Variables

aloshbennett photo courtesy Flickr

In a previous lifetime, I worked as an assistant traffic engineer for Ma Bell. The growth rate in one of the suburbs we administered was 110% a year, and the staff was literally wringing its hands in distress as they tried to supply communications to an exploding population and the infant on-line computer community.

The lesson I took from this experience is that it is important to manage the rate of change in one’s life. Sometimes fate hands us the equivalent of an unexpected set of triplets, and it is helpful to have as few variables as possible in other areas. This is the best argument I know in favor of classical culture.

Holidays, for example, are most easily managed by following family custom. Doing so reserves decision-making for new topics. Style varies from one generation to another as technology shifts, but I assume that human needs are constant over time. It’s important to set up a solid foundation of domestic systems that run smoothly enough to ignore. Cheryl Mendelson’s “Home Comforts” lays out the essence of domestic economy. It’s a book that has long needed to be written. Knowing one is following best practice builds confidence, reduces stress, and frees attention for new demands. Guests are most comfortable in familiar systems.

Here are some ways I have found to minimize the number of variables under my roof: stay married to the same person, use white linens, choose lots of something simple rather than a lot of different stuff that does the same thing, keep two back-up units of staples and replace the replacement when you bring it out, buy basic ingredients in bulk rather than a complex collection of half-ready foods with unpronounceable ingredients, use one basic product for many uses rather than buying and storing a complicated inventory of specialized things, tell the truth about what you like to wear and keep a good stock of favorites on hand.

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Hard Weather

jkf photo courtesy Flickr

We are enjoying record cold. Clear, sunny days and nights in the teens challenge the ordinary gray forty-five degrees of nearly any day of any month in Seattle. There will be very few slugs next spring.

When the first oil crisis of 1976 dragged the Northwest through the worst fuel shortages in the country, I took a look at my wardrobe and vowed always to be able to warm myself with clothing rather than heating oil. When it considers survival, the outdoor community mutters “cotton kills”. Cotton truly does have its limitations.

In the Fifties, the Northwest was isolated from the rest of the country. Big label prices were still “slightly higher west of the Rockies”, distribution of mass brands was limited, and the most sophisticated local shopping was to be had just north of the border in British Columbia.

At this time, England was famous for its cool houses. Room temperature was forty-five degrees. America was famous for its relentless heat. Western Washington’s climate is like England’s, and local dress codes copied the English habit of wearing wool. Everyone used wool sweaters to fend off the chill, and wool skirts and trousers were the norm, except for school boys who wore cotton corduroy nearly thick and durable enough to stand on its own. Kids changed into play clothes and tennis shoes when they got home from school. Wool dresses and suits were standard adult wear. It was common practice for any family, no matter how prosperous, to keep the house quite cool, certainly not over seventy degrees in the daytime and cooler at night. When more warmth was in order, someone lit a fire.

Mary Renault’s historical fiction about Alexander the Great mentions that his conquering army foundered in India. The soldier’s clothing wore out, and south Asia’s thin gauze left the men unprotected in the field and rubbed raw under their armor. Last night, my partner mentioned that his colleagues, advanced degrees all and employees of the Defense Department, were griping about not having enough warm clothing or bedding to be comfortable with temperatures as low as they are right now.

There is little to say about neglecting food, clothing, or shelter, except that market forces have emphasized fashion over education. Jeans are the most expensive trousers to wear. Wool, cashmere, and silk are actually cheaper, because they’re more durable. Figure the real cost of a garment, or any other item, by dividing the price by the number of times you use it. I wore a $60 wool kilt, the most expensive garment I had ever bought, two hundred times a year for sixteen years, in all seasons, in the field and downtown. I had other clothes, but the kilt was my favorite. Animal fibers are comfortable in a wide range of temperatures.

They save heat, too, and because they should be line dried, they save the cost of running an appliance. I find that animal fibers resist soil better than cotton or synthetics and have to be washed less often. Washing wool, silk, and cashmere is no trouble. Just be aware when they’re in the clothes hamper. I flag a sweater for special attention by tying it into a plastic grocery bag and noting care with a marker. Cheryl Mendelson’s Home Comforts is the bible of laundry. Citrus detergent is very good to animal fibers.

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Inefficiency

Libby photo courtesy Flickr

Not long ago an Eastern Washington Indian tribe expanded its reservation by buying land that had been “homesteaded out” in the nineteenth century. The new properties had been administered by an agency that was not noted for cutting-edge management style. Consequently, the land escaped the bulldozers and retained its original contours.

The elders decided to administer the area as an ecosystem rather than trying to restore individual species. They are gradually freeing the waters from engineered restraints like irrigation ditches and culverts. As streams takes their natural course, native vegetation and animals are returning on their own. Traditional wetland food plants are thriving with no cultivation.

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Bracketing Christmas

otzberg photo courtesy Flickr

The traditional yearly calendar of the Roman Catholic church is a helpful guide to pacing the household over Christmas, aka carnival or Saturnalia.

The church year begins with Advent, a short version of Lent that starts on December 1. It’s a time for ordinary food and no great indulgence. Sunday is the time for treats and to observe the passing of the month by lighting one more candle of the four displayed on the horizontal Advent wreath. Advent is a good time to make paper chains, string popcorn and cranberries, and generally occupy hyperactive, housebound children who are wired on toy commercials.

Traditionally, the tree was put up on Christmas Eve. This is not a bad way to keep the kids out of your hair when they’re going ballistic. Christmas Eve is opening day, so to speak. It’s a meatless feast, which simplifies preparation for the first of three back-to-back major meals, the hostess’ version of the Long March.

When my son was small, as a security measure and to keep things down to a dull roar, I kept gifts out of sight until Christmas Eve. The Santa theory of gift arrival, that I might have observed more closely, is a better way to protect children from being overstimulated by flashy wrapping paper. We respond to high-tech holiday visuals like a starving salmon catching a glimpse of a brass spoon.

The Christmas season lasts until Twelfth Night. Focussing on that date as the end of the celebration makes it feel less grinch-ey to calm Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

Here’s the good part. A few years ago, I learned from a friend who had lived in New Orleans for twelve years that Christmas may end on Twelfth Night, but the carnival season begins the next day and continues until the party shuts down on Ash Wednesday, “the number one hangover show”, to borrow from a KEXP disc jockey.

On carnival Fridays, it is traditional to bring a king cake to one’s work group. The confection is a rich vanilla sheet cake decorated as gaudily as one can imagine with purple, gold, and green colored sugars and edible ornaments. A bean or ceramic figure of the Christ child is baked into the cake, and, assuming they’re not at the dentist, the person who is served that slice makes the cake the next week. If theology is a concern, I see no reason not to honor another role model in the cake.

This weekly tune-up for Mardi Gras is a fine way to spend the dark and soggy months of a Northwest winter. I like to think that the post-Katrina diaspora will enrich all our cities with New Orleans’ love of good living.

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