Think you need a shower to “wake up?” I always thought so, but try this:

–Pat your head and face gently all over on awakening.

–Give your hair a quick wash in the sink with Trader Joe’s Tea Tree Tingle Shampoo. It’s paraben- free, and really does tingle–not just during the shampooing, but for a long while after.  I just love this stuff. You could also add a couple drops of tea tree oil to your usual shampoo.  If your kids are in summer camp or a school with lice issues, this will also help deter nits!

–Dry brush your skin every morning.  This feels so good and invigorating, and allows the skin to exfoliate, while maintaining its natural moisture content.  There are also benefits to the lymphatic system, muscular health, and the nervous system from dry brushing!  They say it even decreases cellulite…

Feeling funky? Maybe all you need is a PTA Bath.  When I was in fifth grade, we visited my dad’s family in Iowa.  One day my mom said, “Lyanda, you should take a shower today,” and  Gramma Carrie, who raised five children in poverty in rural Iowa, said, “Oh, she just needs a PTA bath.”  We raised our eyebrows, and my cute little gramma shocked us by saying nonchalantly, “Pussy, tits, and armpits.”  Ha!  But that’s often plenty…

Lately, seeing the rampant media images from refugee camps across the globe–victims of natural, environmental,  and political tragedy, living in waterless tents–I’ve realized more than ever  how lightly I take the privilege of ready access to cheap, clean water. On a recent trip to Ethiopia, Tom took this amazing photo of a man carrying his day’s water from the river near Debre Birhan.

This isn’t about guilt–it’s about living our lives simply, beautifully, intentionally.  We just don’t have to do what we always thought we had to do by rote.  I’m not fanatic about fewer showers–if I’m gross, or sweaty, or smelly, or just really want a shower, I have one, gratefully.   But fewer is better in lots of ways, and I’ve come to really enjoy the simplicity of  non-shower days.

Rest in Peace Gramma Carrie Andrena Peterson Haupt, 1911-2001.

Thanks to Flickr users NeilsPhotogrpahy and stevedepolo.

Peecyle directly or by peeing into a container you can carry outside and:

–Apply to soil or woodchips

–Add to your compost pile (pee helps leaves and woodchips to compost more quickly)

–DILUTE with 9 PARTS WATER to 1 part pee and pour around (not on) plants (distribute widely to prevent nitrogen burn).

Goodness, I hope my friends will still eat salad at our house after reading this!

For more information on the process and hygiene of peecycling, see Carol Steinfeld’s book, Liquid Gold:  The Lore and Logic of Using Urine to Grow Plants.

No matter what you think about peecycling, it’s time to reconsider our shockingly wasteful water treatment system.  Separating wastes and toilet paper at the source, rather than mixing them directly with clean water, makes good societal and ecological sense. The wonderful folks at Eco-Waters, a Massachusetts-based nonprofit, are exploring ways to incorporate source-separation, graywater use, and composting privies into our everyday lives. Steinfeld’s newest book, Reusing the Resource:  Adventures in Ecological Wastewater Recycling, available through the Eco-Waters website, is enlightening.

Meanwhile, the invitation to awareness offered by Pee-On-Earth day is a great place to start.

At dawn on the Solstice (also the anniversary of my wedding to Tom!), I will be, inshallah, climbing the ruins at Tikal, Guatemala with my family.  I promise I will not pee on the ancient, sacred ruins!  But I will be thinking of you all, and wishing you a beautiful Solstice in the spirit of another favorite William McDonough quote:  “Celebrate Fiercely.”

Last summer the three of us traveled in Kenya and Tanzania for two months.  Our first stop was a volunteer stint at Colobus Trust on the coast of Kenya, where we worked on Colobus monkey conservation, and lodged in the organization’s simple rooms.  Our packs were light, with few extra clothes, and it was the cusp of the rainy season. When our freshly washed clothes were hung in the open-air windows, they sometimes took days to dry, even though they were under cover–the air was so thick and moist.  Midway into our week there, I’d been wearing my only dry shirt for a few days, and was starting to feel quite funky.  “Do you think they’ll ever dry?”  I lightly asked one of the staff, who lives in a village nearby.  “Oh sure,” he told me, “when the sun comes out, they’ll dry right away.”  “Well, you know how impatient we Americans are,” I joked, “used to just popping things in the dryer!”  “The what?”  “Um, the clothes dryer,” I said meekly, suddenly remembering that I was speaking to a man who’d lived his whole life with several other family members in a one-room house the size of my daughter’s bedroom, made of simple earthen materials, and without power.

Many of the people we talked to in the villages of Kenya and Tanzania know that Americans’ houses are too big, and that we own cars, but the thought of clothes dryers was inconceivable.  Using an expensive machine to do something that the air does naturally came across as profligate, idiotic, and I suppose even indecent.  At the Colobus Trust, my Kenyan friend started to laugh, and I was about to laugh along, when I realized that this was a private laugh, tinged with bitterness–a laughter I was not invited to join.  I resolved in that moment  to sever my dryer dependency.

We’d had an outdoor clothesline for some time, but in rainy Seattle outdoor clothes-drying is a part time proposition in any season.   So when we got home from Africa, we rigged up a retractable line that stretches across the length of our long basement, over the empty guinea pig cage (Nicholas and Clover, RIP), past the camping gear, and finally making a nice little curtain for Tom’s corner bike workshop.  It works great, and now we can line-dry our laundry no matter what the weather is doing.  The clothes dry in about half a day, and we almost never use our dryer anymore.  If you need your line-dryed items de-wrinkled or softened, you can pop them in the dryer for a couple of minutes before you fold them (really–two minutes is enough!).

We now realize that since our basement ceiling is quite high, we don’t really need the retractable line–we never take it down, so we could have just strung a rope across the room.  But for a basement with a lower ceiling, the retractable line would be nice.  In any case, we recommend using coated clothesline line, even though it’s more expensive than cotton or nylon, as the latter quickly slackens.

Our friend MegaFlava is more of a tinkerer, Make-zine type.  His basement isn’t long enough for a line such as ours, so he rigged up this amazing rack on a frame made of bent electrical conduit, and criss-crossed with clothesline.

It lowers and raises on a pulley system, so after you hang the clothes, you can pull it up to the ceiling and still use the room.  Wet clothes are heavy, and MegaFlava had to work on balancing the pulleys so that the full clothesline could be hoisted without too much exertion.

Of course, hanging laundry on the subterranean line isn’t as delightful as time spent hanging clothes outside on a sunny day, but it is still meditative, and I find it pleasant.  Occasionally I do a simple multi-task–my two faves:  singing, or practicing recorded French lessons with headphones (yes, a clothesline Luddite with an iPod).

My dad grew up in Iowa, dryer-less of course.  He tells me about how his mother would bring the clothes in from the winter line, the shirts frozen solid as a board.  I like to  think of her, My Grandma Carrie, as I hang my family’s clothes in our warm basement.

For more, have a look at Laundry Outlaws, and my clothes-hanging tutorial.

(As always, thanks to my sweet hubby for the beautiful photos!  See more at his Flickr site.)

Warm face, warm ‘ands, warm feet
Aow, wouldn’t it be loverly?
–Eliza Doolittle

Cloth bags of heated grain are great for warming the bed or soothing sore muscles–much cozier than hot water bottles, and a nicer quality of heat.  I kept seeing them in boutique shops with shocking price tags, and whenever I asked what the bags were filled with, the shop proprietors would say it was a secret.   But one day a few years ago I saw one that had a suspicious little pile of rice in its packaging, and as soon as I got home I whipped up a bag for myself using rice from the pantry, and added a fleece cover while I was about it (no wonder the filling was a secret–who would pay $30 for a little bag of rice?).  I made one for each of us, and for my mom and dad and sister and in-laws and sundry friends.  We don’t know how we survived past winters without them.  At our house we put the warmed bags into the bed a few minutes before we crawl in ourselves. It makes such a huge difference.  These make great simple, handmade gifts, and you probably already have everything you need to stitch a few up.  Here’s what you do:

With a piece of standard copy paper as your pattern, cut two 8 1/2 x 11″ pieces  of cotton (muslin or calico works great).  Using a 1/2″ seam allowance, sew them together on three sides, wrong sides out.

Clip corners, turn, and press.  Fold the top edge in 1/2″ and press.

Add 5 cups of dry rice.  Any kind will work–I just use whatever’s cheapest in the bulk bins at the local coop.

Pin, and stitch 1/4″ from the edge.  You will want to hold the heavy bag up with one hand as you sew.

It’s nice to make the bag a cover–keeps it clean, and fleece feels so good.  Cut one piece of fleece 12 1/2 x 20 inches.  Finish the ends:  turn one of the short ends in 1/4″, and stitch.  Turn the other end under 1″ and stitch close to cut edge.  Topstitch 1/4″ inside of first stitching, if you like (this will be the side that shows on the outside).

With right side in, fold the end with the wider, topstitched hem up 5 3/4″ , and the side with the narrow hem down 4 3/4 “.  The edges will overlap in unequal thirds.

My mother gave me this pin cushion when I was seven. She made it when she was a Brownie, just seven years old herself. Sometimes a little of the sawdust filling comes out, but I love it.

Stitch the sides, clip the corners, and turn right side out. Slip the rice bag inside and you’re done!

Take the cover off to heat the bag in the microwave.  We usually heat ours for between 2 and 2 1/2 minutes–the time will vary according to your own oven.  The first couple of times you heat it, the bag will smell like cooking rice, but this is temporary–if the bag is a gift, you may want to heat it a couple of times before you give it, so your friend won’t be alarmed.  But don’t let the bag get wet before you heat it, or the rice really could cook, and then molder (this has never happened to me, but it could, don’t you think?).

Use the bag to warm the bed, snuggle it while reading on a cold winter’s night, or apply to tense, sore muscles.  Between these bags on our toes, and the hats on our heads, we stay warm at night and, here in temperate Seattle, we’re able to turn the heat off most nights all winter.  Enjoy!

Soule Mama's Favorite Knit Hat 3 ways: aubergine alpaca for me, rose for Claire, and multi-colored leftovers knitted into stripes with a tassel.

For inspiration, I want to share my favorite knitted hat pattern.  It’s everything a knitted hat should be:  quick, easy, and super-cute. The pattern was created by Amanda Blake, and is shared on her Soule Mama blog. It can be whipped up in a day or two, or a very leisurely three, and makes a perfect winter gift for knit-worthy friends and loved ones.

If you know how to knit and purl, you can make this hat.  Knitting is the most peaceful, grounding, and practical of pastimes, and if you don’t know how to knit, I hope you’ll consider learning this winter.  There are lots of good books and online tutorials, but the best way to learn to knit is from a friend, or uncle, or sister, or mother, or neighbor.  Most local knitting shops have circles where people gather to knit and share knowledge.  You will never, ever feel like a nuisance–everyone LOVES to help a beginning knitter.

A note on Amanda’s pattern:  It is knitted on short circular needles (double pointed work fine, too), in a multiple of six stitches.  She has you start with 67 stitches, assuming you will lose one when you join the round.  If, like me, you don’t lose a stitch when you join, then start with 66 stitches.  Enjoy.

A favorite spring ritual: switching the flannel sheets and down comforters for the light, sun-dried cotton sheets and blankets.

If you don’t already have a clothesline, putting one up would be a lovely way to celebrate the spring season.   If you’re in a DIY mode, click here for a simple line you can put up with un-electrified hand tools and take down when not in use, requiring just two eye rings and a sailor’s cleat.  Be sure to use coated rope made for clotheslines, as plain cotton or nylon quickly stretches out, and eventually mildews.  Because of our deck configuration, our line is really too low, but it still works just fine.  The ideal clothesline height is as high as you can comfortably reach–remember the wet laundry will drag it down a fair bit.  6 or 7 feet is typical.

Small spaces can inspire creativity in clothesline tactics:  retractable/removable lines don’t require a straight shot across a long yard–they can be zigzagged between trees, fence posts, whatever you have. For large loads or sheets, we commandeer extra space by hanging laundry from deck railings, chairs, and over tree branches.

If you’re interested in constructing a permanent line, there is plenty of inspiration/how-to in this new Mother Earth News article.

Does your Home Owner’s Association or local government prohibit clotheslines where you live?    Then we want to encourage gentle nonviolent resistance (see my recent post on Laundry Outlaws).  Consider hanging your clothes in spite of the ban (in as nice a way as you can), educate your neighbors (sweetly), and register your HOA in the Right to Dry registry.  Find more information there on beginning a neighborhood campaign to overturn the ban.  Remember the steps of non-violent action attributed to Gandhi:  First they’ll ignore you, then they’ll laugh at you, then they’ll fight you, then you’ll win. (If all goes well, we’ll skip the fighting part.)

Together we can re-create the standards of beauty that define our neighborhoods.  Using the earth’s natural cycles of sun and air to refresh the clothes we and our children wear every day, and the cloth beneath which we sleep–how beautiful is that?

I’ve loved hearing all of your laundry stories!  If you have a creative clothesline idea, please share…

Well, they ARE a bit shocking. I am sure my mother would want me to point out that these are my pretties, not hers.

People all over the country are  agitating to overturn clothesline bans.  Meanwhile, when clotheslines are outlawed, only outlaws have clotheslines. My renegade little mom went ahead and strung herself a retractable line across the back deck, and now her scivvies dry happily, waving in the breeze as is only proper.  If you live under one of these ridiculous bans, we hope you’ll become a laundry outlaw too.  If the Clothesline Police arrest you, we’ll hold a bake sale, raise funds, and bail you out.  Promise.

For the rest of us, one of the best things we can do in support of the Laundry Outlaws is to hang clothes out ourselves, cheer for one another’s efforts, and make line drying so NORMAL that the bans will seem as ludicrous as they are. Are your neighbors shocked by the glaring presence of your oversized underthings?  Be nice about it.  Right though you may be, see if you can hang your necessaries a little out of their line of sight.  As Benjamin Franklin put it (he was talking about laundry, wasn’t he?):  “We must all hang together, or assuredly, we will all hang separately.”

For more information, and to take further action, join the good folks at Project Laundry List in the Right to Dry campaign.

For more on line-drying, see my previous post on subterranean clotheslines, and also this peek at the beautiful art in my new book.

This is the first in a short series on laundry.  Next: simple outdoor lines (suitable for those, like me, with an irrational fear of power tools).

Last summer the three of us traveled in Kenya and Tanzania for two months.  Our first stop was a volunteer stint at Colobus Trust on the coast of Kenya, where we worked on Colobus monkey conservation, and lodged in the organization’s simple rooms.  Our packs were light, with few extra clothes, and it was the cusp of the rainy season. When our freshly washed clothes were hung in the open-air windows, they sometimes took days to dry, even though they were under cover–the air was so thick and moist.  Midway into our week there, I’d been wearing my only dry shirt for a few days, and was starting to feel quite funky.  “Do you think they’ll ever dry?”  I lightly asked one of the staff, who lives in a village nearby.  “Oh sure,” he told me, “when the sun comes out, they’ll dry right away.”  “Well, you know how impatient we Americans are,” I joked, “used to just popping things in the dryer!”  “The what?”  “Um, the clothes dryer,” I said meekly, suddenly remembering that I was speaking to a man who’d lived his whole life with several other family members in a one-room house the size of my daughter’s bedroom, made of simple earthen materials, and without power.

Many of the people we talked to in the villages of Kenya and Tanzania know that Americans’ houses are too big, and that we own cars, but the thought of clothes dryers was inconceivable.  Using an expensive machine to do something that the air does naturally came across as profligate, idiotic, and I suppose even indecent.  At the Colobus Trust, my Kenyan friend started to laugh, and I was about to laugh along, when I realized that this was a private laugh, tinged with bitterness–a laughter I was not invited to join.  I resolved in that moment  to sever my dryer dependency.

We’d had an outdoor clothesline for some time, but in rainy Seattle outdoor clothes-drying is a part time proposition in any season.   So when we got home from Africa, we rigged up a retractable line that stretches across the length of our long basement, over the empty guinea pig cage (Nicholas and Clover, RIP), past the camping gear, and finally making a nice little curtain for Tom’s corner bike workshop.  It works great, and now we can line-dry our laundry no matter what the weather is doing.  The clothes dry in about half a day, and we almost never use our dryer anymore.  If you need your line-dryed items de-wrinkled or softened, you can pop them in the dryer for a couple of minutes before you fold them (really–two minutes is enough!).

We now realize that since our basement ceiling is quite high, we don’t really need the retractable line–we never take it down, so we could have just strung a rope across the room.  But for a basement with a lower ceiling, the retractable line would be nice.  In any case, we recommend using coated clothesline line, even though it’s more expensive than cotton or nylon, as the latter quickly slackens.

Our friend MegaFlava is more of a tinkerer, Make-zine type.  His basement isn’t long enough for a line such as ours, so he rigged up this amazing rack on a frame made of bent electrical conduit, and criss-crossed with clothesline.

It lowers and raises on a pulley system, so after you hang the clothes, you can pull it up to the ceiling and still use the room.  Wet clothes are heavy, and MegaFlava had to work on balancing the pulleys so that the full clothesline could be hoisted without too much exertion.

Of course, hanging laundry on the subterranean line isn’t as delightful as time spent hanging clothes outside on a sunny day, but it is still meditative, and I find it pleasant.  Occasionally I do a simple multi-task–my two faves:  singing, or practicing recorded French lessons with headphones (yes, a clothesline Luddite with an iPod).

My dad grew up in Iowa, dryer-less of course.  He tells me about how his mother would bring the clothes in from the winter line, the shirts frozen solid as a board.  I like to  think of her, My Grandma Carrie, as I hang my family’s clothes in our warm basement.

(As always, thanks to my sweet hubby for the beautiful photos!  See more at his Flickr site.)