trips to the mall, elevator music, and horseradish. I’m already well on my way towards a simpler lifestyle. I’m open to suggestions on what else to eliminate. I don’t have all the answers, but at least I have my olives.

Living small with a drawl

How do you measure success? Does the one with the most toys win? I use the toilet bowl method. The fewer I have to clean, the more successful I am. Since my kids left home, I have been downsizing to the point where I have one bed, a couch, and a few mouse droppings. The mouse is living more lavishly than I am.

When they laid the concrete pad for my house, I could walk across it in a few steps. Now that I have to negotiate walls, baby gates, and dog chew toys, it takes a couple extra steps to get from point A (my bed) to point B (my refrigerator).

My bed and refrigerator are both located in the south. I moved to South Carolina five years ago for a) the lower cost of living; b) warmer weather; and c) cheaper cigarettes—don’t hate me because I smoke. I discovered a land of rare beauty, and people who aren’t (contrary to popular opinion) idiots—until they get behind the wheel.

I’ve been here long enough that I drink sweet tea, call strangers “hon,” and have a growing contempt for the condescending attitude of northerners. We put our camouflage hunting pants on one leg at a time just like you do.

The south is a wonderful place to simplify your life. There’s no work—simple. It’s too hot to leave the house in the summer—simple. I enjoy the simple pleasure of napping during a football game, although the people in the sports bar look at me pretty funny. Maybe it’s because I wake up with my head on the table and barbecue sauce in my hair.

I would highly recommend South Carolina to all you Yankeelanders who want to escape the rat race that is Bismark, North Dakota. You’ll find a warm welcome, a glass of sweet tea, and a mouse in your garage.