Ode to Persian Rugs

The Hungarians have a . . . well, how shall I put it? We are known for liking pretty, opulent things. Aesthetic complex? Although I don't see why it is such a terrible crime to have a chandelier in a bathroom. It's my bathroom, after all. How does that impinge on anyone else? 

Creating a beautiful home, daubed in bright paint and bird-themed throw pillows, is a lovely hobby. One's surroundings are a balm to the soul, an uplifter of the spirits. Every time I walk into the living room (from which kinfauna are banned), I sigh in delight. For reals.

Mario Buatta is Ma's favorite decorator.

There is a school of Jewish thought that frowns upon such attachment to physicality. Yet are we not also told that this world is for enjoyment? I heard in a shiur that simchas yom tov for men is in the food; for women, it is in clothing and bling. Good thing too, since I'm not partial to red meat. 

Currently, "minimalism" is in; sleek, functional, modern houses full of sharp corners and cold floors, not a cuddly spot to be found. There's that tidying-up book from Korea that went platinum. People are eager to toss out the unnecessary. 

Yet I am not the only one to find such an outlook unappealing ("The Oppressive Gospel of Minimalism" by Kyle Chayka). 

Part pop philosophy and part aesthetic, minimalism presents a cure-all for a certain sense of capitalist overindulgence. Maybe we have a hangover from pre-recession excess — McMansions, S.U.V.s, neon cocktails, fusion cuisine — and minimalism is the salutary tonic. Or perhaps it’s a method of coping with recession-induced austerity, a collective spiritual and cultural cleanse because we’ve been forced to consume less anyway. But as an outgrowth of a peculiarly American (that is to say, paradoxical and self-defeating) brand of Puritanical asceticism, this new minimalist lifestyle always seems to end in enabling new modes of consumption, a veritable excess of less. It’s not really minimal at all.

Have you noticed that minimalism allows only comes in white and gray? Why can't being minimalist be cerulean blue? Does minimalism mean that it can't be attractive at all?

Today’s minimalism, by contrast, is visually oppressive; it comes with an inherent pressure to conform to its precepts. Whiteness, in a literal sense, is good. Mess, heterogeneity, is bad — the opposite impulse of artistic minimalism. It is anxiety-inducing in a manner indistinguishable from other forms of consumerism, not revolutionary at all. Do I own the right things? Have I jettisoned enough of the wrong ones?

That's why I'm lame at cleaning out drawers or closets; there could possibly be a use for this item in the near future. It always seems that as soon as I donate something I come up for a use for it next week. 

For me, clutter can be delicious. Providing it passes the Hungarian "pretty" test.  

The Decorators of the Soul

To get myself in the proper yuntiff state of mind, I've been hearkening to various shiurim; one, by Rabbi Stauber, was addressing the difficulties some have with the concept of "hiddur mitzvah."

I was puzzled. Why should anyone feel pompous by practicing hiddur mitzvah? Then I realized: I'm Hungarian. Our whole lives are hiddur.

As my social studies teacher in 6th grade (a frum woman of Polish heritage) taught my class, an example of a stereotype is, for instance, that Hungarians have chandeliers in their bathrooms.

Darn tootin'. We matter-of-factly beautify the mundane. How much more so the sacred? 

I was once listening to an Esther Wein shiur, and she brings an Arizal: Hashem created the whole world, and within every culture and nation there is an aspect that Jews can learn to better serve Hashem. 

As the granddaughter of Rabbi Schwab, she mentioned the German meticulousness, which can be applied in how mitzvos are kept—in careful detail. 

Well, Hungarians decorate. 

Setting the table for Shabbos, for instance. My father's cousin came for a visit, and he and Ma had a passionate discussion on the art of tablecloths. (His wife, while a fellow Magyar, was not concerned with such matters.) He eagerly soaked up Ma's prowess of ideal weight and measurements. 

While I do share a house with the best cook I have ever come across (I have had much exposure to other chefs, and she has yet to be outclassed), the success of a Shabbos meal, is, oddly, less in the food, more in the presentation.

As Ma decrees, three factors: 

1)   Beautiful dishes.

2)  Beautiful flowers. 

 

3)  Gracious hostess. 

Couldn't resist.

There's a reason why I'm currently sitting on a trousseaux of Lenox, snatched up piece by discounted piece in Homegoods. Dishes are a long-term investment, and if one buys a reliable brand that doesn't chip they will be around—looking pretty—for years to come. (Cutting back on a few food items from takeout or the deli section will cover the cost quite quickly.)

As for flowers, they don't have to be expensive to be lovely. Carnations, for instance, aren't pricey and can last as long as two weeks. But then, it is also imperative to own a lovely glass vase to put them into.

 

Ta's esrog this year? The fairest of them all.    

Shabbos Lamps: Best Thing Since Sliced Bread

I need to read before I go to sleep. By "need," I mean I won't be able to doze off unless my eyes have scanned words of some sort. Shabbosim, of course, would make that a tad tricky, and usually I would lie on the floor in front of the bathroom door with a pillow. 

Then these blissfully divine Kosher Lamps were available. Goodness me, my life was changed forever, now that I can finally read in the comfort of my own bed on a Friday night. O joy!

But then, for the weekday, I found myself in no hurry to put back my regular lamp that has been with me since I was six. 

I had heard that studies show that artificial light decreases the melatonin hormone, which is fundamental for sleep. My usual lamp would fill the whole room with light; with the Shabbos lamp I can adjust it to shine only a crack of light directly on my book. I think it has helped with my sleep. 

I have become so attached that when I went to my brother for Succos, I took along the little fellow. Except Owen already had one ready and waiting.

Cleaning Workout

Like any other human being, I am not crazy about housework. How can one zealously vacuum with the knowledge that one will have to do it again? 

But I am not so quick to hire outside help. In the end, only I will be gentle with my bone china, tenderly polishing the silver, caressingly ironing the linen. I have heard one too many horror stories of cleaning women murdering beloved possessions. 

It is also a bonus in that doing housework increases longevity (think of the many years of Pesach cleaning ahead!). British domestic servants have, it seems, more zest and verve in their later years. Penelope Green used this premise by pairing a fitness instructor with a butler to get the best workout possible while dusting and wiping.

The article gets quite fun as both cleaning and exercise tips are shared. For instance, the butler in question avoids bleach (he says it destroys clothes) and ammonia. He says leave cobwebs by the main entranceway to nab mosquitoes. He says cleaning is mostly about touch, not chemical power. 

Although the fitness instructor said something about lunges which I am choosing to ignore.