I recounted the boxes. There are now only 2 boxes at my friends' house. I got through two boxes and whittled them down to just one of stuff that is to be kept, but needs to be organized.
Out in the garage there are 5 tubs of which the contents are known. One needs purging, two need lengthy and deep purging. They're full of memory-stuff that I've already deemed keep-worthy, but could probably go through and chuck more.
(Some shame to make public: One tub is full of shoe-boxes, carefully covered with contact paper, holding all the mail that I received during college, high school, and a few years after college. Christmas cards from the people I sat next to in homeroom. I haven't yet been able to bear opening that one. I'm sure it will put me right into the fetal position. )
12 more boxes, 3 of which the contents are known, the rest need purging.
Lots of just shuffling around so that two half-boxes of books go together to make one, two half-boxes of junk go together to make one, but there have been a number of trips to the good will, recycling, and the library, with more to come.
The way I counted these up, I have no idea what the actual total is, but it's definitely less than it was before. Additionally, I mis-counted the office-boxes, so there are 23, not 24. And there's a shredding extravaganza going on. I'm not entirely sure that the motor on my shredder isn't going to give out.
I've already done that to one shredder in my life. This one was supposed to be industrial strength. Burning out the motor of an industrial strength shredder should be an indicator of the mountain of crap that we are dealing with here. If I disappear for any length of time, check to make sure the boxes didn't fall on top of me....
Multnomah Falls
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Anne of Green Gables and the Curse of the Best Compliment Ever
It went something like this:
"Gilbert said you were the smartest girl in the class."
"I might have known he meant to insult me."
No...Prissy Andrews said that Charlie Sloan heard Gilbert say that being smart is definitely better than being pretty."
I'm one of those people who never finishes the book version of the movies I love. (Yes...once again, everything that's wrong with America.) So, this is the watered down version of the "Anne of Green Gables" conversation between Anne Shirley and Diana Barry, her bosom friend about Gilbert Blythe, the dreamy love interest.
It is the same conversation that came to mind when my husband gave me perhaps the best compliment of my life. It went as follows:
"You're more organized lately than you've ever been."
My husband. The king of all organization. The guy who won "most organized" in his senior class superlatives. I've said for a while that the two best compliments a person could give me are that I'm funny and that I'm organized. If Chad had followed that statement up with something like, "and organizing has made you totally hilarious!" well, I would have died right there. Happily.
So I've been pondering this compliment, because I'm wondering if, like Anne suspected Gilbert of meaning to insult her...Chad actually meant to drive me further in my efforts. Because now when things are laying out, I want to live up to this compliment. So I want to clean more. Do you hear that? I want to clean more. Weird. I mean.... weird. I don't actually think he meant anything mean at all....I just think that sometimes when someone gives you a compliment that makes you feel really great, then sometimes the pressure is on to make sure you live up to those words again.
Similarly, when I'm around people who have told me that they think I'm funny, I find myself trying to be funnier. Which is why I've started wearing purple hats with plaid pants. Just kidding! (See? Funny!)
"Gilbert said you were the smartest girl in the class."
"I might have known he meant to insult me."
No...Prissy Andrews said that Charlie Sloan heard Gilbert say that being smart is definitely better than being pretty."
I'm one of those people who never finishes the book version of the movies I love. (Yes...once again, everything that's wrong with America.) So, this is the watered down version of the "Anne of Green Gables" conversation between Anne Shirley and Diana Barry, her bosom friend about Gilbert Blythe, the dreamy love interest.
It is the same conversation that came to mind when my husband gave me perhaps the best compliment of my life. It went as follows:
"You're more organized lately than you've ever been."
My husband. The king of all organization. The guy who won "most organized" in his senior class superlatives. I've said for a while that the two best compliments a person could give me are that I'm funny and that I'm organized. If Chad had followed that statement up with something like, "and organizing has made you totally hilarious!" well, I would have died right there. Happily.
So I've been pondering this compliment, because I'm wondering if, like Anne suspected Gilbert of meaning to insult her...Chad actually meant to drive me further in my efforts. Because now when things are laying out, I want to live up to this compliment. So I want to clean more. Do you hear that? I want to clean more. Weird. I mean.... weird. I don't actually think he meant anything mean at all....I just think that sometimes when someone gives you a compliment that makes you feel really great, then sometimes the pressure is on to make sure you live up to those words again.
Similarly, when I'm around people who have told me that they think I'm funny, I find myself trying to be funnier. Which is why I've started wearing purple hats with plaid pants. Just kidding! (See? Funny!)
Friday, May 27, 2011
Saving a Turtle
I did an enormous amount of driving today. Lots of little trips to and fro. Errand-running. On one of those trips, down a smaller highway, I saw what looked like an upside-down bowl in the middle of the road. As I slowed down and straddled it with my tires, I realized I had just passed over a small turtle. My Sweet Kiddo was asleep in the back seat of the car, so I turned the car around, wondering if anyone else was going to do anything about this. (Yes...that was the thought. It wasn't my best moment.) There was a turtle in the middle of the road, most definitely in harm's way.
I drove past it several times. Back and forth I went, not knowing exactly what to do. I realize--this seems silly. Most normal people would have stopped, gone over, picked the thing up and put it by the side of the road where there was lots of tall grass leading to an even bigger field. BUT...I am not an animal person. I mean...really not an animal person. I like dogs, for the most part, but if they jump on me, I start to feel less enthusiastic. And they never, ever stop sniffing or licking. I mostly dislike cats. I intensely dislike any animal that doesn't have fur and have been known to run away when faced with them. As an adult. So...the helpless turtle in the middle of the road was a little more daunting to me than it would be to most people.
So, I finally stopped driving around it, pulled over, got out of the car and approached it. Talking to it like I would talk to a small child. "Hey there...are you going to pull your head in if I touch your shell, buddy?" [Light tap on the shell with one finger to test the waters] "Can I help you little guy?" [A few more fingers on the shell.] "Okay...I'm going to try to pick you up now." [I hear a car approaching. I stop, stand up, and point to the turtle, as if to show the approaching driver that I'm not just some wacko in the middle of the road. Car continues on its way, driver unaffected by obvious nature moment.]
"Okay, buddy...here goes...I'm going to bring you over here and put you in the grass so you're safe, I'm not being mean to you." And I did it. I picked it up and moved it, potentially saving it's little life.
I'm going to repeat: I'm not an animal person, so this was a moment of immense personal growth for me, and I pondered it afterward. What made me do it? The desire to teach my daughter how to treat living creatures? Eh....she was asleep. I think the lesson was lost on her. A newfound desire to create peace in the world because of all that great praying I've been doing? Eh....I have been praying, but not for the ability to handle turtles. A longing to be more friendly toward all living things because my vegetarian friends are rubbing off on me? Doubtful. I still love me some bacon.
I think today there was simply a tiny bit more courage inside of me than there has been before. Maybe it's because I'm a parent, but it might also be because I've had the courage to say good-bye to some junk lately. Not just physical junk, but the work of getting rid of some spiritual junk too. Maybe it's freeing up my spirit for some other better things to make a home. Maybe letting go of some stuff is giving me the juevos to free up some turtles in the world. Who knows?
More errand-driving found me listening to the Oprah station on XM radio. I heard Julie Morgenstern talking about organizing. She said two of the most unbelievably profound things. First, she said "Organization is not a talent, it's a skill." WHAT? Amazing. You mean it's not something you're necessarily born with? It's something you have to learn over time? Brilliant. I love it. Needlepoint that for me on a pillow. No wait, don't....I don't have anyplace to put that stinking pillow.
Next she said, "Organization is not the destination. Organization is a gateway to a higher goal."
Again: WHAT?! Brilliant! Julie Morgenstern, come here and let me kiss you! I DO have a higher goal: I want to live a peaceful life. I want my daughter and my husband to feel a sense of peace in this home. I want this home to be a welcoming haven. Maybe even for a turtle...who knows?
So, saving a turtle was a big deal. Slow and steady wins the race.
I drove past it several times. Back and forth I went, not knowing exactly what to do. I realize--this seems silly. Most normal people would have stopped, gone over, picked the thing up and put it by the side of the road where there was lots of tall grass leading to an even bigger field. BUT...I am not an animal person. I mean...really not an animal person. I like dogs, for the most part, but if they jump on me, I start to feel less enthusiastic. And they never, ever stop sniffing or licking. I mostly dislike cats. I intensely dislike any animal that doesn't have fur and have been known to run away when faced with them. As an adult. So...the helpless turtle in the middle of the road was a little more daunting to me than it would be to most people.
So, I finally stopped driving around it, pulled over, got out of the car and approached it. Talking to it like I would talk to a small child. "Hey there...are you going to pull your head in if I touch your shell, buddy?" [Light tap on the shell with one finger to test the waters] "Can I help you little guy?" [A few more fingers on the shell.] "Okay...I'm going to try to pick you up now." [I hear a car approaching. I stop, stand up, and point to the turtle, as if to show the approaching driver that I'm not just some wacko in the middle of the road. Car continues on its way, driver unaffected by obvious nature moment.]
"Okay, buddy...here goes...I'm going to bring you over here and put you in the grass so you're safe, I'm not being mean to you." And I did it. I picked it up and moved it, potentially saving it's little life.
I'm going to repeat: I'm not an animal person, so this was a moment of immense personal growth for me, and I pondered it afterward. What made me do it? The desire to teach my daughter how to treat living creatures? Eh....she was asleep. I think the lesson was lost on her. A newfound desire to create peace in the world because of all that great praying I've been doing? Eh....I have been praying, but not for the ability to handle turtles. A longing to be more friendly toward all living things because my vegetarian friends are rubbing off on me? Doubtful. I still love me some bacon.
I think today there was simply a tiny bit more courage inside of me than there has been before. Maybe it's because I'm a parent, but it might also be because I've had the courage to say good-bye to some junk lately. Not just physical junk, but the work of getting rid of some spiritual junk too. Maybe it's freeing up my spirit for some other better things to make a home. Maybe letting go of some stuff is giving me the juevos to free up some turtles in the world. Who knows?
More errand-driving found me listening to the Oprah station on XM radio. I heard Julie Morgenstern talking about organizing. She said two of the most unbelievably profound things. First, she said "Organization is not a talent, it's a skill." WHAT? Amazing. You mean it's not something you're necessarily born with? It's something you have to learn over time? Brilliant. I love it. Needlepoint that for me on a pillow. No wait, don't....I don't have anyplace to put that stinking pillow.
Next she said, "Organization is not the destination. Organization is a gateway to a higher goal."
Again: WHAT?! Brilliant! Julie Morgenstern, come here and let me kiss you! I DO have a higher goal: I want to live a peaceful life. I want my daughter and my husband to feel a sense of peace in this home. I want this home to be a welcoming haven. Maybe even for a turtle...who knows?
So, saving a turtle was a big deal. Slow and steady wins the race.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Anger and Good Will
A grand and glorious day of getting rid of stuff today. First, a trip to the good will, delivering two bags and a box. More stuff OUT of the house. Next, a stop at UPS, who will take styrofoam peanuts and styrofoam packing material, for all of us enthusiastic greenies. Finally, a stop at the library, to drop a bunch of books with post-its marked "donation" into the drop box while the kiddo sleeps in the back seat. Sweet daughter got an outing, Momma got rid of lots of junk that's been hanging around the house.
The thing that has piqued my interest lately is the feelings that happen when I work on decluttering and when I finally free myself of the stuff.
For as long as I can remember, I've had to be really truly angry to get any honest-to-goodness cleaning done. In fact, if I start to clean and I'm not angry, I'll likely get angry by the time I'm done. This is really not an ideal frame of mind for a year-long project. So why? Why do I have to get angry to get rid of anything, and why in turn does even the slightest act of dusting turn me into the crankiest kind of cranky-pants?
I'm not sure how to answer this question. I won't lie: anger is productive when it comes to cleaning. If I'm really good and pissed about something, my sentimentality is likely to lie dormant, making it a fantastic time to pitch things. But where's that anger when I need to go through the mail and not save the latest from the Arbor Day Foundation? I always happily put that newsletter into a neat stack on the desk, only to be piled onto another neat stack, only to never be looked at again until it gets put in the "general office recycling" pile about 6 months to a year later... when I'm mad about something else and don't want to care about those ding-dang trees. And what's that anger doing to my soul in the long-term? Would it be possible for me to experience joy while also being an organized person?
On the opposite end of the pendulum swing is the trip to the Good Will with the elated feeling that I will never again have to look at those tchatchkis. That book I never read that was making me feel guilty. Those Christmas tree ornaments that I never really liked that much. Those moments feel good. Great. Fantabulous. So, what's in the middle between the angry cleaning and the elated trip to the good will? I'm not sure yet. But probably more cobwebs.
Suze Orman talks about trying to figure out your formative experiences with money to figure out how you deal with money as an adult. She asks "what is your first memory of money?" and the response is really telling. It makes me wonder what my first experience was with cleaning.
Mostly I remember cleaning for company when I was a kid. I was often asked to dust the day before or the day of the arrival of my dad's family for a family birthday party or other holiday. (This was intentional on the part of my mother...as a child, she was rarely entrusted with more than one task and wanted to make sure her children felt trusted with responsibilities around the house.) I often wondered why we only dusted for them, and why we couldn't just let them see the way we normally lived. Were they judging us based on our dust? Maybe, maybe not....but the message was never that we should keep things clean for ourselves, because that will make it feel good to live here. It was always "clean up as an obligation....you want people to think you're clean."
This is in no way blaming anybody....least of all my parents, who are responsible for lots of good things in my life. Instead, it begs the question, how can I improve my life today? How can I learn from those original perceptions and build on them? How can I live more honestly--not putting on the mask of being clean and organized just for show, but actually living it, fully and abundantly?
Does this sound weird? Is it going too deep for the sake of decluttering? I don't know, but it's where I am. And so I end another day, praying for peace, and for strength, insight, and wisdom to create serenity in my life.
The thing that has piqued my interest lately is the feelings that happen when I work on decluttering and when I finally free myself of the stuff.
For as long as I can remember, I've had to be really truly angry to get any honest-to-goodness cleaning done. In fact, if I start to clean and I'm not angry, I'll likely get angry by the time I'm done. This is really not an ideal frame of mind for a year-long project. So why? Why do I have to get angry to get rid of anything, and why in turn does even the slightest act of dusting turn me into the crankiest kind of cranky-pants?
I'm not sure how to answer this question. I won't lie: anger is productive when it comes to cleaning. If I'm really good and pissed about something, my sentimentality is likely to lie dormant, making it a fantastic time to pitch things. But where's that anger when I need to go through the mail and not save the latest from the Arbor Day Foundation? I always happily put that newsletter into a neat stack on the desk, only to be piled onto another neat stack, only to never be looked at again until it gets put in the "general office recycling" pile about 6 months to a year later... when I'm mad about something else and don't want to care about those ding-dang trees. And what's that anger doing to my soul in the long-term? Would it be possible for me to experience joy while also being an organized person?
On the opposite end of the pendulum swing is the trip to the Good Will with the elated feeling that I will never again have to look at those tchatchkis. That book I never read that was making me feel guilty. Those Christmas tree ornaments that I never really liked that much. Those moments feel good. Great. Fantabulous. So, what's in the middle between the angry cleaning and the elated trip to the good will? I'm not sure yet. But probably more cobwebs.
Suze Orman talks about trying to figure out your formative experiences with money to figure out how you deal with money as an adult. She asks "what is your first memory of money?" and the response is really telling. It makes me wonder what my first experience was with cleaning.
Mostly I remember cleaning for company when I was a kid. I was often asked to dust the day before or the day of the arrival of my dad's family for a family birthday party or other holiday. (This was intentional on the part of my mother...as a child, she was rarely entrusted with more than one task and wanted to make sure her children felt trusted with responsibilities around the house.) I often wondered why we only dusted for them, and why we couldn't just let them see the way we normally lived. Were they judging us based on our dust? Maybe, maybe not....but the message was never that we should keep things clean for ourselves, because that will make it feel good to live here. It was always "clean up as an obligation....you want people to think you're clean."
This is in no way blaming anybody....least of all my parents, who are responsible for lots of good things in my life. Instead, it begs the question, how can I improve my life today? How can I learn from those original perceptions and build on them? How can I live more honestly--not putting on the mask of being clean and organized just for show, but actually living it, fully and abundantly?
Does this sound weird? Is it going too deep for the sake of decluttering? I don't know, but it's where I am. And so I end another day, praying for peace, and for strength, insight, and wisdom to create serenity in my life.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Obligations and Medusa
So, I had an hour in the garage today. At the end of the hour, there were two empty boxes being taken to recycling and a stack of books to be taken to the library for donation. All-in-all, the most successful day since I began this process.
BUT
The amount of stuff that I found that I have absolutely no idea what to do with was unbelievable. A nicely organized tub of high school “memories.” Ugh.
A tub of CASSETTE tapes. What is this, 1983? But not just cassettes of music I liked back in the day. Cassettes of people I know and the bands they were in at the time. Not exactly available on iTunes.
Books, books, and more books.
And finally….the tub of collectibles. COLLECTIBLES. Unlike the other treasure chests, I knew exactly what was in this tub. Or so I thought. I knew there were a few figurines. Royal Doulton figurines, to be specific. I knew there were some other things that I had asked for from my parents’ house. But then I started unwrapping the newspaper. Some wonderfully positive finds: a china tea party set, just the perfect size for my little girl, a book that was owned by my Grandpa (containing his penmanship), a picture of my Dad as a baby.
But then more and more things that just made me groan. Did I really ask for this bowl? Why do I have this Norwegian wooden horse? (Sing along everybody….”Isn’t it good Norwegian wood?”) I also have the ashtrays that held my dad’s cigarette butts until he quit back in 1992. I don’t smoke and I have two ashtrays with Dutch windmills decorating them. We’re Dutch, so you know, we have all the windmill decorations that money can buy so we can prove this heritage to anyone who might doubt it. Norwegian, too. Thus, the painted horse. Rosemaling is the official term.
So, the spiritual questions here are, why am I saving ceramic tiles with windmills painted on them? Is this what my Dutch ancestors would have hoped for me? I don’t think so. There are seven tiles. I thought…maybe I should just save one. And I keep looking at them, trying to decide which one I like…and then I realize…I don’t really like any of them. Why do I want that kind of energy hanging around my home? My home should be filled with things that I love, that remind me of good things, that make me think of treasured times with treasured people.
The figurines are the perhaps the worst part of the whole thing. Here is their story. My Aunt loved Royal Doulton figurines. Loved them. So she asked for them every Christmas. Wanting to keep all things equal, my grandparents also got figurines for my parents each Christmas. My parents didn’t want them. Didn’t like them. Accepted them with gracious smiles, and knowing that the whole family would be to their house within just a few months, had to unpack them, put them up in a display cabinet and keep things around that they just didn’t like. So now I have the figurines that they never liked and only kept out of obligation. (Reread that last sentence and imagine me pointing to myself vigorously while saying the letter "I" and raising my voice to a shrill level.) There’s a lot of baggage that comes with these nicely dressed ladies and I don’t have room in my life for it. Because I think of the obligation that comes with the Royal Doultons every time I look at them. So…they’re on the chopping block. Along with the tiles. It’s time to open up this space for better feelings, room to breathe, and peace. Blessed, blessed peace.
One final note…after a happy trip to recycle the two boxes I consolidated/emptied today, I found two more in the basement that could definitely use some attention. Argharghargh….
Clutter, I dub thee…Medusa.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Pack Rat Day and Art Fishbottom the Cubby Creature
So on the "outrageous holidays" calendar, I find that today is Pack Rat Day. When I first saw it, I thought it was "Rat Pack Day," and was hoping for any excuse to break out some Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Sammy Davis Jr. recordings. No such luck. Pack Rat Day--a day to celebrate being a pack rat, keep things you think you might need, hang on to things that have no use whatsoever, and just be who you are for the day. Hrmph. I've been called a pack rat and it's never ever been in flattering tones. Ever. In fact, it has been downright hurtful that folks who know exactly how to organize and how to keep things neat and tidy seem to judge me for not having the same skill set as they do. So, I'm not really celebating this particular holiday. I'll celebrate Norwegian Independence Day instead. :)
But while my daughter watched Sesame Street, there was a strange new visitor to Abby's Flying Fairy School. It was Art Fishbottom, the cubby creature. He comes in and out of the cubbies where the fairies keep their scarves and hats and coats--and steals them. The fairies ultimately find his hideaway only to find that he is...a packrat. In a few magical minutes, they convince him to give back all the things he has stolen and he realizes how good it feels to give stuff away. He is a changed cubby creature.
Well, Art Fishbottom...you and I seem to be cut from the same cloth, except for the stealing part, of course. But I seem to feel the need to hang onto other people's things. If they're getting rid of something and I see some potential value...oh, I'm all over it.
So, to celebrate pack rat day, I'm putting a few books in my car to be dropped off at the library. Books that I spent good money on (at New York's famous Strand Book Store) and haven't read yet. Books that have been sitting in garage boxes for over three years now. Almost four. Books that I really do want to read. But they're gathering dust. So perhaps in the meantime, someone else can read them. And when my sweet girl starts going to school, maybe I'll take up reading for pleasure again.
In the meantime, thank you for the lesson, Abby's Flying Fairy School. You're teaching more than just sweet young babies how to twinkle-think. And while I continue the journey, I'm going to play some Sinatra, in honor of the holiday I really wanted.
But while my daughter watched Sesame Street, there was a strange new visitor to Abby's Flying Fairy School. It was Art Fishbottom, the cubby creature. He comes in and out of the cubbies where the fairies keep their scarves and hats and coats--and steals them. The fairies ultimately find his hideaway only to find that he is...a packrat. In a few magical minutes, they convince him to give back all the things he has stolen and he realizes how good it feels to give stuff away. He is a changed cubby creature.
Well, Art Fishbottom...you and I seem to be cut from the same cloth, except for the stealing part, of course. But I seem to feel the need to hang onto other people's things. If they're getting rid of something and I see some potential value...oh, I'm all over it.
So, to celebrate pack rat day, I'm putting a few books in my car to be dropped off at the library. Books that I spent good money on (at New York's famous Strand Book Store) and haven't read yet. Books that have been sitting in garage boxes for over three years now. Almost four. Books that I really do want to read. But they're gathering dust. So perhaps in the meantime, someone else can read them. And when my sweet girl starts going to school, maybe I'll take up reading for pleasure again.
In the meantime, thank you for the lesson, Abby's Flying Fairy School. You're teaching more than just sweet young babies how to twinkle-think. And while I continue the journey, I'm going to play some Sinatra, in honor of the holiday I really wanted.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Slothony
A few years ago, a friend and I went out for dinner and a movie. We went to Applebee's and had an appetizer that was truly heavenly. (It was there for a limited time only. Haven't seen it since. That is the truest form of a bummer.) We were two girls out on the town, so we just relaxed and ate and ate and ate. After we realized we were too full, we discussed the concept of gluttony and thought about how we were truly guilty of it. Two Lutheran girls trying to navigate the heavy theological waters of the Roman Catholic seven deadly sins? That's good comedy.
On to the movie where we both fell in love with the male lead and realized that lust had replaced gluttony. In fits of giggles, we declared the evening "Lustony Night." One part gluttony, one part lust, all parts hilarious, fun, and needed.
I find myself pondering the word "sloth" from time to time when I find myself sitting on the couch and watching Oprah, sometimes while eating a little Ben and Jerry's. Or a lot of Ben and Jerry's, truth be told. I wonder if I am in fact, everything that is wrong with America as I sit on the couch, eating and watching TV. Hard on myself? Yes. But worth the thought process? Absolutely. I wonder if I have just gotten too lazy to clean up a stack of paperwork and if sloth and gluttony have taken over my life. There's a reason why these problems are labeled as "deadly sins." Long ago someone realized that sitting around too much can kill you. Not that rest isn't good...and necessary...but is TV really restful? Is creeping on Facebook really helping my spirit? Probably not.
So I've named my problem "Slothony." It's a two-fold deadly sin and I'm working on conquering it, little by little by little.
There's a fantastic website out there about organizing, and getting your life pulled together. It is www.flylady.com. One of the best things I've ever read is on that website and here it comes: you can do anything for 15 minutes. That applies to everything in life. I can work on cleaning up my kitchen for 15 minutes. I can do some situps for 15 minutes or walk in place, or whatever...just to fight off slothony.
So here's to conquering slothony 15 minutes at a time. Here's to getting through the boxes 15 minutes at a time. It's a brilliant concept when a task seems so monumental that it makes you break out the Ben and Jerry's and curl up in the fetal position. Just 15 minutes. And slothony gets defeated for just a few minutes and peace begins to take shape. Yes, I can.
On to the movie where we both fell in love with the male lead and realized that lust had replaced gluttony. In fits of giggles, we declared the evening "Lustony Night." One part gluttony, one part lust, all parts hilarious, fun, and needed.
I find myself pondering the word "sloth" from time to time when I find myself sitting on the couch and watching Oprah, sometimes while eating a little Ben and Jerry's. Or a lot of Ben and Jerry's, truth be told. I wonder if I am in fact, everything that is wrong with America as I sit on the couch, eating and watching TV. Hard on myself? Yes. But worth the thought process? Absolutely. I wonder if I have just gotten too lazy to clean up a stack of paperwork and if sloth and gluttony have taken over my life. There's a reason why these problems are labeled as "deadly sins." Long ago someone realized that sitting around too much can kill you. Not that rest isn't good...and necessary...but is TV really restful? Is creeping on Facebook really helping my spirit? Probably not.
So I've named my problem "Slothony." It's a two-fold deadly sin and I'm working on conquering it, little by little by little.
There's a fantastic website out there about organizing, and getting your life pulled together. It is www.flylady.com. One of the best things I've ever read is on that website and here it comes: you can do anything for 15 minutes. That applies to everything in life. I can work on cleaning up my kitchen for 15 minutes. I can do some situps for 15 minutes or walk in place, or whatever...just to fight off slothony.
So here's to conquering slothony 15 minutes at a time. Here's to getting through the boxes 15 minutes at a time. It's a brilliant concept when a task seems so monumental that it makes you break out the Ben and Jerry's and curl up in the fetal position. Just 15 minutes. And slothony gets defeated for just a few minutes and peace begins to take shape. Yes, I can.
Holmes on Homes
If you watch even 15 minutes worth of any show on HGTV, you'll likely see a promo for a show called "Holmes on Homes." It's star is a big muscular blonde Canadian named Mike Holmes and he comes to the aid of people who have been totally screwed by contractors. After assessing just what went wrong with their home improvement project and just exactly how bad the situation is, he brings in a trusted team of people with whom he has worked for years and fixes it. He always talks about "making it right," and "doing it right the first time."
He is both comforting and foreboding--the sort of man you'd like to have alongside you in a dark alley and the sort of man you would not want to be up against if you were a shady character. An unethical contractor for instance. With those muscles, this guy could beat the snot out of you.
I love Mike Holmes. He is my hero. He has this kind of crazy work ethic that makes me wonder what sort of person he is. How did he come to be this sort of person? Who taught him all these great qualities? He is smart, he knows everything about the business he is in, he is dedicated, he cares about people, and he gets things done. He gets. things. done.
And he makes me wonder about myself. About my own work ethic. About my own inability to focus on any one project for an extended period of time. About the amount of unfinished craft projects that are loitering in this home of mine. He makes me want to be a better, more devoted person.
There is a quote attributed to Abraham Lincoln: "Whatever you are, be a good one." It makes me wonder if clutter isn't the problem here, but commitment. Commitment to the task at hand, to finishing the work of cleaning things up. I'm good at committing to my husband, our daughter, my friends...but when it comes to actually finishing an actual project...my follow-through could use a little work. Okay, a lot of work. Or so the 53 boxes tell me.
Company this weekend for my husband's birthday. So, boxes and tote bags go to the hiding places once again...but the summer could be an excellent jumping off place, and it is just around the corner. A good clean slate to spread things out, organize, and make things right.
I wonder if Mike Holmes does organizing. I would seriously watch that show.
He is both comforting and foreboding--the sort of man you'd like to have alongside you in a dark alley and the sort of man you would not want to be up against if you were a shady character. An unethical contractor for instance. With those muscles, this guy could beat the snot out of you.
I love Mike Holmes. He is my hero. He has this kind of crazy work ethic that makes me wonder what sort of person he is. How did he come to be this sort of person? Who taught him all these great qualities? He is smart, he knows everything about the business he is in, he is dedicated, he cares about people, and he gets things done. He gets. things. done.
And he makes me wonder about myself. About my own work ethic. About my own inability to focus on any one project for an extended period of time. About the amount of unfinished craft projects that are loitering in this home of mine. He makes me want to be a better, more devoted person.
There is a quote attributed to Abraham Lincoln: "Whatever you are, be a good one." It makes me wonder if clutter isn't the problem here, but commitment. Commitment to the task at hand, to finishing the work of cleaning things up. I'm good at committing to my husband, our daughter, my friends...but when it comes to actually finishing an actual project...my follow-through could use a little work. Okay, a lot of work. Or so the 53 boxes tell me.
Company this weekend for my husband's birthday. So, boxes and tote bags go to the hiding places once again...but the summer could be an excellent jumping off place, and it is just around the corner. A good clean slate to spread things out, organize, and make things right.
I wonder if Mike Holmes does organizing. I would seriously watch that show.
Unexpected grace, and the ensuing tears.
One of the great perks of my husband's job is that I get to eat there for free on certain occasions. So when there is a weekday brunch, it's a great opportunity for our daughter to have an outing, see her dad and of course, eat a great meal.
So, we headed out today only to find construction right at the turn we would make to get there. A nice man in a bright yellow vest asked me which way I was going and with a smile, I quickly volunteered to take the long way. I was sort of pleased with myself in that moment, because I actually knew the long way, which I wouldn't have when I first moved here. I gladly proclaimed, "I'm a stay-at-home mom--I'm flexible!" "Good for you!" was the pleasant reply, and I was off.
Once I was there, I had two desserts. TWO DESSERTS. And the sugar-coma that followed was wicked. And not the good-Boston-kind-of-wicked. It was the kind of sugar coma that makes you want to nap for the next two days. And then guilt over both sugar and sloth. Oh, the guilt. So in the middle of a really good round of self-bashing, I headed back home.
On the way back, I encountered the same nice construction guy in the same bright yellow jacket. I stopped and greeted him (a little more sleepily this time). It took him a moment, but out of nowhere he said "oh, I remember you! You're a stay-at-home mom."
"Yes," was the reply.
"I think that's great," he continued. "My wife did that when our kids were little and she never regretted it. I think there aren't enough of you anymore."
"I agree," I said, biting my tongue to stick up for my friends who must work in order to pay the bills, but enjoying the compliment at the same time.
"Really. I think it's really important that you do that."
And then the line that changed my day.
"I'm proud of you."
It was time for me to move along, so I thanked him with a smile and drove along, but as I pulled into my driveway, I fought back tears. It's a weird sentence to hear from a stranger. I've heard it from my parents on lots of occasions, from my sisters, from people who love me. And mostly on days of great import, like my graduation from college or something else big. But I got an "I'm proud of you" for staying home and changing my daughter's diapers. For dealing with her grouchiness when she is tired. For letting her double the time it would take me to load the dishwasher so she can explore its fascinating contents. On a day when I overate and had nothing good to say to myself, I got an "I'm proud of you" from someone that I'd never met before.
And somehow that gave me energy for my day. I felt a little spirit of "yes I can" when my daughter laid down for her nap and I got a few things done.
I'm not going to lie--there was something truly holy about yellow-vest-construction-guy. When I saw construction trucks, I certainly never expected someone to give me words to change my day...maybe more. But I wonder if what we forget about God's love is that God is proud of us. Not just tolerating, not just forgiving for bad stuff...but proud of our efforts, even on the days when we screw up.
"I'm proud of you." Magic. On a two-dessert-guilt-day. Grace, indeed.
So, we headed out today only to find construction right at the turn we would make to get there. A nice man in a bright yellow vest asked me which way I was going and with a smile, I quickly volunteered to take the long way. I was sort of pleased with myself in that moment, because I actually knew the long way, which I wouldn't have when I first moved here. I gladly proclaimed, "I'm a stay-at-home mom--I'm flexible!" "Good for you!" was the pleasant reply, and I was off.
Once I was there, I had two desserts. TWO DESSERTS. And the sugar-coma that followed was wicked. And not the good-Boston-kind-of-wicked. It was the kind of sugar coma that makes you want to nap for the next two days. And then guilt over both sugar and sloth. Oh, the guilt. So in the middle of a really good round of self-bashing, I headed back home.
On the way back, I encountered the same nice construction guy in the same bright yellow jacket. I stopped and greeted him (a little more sleepily this time). It took him a moment, but out of nowhere he said "oh, I remember you! You're a stay-at-home mom."
"Yes," was the reply.
"I think that's great," he continued. "My wife did that when our kids were little and she never regretted it. I think there aren't enough of you anymore."
"I agree," I said, biting my tongue to stick up for my friends who must work in order to pay the bills, but enjoying the compliment at the same time.
"Really. I think it's really important that you do that."
And then the line that changed my day.
"I'm proud of you."
It was time for me to move along, so I thanked him with a smile and drove along, but as I pulled into my driveway, I fought back tears. It's a weird sentence to hear from a stranger. I've heard it from my parents on lots of occasions, from my sisters, from people who love me. And mostly on days of great import, like my graduation from college or something else big. But I got an "I'm proud of you" for staying home and changing my daughter's diapers. For dealing with her grouchiness when she is tired. For letting her double the time it would take me to load the dishwasher so she can explore its fascinating contents. On a day when I overate and had nothing good to say to myself, I got an "I'm proud of you" from someone that I'd never met before.
And somehow that gave me energy for my day. I felt a little spirit of "yes I can" when my daughter laid down for her nap and I got a few things done.
I'm not going to lie--there was something truly holy about yellow-vest-construction-guy. When I saw construction trucks, I certainly never expected someone to give me words to change my day...maybe more. But I wonder if what we forget about God's love is that God is proud of us. Not just tolerating, not just forgiving for bad stuff...but proud of our efforts, even on the days when we screw up.
"I'm proud of you." Magic. On a two-dessert-guilt-day. Grace, indeed.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Prayer, and clarity of thought
I heard somewhere that if you take just a few minutes a day to be silent, that you will almost immediately feel a difference. The recommendation was 15 minutes, but if only 1 minute was available, it would do the trick.
Let me say first that I've always believed in prayer and its ability to transform, but I've never been a particularly disciplined or skilled practitioner.
So, I tried it.
Just before bed, I gave myself about five minutes to simply sit in silence. Baby soundly sleeping. Husband zonked out. Just me. Breathing. Eyes closed. A little "mindfulness bell" app on my phone to help me re-focus each minute when my thoughts drift. A quiet friendly ding to remind me why I'm here.
And my thoughts feel a little more fresh today. There's just a little more clarity. In addition to a little bit of prayer, I had just a little less sugar than normal yesterday....my other bad habit. And today I'm a little more patient, a little more productive, and a little more friendly.
My new daily habit is to ask God to help me with this project and to give me peace. I never thought to ask God before. I mean...God's not exactly on TV with His own show about organizing. But this whole thing is spiritual. Not just the process of decluttering....but my whole life. And I've been forgetting to take care of my spirit. For years. Looks like I have some cobwebs to clear.
Let me say first that I've always believed in prayer and its ability to transform, but I've never been a particularly disciplined or skilled practitioner.
So, I tried it.
Just before bed, I gave myself about five minutes to simply sit in silence. Baby soundly sleeping. Husband zonked out. Just me. Breathing. Eyes closed. A little "mindfulness bell" app on my phone to help me re-focus each minute when my thoughts drift. A quiet friendly ding to remind me why I'm here.
And my thoughts feel a little more fresh today. There's just a little more clarity. In addition to a little bit of prayer, I had just a little less sugar than normal yesterday....my other bad habit. And today I'm a little more patient, a little more productive, and a little more friendly.
My new daily habit is to ask God to help me with this project and to give me peace. I never thought to ask God before. I mean...God's not exactly on TV with His own show about organizing. But this whole thing is spiritual. Not just the process of decluttering....but my whole life. And I've been forgetting to take care of my spirit. For years. Looks like I have some cobwebs to clear.
Old habits, and their hard, hard death
So...the age old dilemma. Company is coming and I'm in the middle of some organizing in an obvious space. There's not enough time to actually finish the project before the company comes. So, I do what I've done since I can remember.
As a child, if we were having company and I was told to clean my room, it all just got stuffed in the closet.
I remember seeing a cartoon in the Sunday comics with a teenager who was asked to clean his room. In the final frame, His mom entered the room and found a 2x4 propped up against the closet door with the sides bulging. It was not so much funny as much as terribly, terribly familiar.
So...company is coming and I need it to look good, so that I'm not mocked openly. (This hasn't happened all that often, but it's bruised me when it has, so....I'm vulnerable.)
Now that I'm an adult, the process has been slightly refined. Now I stuff the stacks of paper on the desk into grocery tote bags. (So, you know....it's environmentally friendly.) Then I take the bags and put them in an unseen area of the house. The laundry room is an option, but I just got that clean. So, now the tote bags, the file boxes, and all the stacks of stuff that don't have a home are going upstairs to the craft room.
The truth is (and the reason why I'm here and writing is) that I'm running out of spaces to put these things.
And I'm unwilling to desecrate the places that have actually become clean and organized.
And the piles are mounting.
I need a solid block of time when no one will be here to just go through, purge, let it get worse before it gets better. But it seems that every time I get into that phase...the worse before the better, the darkness before the dawn...it gets interrupted by unexpected and spontaneous company.
So today I am looking for a little grace, because like everybody else, I'm stuck doing the same dumb thing over and over and over again. It makes me wonder if I should come up with my own version of the serenity prayer. Something like: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I must keep, the courage to get rid of what must go, and the wisdom to know the difference.
In the meantime, this old habit will die a slow and painful death, but it can be conquered. Yes, it can.
As a child, if we were having company and I was told to clean my room, it all just got stuffed in the closet.
I remember seeing a cartoon in the Sunday comics with a teenager who was asked to clean his room. In the final frame, His mom entered the room and found a 2x4 propped up against the closet door with the sides bulging. It was not so much funny as much as terribly, terribly familiar.
So...company is coming and I need it to look good, so that I'm not mocked openly. (This hasn't happened all that often, but it's bruised me when it has, so....I'm vulnerable.)
Now that I'm an adult, the process has been slightly refined. Now I stuff the stacks of paper on the desk into grocery tote bags. (So, you know....it's environmentally friendly.) Then I take the bags and put them in an unseen area of the house. The laundry room is an option, but I just got that clean. So, now the tote bags, the file boxes, and all the stacks of stuff that don't have a home are going upstairs to the craft room.
The truth is (and the reason why I'm here and writing is) that I'm running out of spaces to put these things.
And I'm unwilling to desecrate the places that have actually become clean and organized.
And the piles are mounting.
I need a solid block of time when no one will be here to just go through, purge, let it get worse before it gets better. But it seems that every time I get into that phase...the worse before the better, the darkness before the dawn...it gets interrupted by unexpected and spontaneous company.
So today I am looking for a little grace, because like everybody else, I'm stuck doing the same dumb thing over and over and over again. It makes me wonder if I should come up with my own version of the serenity prayer. Something like: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I must keep, the courage to get rid of what must go, and the wisdom to know the difference.
In the meantime, this old habit will die a slow and painful death, but it can be conquered. Yes, it can.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Why "Emmaus Boxes?"
It's my favorite story in the entire bible. More than Christmas. More than Easter. The story of the disciples on the road to Emmaus where they encounter the risen Christ.
Before I go on, in case anyone is reading this who doesn't know me, I'm a Christian who is not not NOT a crazy-ass fundamentalist. I'll respect your religion and eagerly learn from what you have to share with me. But, as a Christian, I like Jesus and the stories about him, so that's where I'm starting.
This story talks about how we might encounter God even though we don't realize it. It's how I think about life as most of us experience it...sometimes we don't see how God was present until after the fact. I'm eagerly seeking God in my decluttering process and hoping against hope that God will bring a miracle. Read on...
13Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, 14and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. 15While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, 16but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. 17And he said to them, “What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?” They stood still, looking sad. 18Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?” 19He asked them, “What things?” They replied, “The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, 20and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. 21But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place. 22Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, 23and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. 24Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him.” 25Then he said to them, “Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! 26Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?” 27Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures. 28As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. 29But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” So he went in to stay with them. 30When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. 31Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. 32They said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” 33That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. 34They were saying, “The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!” 35Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.
36While they were talking about this, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, “Peace be with you.” 37They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. 38He said to them, “Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? 39Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.” 40And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. 41While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, “Have you anything here to eat?” 42They gave him a piece of broiled fish, 43and he took it and ate in their presence. 44Then he said to them, “These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you—that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled.” 45Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, 46and he said to them, “Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, 47and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. 48You are witnesses of these things. 49And see, I am sending upon you what my Father promised; so stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high.”
Before I go on, in case anyone is reading this who doesn't know me, I'm a Christian who is not not NOT a crazy-ass fundamentalist. I'll respect your religion and eagerly learn from what you have to share with me. But, as a Christian, I like Jesus and the stories about him, so that's where I'm starting.
This story talks about how we might encounter God even though we don't realize it. It's how I think about life as most of us experience it...sometimes we don't see how God was present until after the fact. I'm eagerly seeking God in my decluttering process and hoping against hope that God will bring a miracle. Read on...
Luke 24:13-49
13Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, 14and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. 15While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, 16but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. 17And he said to them, “What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?” They stood still, looking sad. 18Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?” 19He asked them, “What things?” They replied, “The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, 20and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. 21But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place. 22Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, 23and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. 24Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him.” 25Then he said to them, “Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! 26Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?” 27Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures. 28As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. 29But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” So he went in to stay with them. 30When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. 31Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. 32They said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” 33That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. 34They were saying, “The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!” 35Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.
36While they were talking about this, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, “Peace be with you.” 37They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. 38He said to them, “Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? 39Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.” 40And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. 41While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, “Have you anything here to eat?” 42They gave him a piece of broiled fish, 43and he took it and ate in their presence. 44Then he said to them, “These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you—that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled.” 45Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, 46and he said to them, “Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, 47and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. 48You are witnesses of these things. 49And see, I am sending upon you what my Father promised; so stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high.”
Friday, May 6, 2011
Here goes...everything
The perfect storm:
Recently unemployed.
Stay-at-home mom, eager for a project.
Ever-increasing piles of junk in my home.
A conversation about death.
One horrifying episode of "Hoarders."
And a sermon about the Road to Emmaus teaching us about the journey that we are on with God.
The Situation:
From ages 22-35, 9 moves in 5 states.
24 mystery boxes in the garage, full of things that were hurriedly thrown into a box the day the truck was packed, and not looked at since.
24 more boxes of stuff that has previously had a home in my office. But...no job, no office. So the boxes have their home in the garage.
5 more boxes in the laundry room.
5 more at a friend's house, with high hopes that his organizational skill might rub off on me.
Grand total: 53 boxes that desperately need my attention.
And let's not forgot...a husband who is kind-hearted and organized, making me wonder just when my clutter problem might send that sweet soul of his right into a gigantic rage. He assures me it won't, but I'm riddled with anxiety.
The assignment:
One year. 53 boxes. Some only half full, so it probably averages out to about a box per week. And maybe at the end, the great American book deal because my writing is so inspirational to the millions who have decided to follow my blog. Julie and Julia, meet Sarah and Peter. Walsh, that is. The famous and fabulous professional organizer, whose books I long to read and absorb. But Peter the disciple might get thrown in now and then too.
One final thought....the boxes are just part of a larger self-improvement project. Goals galore. But more on those later....
For now, I begin this one-year journey, with hopes that on May 6, 2012, my home will be a place of peace.
Here goes nothing.
Here goes everything.
Recently unemployed.
Stay-at-home mom, eager for a project.
Ever-increasing piles of junk in my home.
A conversation about death.
One horrifying episode of "Hoarders."
And a sermon about the Road to Emmaus teaching us about the journey that we are on with God.
The Situation:
From ages 22-35, 9 moves in 5 states.
24 mystery boxes in the garage, full of things that were hurriedly thrown into a box the day the truck was packed, and not looked at since.
24 more boxes of stuff that has previously had a home in my office. But...no job, no office. So the boxes have their home in the garage.
5 more boxes in the laundry room.
5 more at a friend's house, with high hopes that his organizational skill might rub off on me.
Grand total: 53 boxes that desperately need my attention.
And let's not forgot...a husband who is kind-hearted and organized, making me wonder just when my clutter problem might send that sweet soul of his right into a gigantic rage. He assures me it won't, but I'm riddled with anxiety.
The assignment:
One year. 53 boxes. Some only half full, so it probably averages out to about a box per week. And maybe at the end, the great American book deal because my writing is so inspirational to the millions who have decided to follow my blog. Julie and Julia, meet Sarah and Peter. Walsh, that is. The famous and fabulous professional organizer, whose books I long to read and absorb. But Peter the disciple might get thrown in now and then too.
One final thought....the boxes are just part of a larger self-improvement project. Goals galore. But more on those later....
For now, I begin this one-year journey, with hopes that on May 6, 2012, my home will be a place of peace.
Here goes nothing.
Here goes everything.
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