Our Little Home

There is something so wonderful and gratifying about watching the slow opening of a showcase flower. Two years ago during the Christmas season before I started this blog I posted progression pics of an amaryllis bulb sprouting up and growing into a lovely bloom. It was one of the things that sparked me to start a blog thinking no one wants to see Facebook albums of flowers slowly opening, but maybe that would fit for a blog if it was about our home life.

House plants and flowers are a part of my ideal home and always will be. They are a way of bringing simple joy to our home, not to mention improved air quality.


The fully opened bloom.

Here is a silly little illustration of that ideal home that is close to my heart:






Ry took a class last summer about creative ways to encourage writing in the classroom. It was mostly directed at elementary school teachers so I'm not sure how useful it truly was for him, but there were some fun creative projects that came out of it. One I've kept up on the fridge since. Ry had to create a visual representation of his ideal home in a neat little fold out oragami-style house.

I think he did a bang-up job of representing a place that really does show the simple, warm, cozy environment our our ideal home in timed line drawing exercise. Now, to be fair he says we already lived in our house when he made this drawing. So yes, we have books, a cat, houseplants and a fire place...but I don't see any vaulted wood beamed ceilings here either.

When I think of home, I always try to remind myself that what I want in life and in my home is simple. I don't want many things. I want the things we do have to be colorful, lived in and a representation of our life, not something that's simply there for decoration or show. I picked up this card which I have kept on my fridge for three years to bring me a visual reminder of what I want in home and life.


So this little cabin, which I think is really a shack in somebody's back yard, is my ideal home. It's tiny, essentially one room, but can you imagine the joy of waking up and stepping out your little cabin each day to this view, would it not bring a smile to your face? I keep it up on the fridge as a way to remind myself that what I truly want is very simple.

We decided on the spur of the moment Thursday that we will travel to NYC for a long weekend over some vacation time we have. This is the most spontaneous trip I have ever taken, buying airfare a day and a half before departure. We got good fares and will be staying with our lovely friend Dave at his apartment. Dave will soon be leaving NYC so this is the first time we will be able to hang with him in his element. Ry has before as Dave is his long-time friend, but it's something we've never done before. As Dave works in the travel-writing field, we have spent spontaneous travel time before when we were able to randomly connect in Seattle and Portland two years ago on one of our massive summer road trips.

I'm looking forward to seeing NYC again with a guide like Dave and having seen at least a handful of the major tourist markers. I have several other friends there whom I haven't seen in a while and hope to see. The only other site I definitely hope to visit is the Guggenheim. However, I'll tell you what I'm sad I'll miss. It's likely our orchid will slowly open at least two more blooms while we are gone. But that means I should be coming home to some more color on these very gray spring days we've enduring.

Essential Dilemma

Since several people have commented on it, it's certainly worth noting that I haven't written in a while. It's easy to write when I'm on vacation for winter break or when there's extra time to spare. It's just that since I've gone back to work it doesn't seem like there is any time to spare, especially when I leave in the dark, come home in the dark, driving an hour each way. The commute seemed more manageable in the summer with the daylight and a fresh new attitude. Now the winter has stolen away the sunshine and I feel like I get up, go to work, make dinner (maybe), get into bed and then get up to do it all over again. Some might say, that's the life of a working adult. But I know that's not the only way to live.

I just finished reading Affluenza by John DeGraaf, David Wann and Thomas Naylor. It's older now, having been written in 2001 as a follow up to their influential PBS documentary about the negative personal, ecological and societal effects of overconsumption. Especially as I've hit a challenging patch in my current job, I find myself wondering about the type of life I want to live and whether the career path I've chosen fits into it. There's the personal commitment I'm supposed to put in based purely on my intrinsically-motivated care for students, there are the long hours (which I'll admit are hardly long compared to my last position, but curiously still feel long to me) and then there's the low pay for a relatively high level of responsibility.

When I think about what truly makes me happy in my job, it's not mental stimulation (that usually causes me anguish, actually) or status (which I don't really have anyway), it's simply the service I can provide people and the social interaction I have with them on a daily basis. Right now I provide students help for rather heavy and complicated issues, such as alcohol and drug abuse, depression or family problems. The fact of the matter is, I think I'd be just as happy, maybe even happier doing something simple like greeting people, answering the phone with a cheery voice or even scooping ice cream and making coffee (I used to do that in college and loved it!)

A few weeks ago I went to the dentist to have my teeth cleaned after about a year and a half gap, which is atypical for me. Based on my new employment and an insurance change I had to go to a new dentist for the first time in my life. I have been going to the same small town, private practice dentist who also works on the animals' teeth at the zoo for nearly 25 years. So I went from that to the corporate environment of Forward Dental. I didn't want to, I'd much rather support my local dentist, but I decided I don't pay for insurance to not use it. So, I went. The dentist was a tool, but the hygienist was very pleasant. We talked as she cleaned my teeth and I asked her about her training and learned more about what she likes in her job. You're probably wondering, what does this have to do with simple living and general existential questioning, right? Well, it sparked a memory for me of something I haven't though about in a long time.

From about age 12 to 17 I really, really wanted to be a dentist. So much so, that I received a dentist Barbie at age 16 and did a job shadow with my awesome family dentist. At that time I decided that the work was too meticulous for me and eventually dropped the interest. But as I sat in the chair talking with the hygienist, my curiosity in the dental work environment was sparked again and most of all I had a glimpse of that feeling of wonder you get when you are purely interested in something without all the worry about whether it's the "right" thing or what it would mean for your life (making money, surviving, identity, pride, etc.) I just marveled at the joy of remembering an interest that was sparked from a childhood place. I thought, there's meaning in that pure kind of desire.

I had this on my mind in the days after my dental visit and have ever since. I've been fantasizing about a practical job without all of the academic, idealistic wanking. Something that requires a technical skills, social interaction and allows me to go home at night without worry about ambiguity or things left unfinished. I recognize that being a dental hygienist, or a mail carrier or a secretary in an office where I get to do a lot of chatting are all escape fantasies for me. Sometimes it's not useful to fantasize about alternate lives, especially in a recession where I can't escape hearing on the radio and TV every day that we're all doomed and finding new employment is next to impossible.

But I also think, maybe it is useful to fantasize about those escapes. Maybe they come with less prestige than my current work, but maybe not. Maybe they represent my inner desires, my values and something that might make me happy on a daily basis. For me, thinking about leaving my current career field is an issue of pride. What would people think of me? Why did I work so hard to gain this specialized advanced degree to leave the field after four years? Would I be bored? How would I feel about myself? Would I feel "good enough"? I'm not sure what that even means anyway, because I don't usually feel good enough as it is.

This internal dilemma about where work fits into my life causes me to wonder why my pride is so symbiotically linked to my degrees and this idealistic academic path. Degrees don't speak to my most closely held values or the person I am at my core. What does pride about education mean if I'm not happy on a daily basis? Is quotidian happiness even possible for me in my current line of work and how will I know? Will things get easier over time or is this work inconsistent with my true desires? So many questions, so much ambiguity.

Ry tells me all the time that I wonder about these things and feel strong emotions about them because I am a textbook "4". For those of you familiar with the Enneagram, I wholeheartedly agree with the assessment of me as a 4. Meaning, meaning, meaning and more search for meaning. I should probably just stop with all of this questioning about what's right so I can step back and get some perspective, let myself experience my current situation more fully.

Finally, on a different but related note, Ry and I recently traveled to Louisiana with his brothers for his grandmother's funeral. His grandma was ninety years old and lived a very full life that was centered around family and simplicity. I didn't know her well and only had the privilege of meeting her a few times. But hearing about how she lived out her values and cultivated a deep richness in her life out of very little material wealth was inspiring to me. It reminded me that it doesn't take much in the way of stuff to find peace. It also reminded me that family is central to happiness. I want our family to be the most important thing in my life, period.

Speaking of family, we spent four days with Ry's dad's family. Though we were together for a sad reason, it was a blessing to spend time with relatives from his extended family. To meet aunts, uncles and cousins whom I've never met before, to tour land and homes with storied significance and to watch my husband make lovely music with nearly every male in his immediate family. All of these experiences felt very important to me. I finally got an inside look at that side of Ryan's family all together and felt connected with it in a new way. Not sure what it was, but I felt more Knudson than ever before.

What my cat thinks about Student Affairs, academic wanking and existential dilemmas. In case you couldn't quite see, that's the Chronicle of Higher Education he's stepping all over.

The long awaited Knudson jam.

Brothers and Dad, photo courtesy of Uncle Carl.


All of the Knudsons, minus three who couldn't make the trip, photo courtesy of Uncle Carl.


The road to Uncle Carl's house.


A bloom in spite of the cold, something for Grandma June.


Treasures in Uncle Carl's sunroom.


The artist in his castle: Uncle Carl.


Charcoal drawing of Knudt Knudson. May your soul be at rest Knudt.


Porch lion in the sun. King of all DeRidder.


Swing in Carl's yard. Where I'd like to spend my afternoons.


The typical scene: getting seven Knudsons into a mini van is like trying to wrangle cats.


My feet, planted firmly on the ground.

A No-Present Christmas

Over the past few years I've been struggling with the commercialism of Christmas and the obligation to consume that comes along with it. Admittedly, I'm not a super religious person, so my primary objection is not along the lines of the "put Christ back in Christmas" thinking. However, the idea that we've strayed far from the central themes of these winter solstice time holidays (whether Christmas or Hanukah) to something utterly material resonates with me strongly. What about those central themes of hope and rebirth-admist-darkness?

Massive displays of red, green and white merchandise do not bolster my faith in the world. Buying and receiving gifts that are made by factory workers in China and are largely disposable could never represent the depth of love I feel for my family and friends. Not to mention that these items are often wasteful and many end up as plastic in landfills within months. Nothing I could buy will bring the kind of togetherness I hope to achieve with my nuclear family or my own children when they come. I guess I hope that when I am in charge of my own holiday, once we have children, that gifts would play a tertiary or non-existent role. This doesn't mean I don't want my children to have a "Christmas experience", or that I'd be some kind of anti-consumer grinch. It just means I hope that gifts will have little or no importance in our overall celebration. I want Christmas to be about our time together, not what we could buy each other.

It is for all of these reasons that Ry and I decided we wanted to have a no-gift Christmas. I had heard a story on NPR last year of a family that had a no-gift holiday and they said the results were spectacular. They described more time for togetherness and unity, without the pressure and obligation to buy. This sounded ideal to me and I proposed it to my family, who agreed to participate though it seems with a great less thrill than I feel about it. It seems they have accepted this experiment, but most of them are still buying gifts for each other. I suppose, that's natural. I don't know why I expected others would want to be totally on board with this notion, especially because peoples' attachment to gift giving is strong. I can't fault anyone with this attachment. There is much pleasantness associated with it and it's certainly traditional at this point. I'm just not sure when it's snowballed into something seems to eclipse the larger meaning of the holiday for many people out there, but nonetheless it's a largely happy tradition. So, stepping out of it represents an oddity or split from the norm.

I'm not a huge fan of receiving gifts. I'm thankful for them, certainly, and I have received gifts that truly touch me, but often receiving them makes me feel uncomfortable. Sometimes it's because I don't feel deserving. Other times it's because there are many things I truly don't want to fill the extra space in my life. I want to live simply. Gift giving usually comes with the best intentions. A loved one is attempting to express a feeling, love, gratitude with their gift. How can you possibly express that you'd rather not have a gift without creating a sense of rejection or seeming self-righteous? Conversely, and quite paradoxically, I love giving gifts. I love giving them most when there is no obligation and they are a thoughtful and happy surprise.

Today, Ry and I spent some time canning our little homemade gifts for family and friends. They are simple almost to the point of being mundane. They are small, but have been time consuming. Now that the holidays are almost upon us, I wonder if they will be enough. Maybe I should be giving my family members more? Knowing that others will participate in more elaborate gift-giving and we will not makes me worry that we will feel left out in some way, or that our family members will think we do not care about them or that we're just cheap.

I've expressed these feelings and fears to Ry and he says to let them go. We've decided not to participate in the consumer portion of the Christmas tradition this year and this represents a break from convention. He says that when you break from convention, you cannot expect that it will please everyone or be accepted by everyone. He says we've made the choice already for this year and it's something that is important to us. I guess all that's left to do at this point is accept that choice whole-heartedly and see where it leads me.

View out the side window of our living room after this year's first snow.


Silvio always goes exactly where you don't want him to go.


It's tough to get a clear pic of the tree at night without a tripod or super nice camera. Homemade cranberry garland.


Up close with my stocking on the mantel. My mom made it for me when I was a wee one.