Less Square Footage For Me

Less square footage in a house is plenty for me, but I confess to an occasional struggle with the conviction of that statement. When the "kids" and grandkids are here, I well recall the tale of a friend who once waxed poetic to me about his romantic notions with "less is more" thinking.

He and his wife became convinced that a smaller, better thought-out house could be the epitome of not just a dream home but a dream LIFE. The best of everything could be had, they thought, in smaller square footage. Finer cabinets, higher-end appliances and fixtures could lend luxury touches without the overall cost of  a bigger house. With just the two of them at home, a smaller space comfortably furnished would be delightfully stress-free. With money saved by downsizing, the couple envisioned themselves globetrotting and frequently visiting their grown children who resided in other states.

When near to home, they anticipated luscious meals enjoyed often at the trendiest eateries, taking in the latest plays and movies regularly, and generally viewed themselves with money to burn toward small pleasures galore.

And so it went, but not without a hitch.

The smallish new home was big on clutter, with negligible storage and no room to entertain the friends they did love to keep company with. When the out-of-state children came to visit, there was no comfortable place to put them up.

Sleeping bags on the livingroom floor and everyone using the room for a clothes closet hardly seemed to reflect the richness of a less-is-more thinking. Sharing one bathroom and running out of hot water reminded them of their childhood home, before Mom and Pop won the lottery. Instead, the couple began to feel as if their living quarters put them back twenty-odd years, and it wasn't a youth thing. It was a poor thing.

My friends eventually came to terms with the errors of their thinking. For them, less wasn't proving to be more, it was, well, LESS. Less of what they needed, after all.

The small dream home was sold, and a more accomodating one was purchased.

As with everything, middle ground is good. For my husband and myself, our smallish farmhouse feels like plenty about 330 days of the year. It's cozy and tidy, every nook and cranny the way we like it, within our means. Certainly the kids don't complain, and it hasn't stopped them from coming over yet.

It's a midwestern rural property--a far cry from the Southern California metropolis we were born and raised in. It has a largeness to it that tempers the modesty of the old home, for sure. Each spring, when the apple blossoms are at peak and the greenery dazzles, the house merges into the season as if it were a palace. And because it isn't even trying to be beautiful, you can almost see it blush.

I would be less than truthful to say I'm never tempted to veer away from my own course of "less is plenty." Like my friends who probably lost some investment in their zeal to downsize, talking one's self into something too big (like the cafe venture I wrote of in my first blog) or too small (like their house) will always provide something, if only the proverbial learning experience.

In the throes of a learning experience, I always feel, "Less of this will be plenty, THANK YOU."

Once over and lesson instilled, I'm always the richer.