If you're just joining us, here are the links to the first four parts:
“On A Roll”
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| Hmm, my bag of discards....it sort of looks like a human heart. |
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It only took one morning’s work before I started to taste
victory. I got into a rhythm once I had
done all the setup you saw in Part 4.
This surprised me because I thought I’d be distracted and
overwhelmed. But my husband said I had
‘that look’ in my eyes, and he knew enough to avoid being a boulder in my
steaming river of progress. A shower or
a quick snack or a killer song on the iPod was all I needed to recharge and keep
climbing out of the valley. My husband
was the perfect team mate as he’d do the detailed things (sorting, loading the
car, looking up stuff on eBay, etc.)
I looked at each thing, and asked it those four questions.
I tried to picture it in my future. If
not, I sincerely thanked it for its past.
Those items went to the pile of Goodwill
bags in my garage. Some things were harder
to send off, (things that had memories attached) and I found it easier if I
took an extra moment to say goodbye to what it meant to me.
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| Need I say more? Martha Slept Here. |
I knew I was digging deep when I delved into some treasured
stuff from my kids. And then the sacred
pile of Martha Stewart magazines, 1997-2006.
Nicely organized, in matching black magazine holders, orderly on the
shelves. This was my prized cache of the
encyclopedias of home keeping, symbolizing a goal that I’ve never
achieved. But I managed to cull 96 copies
down to a precious 30. Why did I keep ANY?
Because a pumpkin hasn’t changed much in 15 years, and the stuff you do
to it is pretty much the same. Plus, I
have a dream that at least once, I can have a kick-ass holiday.
As for memorabilia from the kids, it seemed silly to keep
things packed away, never to be seen again.
I found a way to bring some out during holidays (I have packed them with the holiday decorations,) and now have one shelf of
‘crap art’ that I just display in all its preciousness. It was painful to toss many pieces of art, but
for every ten items, I kept the best three. I’d ‘kiss’ things
as I tossed, saying, “Thanks, but you’re now getting in the way of my time with
my kids.”
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| See the 'art shelf' at the bottom? It completely took away my stress to have things on display instead of in boxes under the house. |
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“Closet Day!” Going
through clothes was easy. I did
my hair and makeup (it had been a few weeks as you can imagine, and I needed to see Lady Sheri again.) I had a mirror ready too, with bad lighting just like Victoria's Secret.
If a blouse was borderline, I tried it on with pants, shoes and a
necklace as if I really was going out.
If I couldn’t make it work, it was gone. Many of my shirts had
mysterious little holes near the pant zipper.
I had been good at tucking them in, but now, I was tossing anything with
holes. I deserve clothes that don’t have
holes.
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| Lonely plastic hangers. Emptied of their deadbeat clothes that I should have tossed sooner. |
I found something interesting. I had every color, mood and weather covered
with my clothes and jewelry. It had
taken years to achieve this. And then, much like the life cycle of an
appliance, the first ones I bought were looking worn and tarnished. I thought I was following the rules by taking
care of my things so they’d last. Well,
it only extends their life to the point where they look really haggard. So, I guess I shouldn’t be trying to get a
decade out of clothes…maybe just 5 years or less. The only things worth
longevity, are marriage and friendship and relationships with my kids.
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| These clothes are leaving the house in the bags they came
in. |
My closet feels so good and I can hear it breathe, but not in a creepy way. If you had told me you had
shopped for me and bought four huge bags of clothes to put back in my closet,
I’d throw up. I’d panic, not knowing how to squeeze them in there. And yet somehow, that much WAS there just
twelve hours earlier.
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| Listen...you really can hear it breathe. |
My laundry room deserves to be a part of the house and not treated
like the stray cat. It’s where we care
for our clothes, and honor the time spent earning money for them, shopping for
them and the work we do IN them. Our
time washing them should be done in a noble room for this worthy task. It doesn’t have to be a pretty place: just a little cave that is like a work cubicle--functional, time-saving and one that doesn’t
suck us dry or make us hate being in there.
Mine is in the garage with unfinished drywall and spiderwebs way up
high, but at least the floor is clean and things are in straight lines, which
appeals to my German-ness.
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| It's not much, but it's MY scullery. |
My husband looked at our house after 15 solid days of this.
It looked the worst it ever has, with its dirt and piles and
Progress. I was starting to look pretty used up
too. Some days, I can’t even remember if
I showered.
He said, “If you had told me this is what I’d be doing for most
of my summer, I would have enjoyed the first part of it a lot more.”
Well said.
The house became even dirtier. We had to get used to it and it sucked. Company came over often. First time visitors somehow picked this month
to get to know us. I couldn’t even count
the number of times I recited my own quote: “Hi…nice to meet you. Pardon the mess. We’re decluttering.” We grew to accept ‘camping dirt status’ in our
house. Every few days, I’d straighten
the piles and vacuum around them because they were here to stay for a few weeks. I had to lower my standards and treat the mounds
like temporary guests. You know, if they’re going to visit for a
spell, might as well make it look real purty because company will keep showing
up. Cue the banjos.
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| Filling up the van to take to the Goodwill. |
I can’t believe it, but here are 55 bags and boxes in that van. Most of it was really good stuff that would
have made a killer garage sale. I looked at our Great Room and started to see
order. There was a bit more space, and things
were now comfortably nested. If you had
bought 55 bags of things from Target and said, “Here! Make this all fit in this room again!” it
would be impossible, and yet, 55 bags of stuff came out of it.
I went through my historical clippings, which my husband
calls my Tragedy Shelf. It has books,
newspapers and magazines about Princess Diana’s accident, The Titanic, Sept. 11th
and JFK Jr.’s life and untimely death. Without
stopping to ask the appropriate question: do we need to explore why I even have this stuff? I compromised by keeping only the things that
measured TEN on the Poignancy Scale.
We took over 200 books to the library. I caught a glance at one bag of my books and
saw it full of these hefty titles: Time Management;
How To Declutter; Making Time For Important Things; Simplify Your Life. Oh, the sour irony as I tossed them on the bulging
donation cart. It dragged and sparked as
we pushed it up the ramp.
I have looked at every bead, pencil, pair of dice, playing
card, towel, soap, polish, nail, button, etc. in our home. Did I stop there? No. I
did blankets, books, buttons, crayons, leaves, pencils and movies. I relooked at everything down to the studs. I
went through more than one hundred areas (drawers, cupboards, shelves,
baskets). If you had told me this at the
beginning, that I would have over one
hundred areas to look at, I would have set fire to my house. Ignorance is bliss when you start this
process.
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| I'm salivating. |
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| A jar of buttons. Every house needs one because they're so cool. |
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I am taking steps to make sure that even things in the dark
of my closets and cupboards are as organized as my living spaces. These behind-the-scenes storage areas deserve order and
my goal is to be able to put my hands on anything I need at any time.
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| Yes, our tiny linen closet. It has continued to stay this way for several weeks, which tells me we must have witches. I wanted to paint 'To Elevator' over the closed door, just to freak people out. |
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| My tea drawer. The straight lines and order of a storage space make my anxiety go away as I reach for the Thunderbolt Turbo-Roast coffee. Plus, if I can find the caffeine quickly in the morning, everyone wins. |
On a softer note, as I zoomed through all these areas, one
of them brought me to my knees in its horrible beauty. I found a drawer containing sympathy cards from
friends who sent words after my first miscarriage a decade ago. One friend, who so wanted children of her own, found the
most perfect thing to say:
"I feel so very much for you and the potential of that being
who was blessed to be a part of you…even if it was only for a brief
journey. I will certainly vouch for
that----even a brief encounter with you and your family can fill a soul up for
eternity."
After reading that one (which I am keeping), I was unable to
continue on and so it was a good moment to call it a night.
