The Big Tiny by Dee Williams

Square Feet: 84. Possessions: 305.*

(*This headline is from the NY Times review – I had to swipe it.)

January is my time for sorting through clothes and books, cleaning out the freezer and diving into those mystery boxes under the stairs.   By necessity, we are already fairly simplified given our 1,100 sq. ft row house  — but after reading this inspirational memoir — we got nothing on Dee Williams.  

Ms. Williams decided to build an eighty-four-square-foot house on wheels, by herself — as a way to start building a simpler more meaningful life. 

This authentic memoir tells of her challenges both building-wise and health-wise.  She is not an experienced builder, but knows her way around tools, so she ventures ahead after meeting and studying others in the “tiny house” movement.  It’s not enough that she is dealing with a newly diagnosed heart condition and is often disabled and hospitalized, she also experiences grimace-worthy mishaps.  She glues her hair into the siding, almost shears off her ear when some plywood catches on an earring, tries to secure the roof (in flip flops!) and falls from her sleeping loft when the ladder shifts out from under her.

But beyond the Three-Stooges-like mishaps, this is a book to inspire.  How can you not be impressed (and perhaps even envious) of someone who can list everything she owns on one sheet of paper (the handwritten list is reproduced in the book).  Also enviable, Ms. Williams can clean her entire house in ten minutes and her monthly bills run approximately eight dollars.  Granted, she is living in a friend’s back yard and using this friends water, laundry and shower.  But Ms. Williams has her own kitchen (one burner),  her own toilet (compostable) and a sleeping loft with a view of the stars – risky ladder notwithstanding.

I was fascinated at Ms. Williams perseverance in the face of many hurdles — obstructive city codes, a newly prescribed oxygen contraption that meant snaking a breathing tube from a outside generator into her house, and an aging dog that she carries up and down the sleeping loft ladder.  But she remains positive and loving throughout. 

Happily, the author is also quirky and likeable, she still lusts after things she doesn’t need at Target (I have the same problem, I blame the hypnotic bulls-eye logo), she delights in fun underwear and prefers flip flops to shoes.  There is also a quiet soulfulness throughout, the reader is aware that Ms. Williams has a degenerative disease.  She writes with a quiet grace about her newly acquired time to savor every moment — as in this quote.

I stumbled into a new sort of ‘happiness’, one that didn’t hinge on always getting what I want but rather, on wanting what I have. It’s the kind of happiness that isn’t tied so tightly to being comfortable (or having money and property), but instead is linked to a deeper sense of satisfaction – to a sense of humility and gratitude, and a better understanding of who I am in my heart. I found a certain bigness in my little house – a sense of largeness, freedom, and happiness that comes when you see there’s no place else you’d rather be.

This book could have used some strong editing, it does ramble off the tracks, but it should provoke all of us to think on the question “how much is enough?”.  Given America’s self storage business is a $25-billion a year industry, Ms. Williams experiences are an inspiration. This book is not so much of a “how-to” guide but a “why to” memoir.   While not everyone (not me – see below) is suited to such an extremely tiny house, this book will make you contemplate the “too much stuff” syndrome  — why not simplify, declutter and live smaller?

N.B. Living in such a small space alone may be one thing, but can you image two people in 84 square feet?  I’m definitely not a candidate.  No way I’m making the middle of the night climbs up and down a sleeping loft ladder, I’d be lost without my book collection, I’d sorely miss my tea pots and at the very least — my husband and I already experience too much “togetherness” now we’re both retired — so count me out …. but I must go now and clean out a closet or two.  

Advanced reading copy provided by Penguin Group via NetGalley.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Northern Christmas by Rockwell Kent

10 Days Until Christmas

I found this book at Bells Bookstore in Palo Alto, back when I would sneak to bookstore to escape the  high tech insanity. Bells is a wonderful family run, independent bookstore with rare and used books. If I remember, this wasn’t very expensive and the only reason I can recall where it came from is Bells bookmark is still in the book.  Barbara Wohl (now retired from the store)  is a well-known heritage rose gardener and her garden just up the street from the store is to die for. But I digress…

At merely 20 pages, I knew this tiny book with it’s decorated sleeve and cover was mine before I even opened it.  A short story which tells of a father and young son spending Christmas in a small hand built cabin in 1918, just a few miles from the Arctic Circle,   Rockwell Kent is the graphic artist probably best known for his magnificent illustrations for Moby Dick and the complete works of Shakespeare.   Here and   Here

Mr. Kent published WILDERNESS, A Journal of Quiet Adventure  in Alaska in 1941 and this is taken from that larger published work.  The introduction explains he had this little volume reprinted as Christmas presents for all his friends a few years later.   Here’s a couple of the illustrations from A Northern Christmas  — aren’t they just wonderful?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As the holiday approaches Mr. Kent and his son improvise their holiday cheer with a tree, hand made ornaments and candles.  The second photo here shows the menu they cobbled together as a holiday feast for their only neighbor Olson, a weather beaten gold miner who prepared carefully for the occasion with hair specially clipped around his hears and a gold nugget stickpin in his silk tie.  Beans a la Resurrection Bay anyone?

Some other special selections from this Christmas tale (and yes the dates are printed in red in the book  – a charming touch):

Thursday, December nineteenth.  This day is never to be forgotten, so beautiful, so calm, so still with the earth and every branch and tree muffled in deep feathery, new fallen snow.  And all day the softest clouds have drifted lazily over the heaven, shrouding the land here and there with veils of falling snow, while elsewhere or through the snow itself the sun shone.  Golden shadows, dazzling peaks, fairy tracery of branches against the blue summer sea!  It was a day to Live, – and work could be forgotten.

Christmas Eve.  We’ve cleaned the house, stowed everything away upon shelves and hooks, and in corners, moved even my easel aside; decorated the roof timbers with dense hemlock boughs, stowed quantities of wood behind the stove — for there must be no work on that holiday – and now both Rockwell and I are in a state of suppressed excitement over tomorrow.   What a strange thing! Nothing is coming to us, no change in any respect in the routine of our lives but what we make ourselves – and yet the day looms so large and magnificent before us!  I suppose the greatest festivals of our lives are those at which we dance ourselves.

The underline is mine …

Wishing you a happy holiday countdown with your own festivals.

 

Can’t We Talk About Something More Pleasant? by Roz Chast

I heard Roz Chast talking about her newest book on NPR and bought this memoir the next day.  I strongly recommend getting this book in the hardback  versus the electronic version, as you want to experience her cartoons and text laid out as she intended.

I inhaled this book in two sittings.  I’ve long been a fan of Roz Chast’s cartoons in the New Yorker and elsewhere, so this was an insight into a moving part of her life.

This is a cartoon (with prose) memoir of her aging Jewish parents – well into their 90’s and, although always independent and self-sufficient, now in decline.  As their only child, Ms. Chast tries to muddle through their needs – wanting to respect their pride, while still caring for them with their weakened health and memory issues.

Sounds dreary?  Wrong!  This is a funny, moving and soulful accounting of caring for aging parents that is in fact deeper and more insightful than a cartoon memoir might appear.

Some of the humor is laugh-out loud funny, other times I found myself laughing uncomfortably but through her cartoons,  Ms. Chast is able to assure us that the negative, frustrated feelings in this difficult situation are as important and valid as the positive, loving feelings. It shows the complicated emotions dealing with aging parents – especially when they’re resilient, resistant and proud.

If you’re a fellow baby boomer (hate that term, but OK) and dealing with these issues or already have – you will gain insight from this book.  The ending is devastating and emotional, but the entire memoir is TRUE and honest – frightening and yet lovingly funny.  Yes, that’s it – lovingly funny, honest and true.  Read it.