My Grandma the Minimalist

„Was willst du dieses Jahr zu Weihnachten?“ / „What do you want for Christmas this year?“, I would often ask my grandma, and every time she would reply: „Ich brauch’ nichts, ich hab doch schon alles.“ / „I don’t need anything, I already have everything.“

My mother often complained that my grandmother, her mother, would shop at more than one grocery store because the butter was cheaper at the other one. „I just don’t understand, she doesn’t have to do that, your grandpa gets a nice pension.“ Instead of buying expensive butter, they would give money to us, their grandkids, which probably made them happier than Markenbutter.

My Oma died in 2015, and just now I realize that she was the perfect practical, frugal minimalist. What strikes me especially, is that she had her kitchen cabinets since 1971. They were taken down just a couple of weeks ago, but they could have been featured in an authentic movie playing during GDR times. It was definitely not pretty or valuable, but well taken care of and functional. After she died I wanted to take some of her enamel pots and pitchers she always used for baking ever since I was a kid. But they had quite some „bruises“ with the enamel layer missing, and it didn’t live up to my safety standards. IKEA glasses are my biggest weakness, but my grandma had her glasses for decades, using them for water, juice, beer, and wine. Except during family celebrations, when she brought out the nice ones.

All this despite them watching TV every night, and consuming a decent amount of TV advertisements. Her weakness might have been table clothes. She did have an unreasonable stack of them. Also lots of yarn, and of course, the obligatory grandma-knickknacks, but those were definitely in reasonable amounts, displayed properly and in order. She crocheted and knitted almost every night, but often objects for her own use or ours.

My father would complain that she just threw out „nice old things“ without asking first if we would want them. And I used to agree with him, but now, I understand she just didn’t like clutter. My mother admired the neatness inside her closets and cabinets and explained it with my grandmother’s abundance of time. But today I know that all her things had their place. She didn’t keep objects, she didn’t need or like. And I don’t remember her being sentimental about items, except maybe her one childhood doll, and some photographs. When I found some treasures in the attic, or barn, on my hunts. Oma would often exclaim: „Ach, das alte Ding! Was willst du denn damit?“ / „This old thing! What do you want with that?“ She didn’t buy furniture to store more objects. She would replace existing furniture. Her kitchen held the same amount of utensils and dishes since the 70s. She and my grandpa lived in one kitchen with a dinette, a living room, a bedroom, a bathroom, and a small pantry. German houses don’t have built-in closets.

She even discarded the very East-German mentality of saving things for good, before we all grasped the idiocrasy of it. And she practiced Swedish death cleaning without ever having been to Sweden.

Her weeks and days and years were structured by habits, which we young people often made fun of. Now, every other self-help book out there is mentioning the benefits of habits.

I don’t think she was aware of what she did, and why. But it makes so much sense to me now. She was a teenager during World War II and raised two children in East Germany. I am sure she knew how much more people, friends, family, and relationships meant than objects. If only subconsciously.

The very last time I spoke to her, she told me on the phone, that now that she is in hospice, she can finally do whatever she wants, even watch TV in bed. But strangely, she doesn’t care at all anymore. „There was a time when we couldn’t live without TV, but now it doesn’t interest me at all.“