Welcome to my February challenge, Clearing Space, a 15 minute daily practice dedicated to reclaiming my home…reclaiming my life, one small area at a time. Fifteen minutes, no more, no less. And nothing can be shuffled off to another space. It must be put away where it belongs, thrown away or recycled.
And because this is an art blog there will be an arty ‘after’ photo to inspire. ‘Before’ photos would only be too upsetting and might land me a gig on some cheesy cable reality show. And I have too much on my plate to be a TV celebrity of the hoarding kind.
Although I might be open to a guest appearance on Ellen. Might as in YES! Pick MEEEEEEE!
Note to Ellen: See below.
Today’s project: Day 3, the dresser.
It was my father’s dresser, a lovely old mahogany thing with slider trays in the top drawer and dividers in the next couple down. I was always fascinated by it as a kid, that it had all these clever ways for organizing his stuff.
Well now it’s mine. The top drawer with the sliders and dividers is a jumble, as are the other five. But this is not about the drawers, their day will come. And trust me, their contents are shocking enough to warrant their own post in this series.
This post is about the top. The part that people see when they walk into the bedroom. Not that there’s much foot traffic in our bedroom but I see it. And Mr. Spouse sees it.
Or maybe we don’t see it.
Because when I had at the pile today I discovered:
The ratty old baseball cap Mr. Spouse wears when working outside, the one he’s been looking for for quite some time. The one I snatched from the jaws of a dog in the middle of the night, tossed it on the dresser where I was reasonably sure she couldn’t retrieve it. And then I went back to bed and forgot all about it.
A lovely sweater Dear Daughter hasn’t worn in 10 years and no longer wants and “Why do you still have that thing anyway, Mama? Give it away”
The Christmas table runner I couldn’t find at Christmas. And several empty department store bags from Christmas shopping.
A brand new unopened pack of panties I vaguely remember buying. Bright cheery colors just in time for spring. Except the teal with daisies. My ass doesn’t do daisies. Seriously. Just. Doesn’t. That gem might become a paint rag right off.
Four perfectly good pens (three blue, one black), one broken pencil and two thick luscious rubber bands. Oh, and a roll of Scotch tape.
Two notebooks and a notepad, grocery list still attached.
Drugstore reader cheater glasses. Two pair mine, one Mr. Spouse. Although maybe his is actually prescription. Note to self: Be sure to show him those glasses.
A grocery checkout women’s magazine that guarantees I will lose 184 pounds by March 1. Unfortunately March 1 is coming up way too soon to fulfill that promise. And if I lost 184 pounds I would not only cease to exist, there would be nothing left of me–not one single atom–to remember me by, just a black hole of she who used to be. I think there’s some sort of quantum theory about that sort of thing but as math was never one of my strengths I just have to make one up. Which is what theoretical physicists do anyway.
The rough outline of an online class I want to teach. Mixed Media. Start saving your pennies because you know you want to take it. And by the time you’ve got the money I might have the class ready.
Customer service number for the phone company along with my not too concise notes as to why I was calling them. Something about wtf are you charging me this for!!! Except if I remember right I started off polite–I always start off polite–and they were polite and everything worked out fine. So WTF never crossed my lips.
Pajama bottoms
Five CDs.
One Kettlebell book, one QiGong book and one book about attitude and weight loss, which if I’d read that women’s magazine I wouldn’t need.
One rock. A nice rock. I’m sure it meant something to me at one time or another.
One clock radio which unfortunately has to stay. At least as long as I’m employed.
Sounds like a lot, like a humongous pile. But the thing is, it didn’t look like that much stuff. It really didn’t. I can be a neat stacker when it comes down to it.
Am I protesting too much?
Well, whatever. That was then. This is now.
The Dresser
One more exhale…. 25 to go. Ahhhhh…. Feels so good!
What do you think? Cleared any clutter lately? Would love to hear whatever’s on your mind (unless it’s politics) in the comments below.
See you tomorrow!
xoxo
Side note to Ellen: I dance and I tells jokes (as long as you don’t need both the set up and punchline). But most of all my friend Laura would be sooooo jealous if I was on your show. Laura would be an okay guest too, I guess, so you could have us both. She does chicken tricks. Call me, okay? I’ll see if I can clear my calendar.
This is day 2 of Clearing Space, a personal challenge for the month of February wherein I will release clutter from my environment, as much as I can in 15 minutes on any given day, 15 minutes being my limit when it comes to housework. Which could be why the place is a mess in the first place.
And because this is an art blog, I will take arty ‘after’ photos.
Today’s challenge: The dining room.
We have, in real estate parlance, a formal dining room. Formal as in a designated room of it’s own, not in what goes on there. Oh sure, Mr. Spouse and I dress for dinner. . . in the same clothes we wore all day. And sometimes, if it’s a weekend and we’re feeling particularly slovenly, the same clothes we wore the day before.
I guess the point I’m trying to make is it’s a formal dining room and we rarely eat there naked.
Naked dining being informal and that just wouldn’t do now, would it? Besides the obvious spilling problem, Mr. Spouse would discover the secret behind my skinny jeans. And I already know his truth. Pluh-eeze. Let’s just say we’re at the point in our relationship where clothing is preferred, not optional.
Lately the diningroom has become the UPS drop zone although FedEx has been known to encroach upon it too. It’s the place where important packages languish on the table. Languish, like the lazy bums they are. UNOPENED. And those that were opened are languishing empty, little packing peanuts and wads of paper proving great amusement for the cat. And for the little dogs who are NOT SUPPOSED to get on the table but they do.
I know they do because I am their mother and mothers know these things. And besides, I’ve seen them up there (insert your favorite expletive meaning shit here).
The table seats eight, but recent clutter creep has banished the two of us, Mr. Spouse and moi, to the far end. Dining in the kitchen nook is not an option, as least not yet, as the kitchen table is where mail, magazines and laptops dwell. Let’s not forget the laptop case that has become the favorite resting place of Kitty, she of the packing peanuts in the dining room fame.
Note to self: When Kitty dies bury her in the laptop case. She would be very happy there for all eternity and then you have the excuse to buy a new case. Red, the red one.
So being that the kitchen is farther down on the clutter clearing calendar and dinner is an every night affair (about the only affair in my life, trust me) I decided to tackle the dining room today.
Dining Room
Fifteen minutes. That’s all it took. I’m still wondering why I didn’t do this before. I mean, really, why did I wait so long?
Be back tomorrow. As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.
Disclaimer: Yeah, I KNOW this is an art blog. That means there should be pictures, right? Well, I didn’t have any appropriate photos for this post. You’ll have to use your imagination.
I’m all about self-improvement. Really. I would love to live in a clean house, wear a crisp white apron (with little lacy hearts) while baking golden cookies and downing copious amounts of good-for-me greens. Smiling the whole damn time like the Beav’s mom.
I would sincerely…no, make that dearly, like to maintain a daily yoga/qi gong/meditation practice while listening to spiritual masters and communing with the universe beyond my current level of understanding. Way beyond. Like to the point of the ever-knowing imperturbable smile even when the voices in my head are being stupiddicks unkind.
And when I get to that point, words like damn and dicks would NEVER enter into my head, much less exit out of my mouth.
In a perfect world I would write (fill in your favorite adjective here) blog posts DAILY. You would tell your friends and they would tell theirs. On and on and on until I was more famous than Oprah.
Although I would settle for being half as rich as her. Just half. Really, is that too much to ask?
Yo, Universe, I’m talkin’ to YOU.
There would be a book deal. Oh, many of them. And Oprah, when she interviews me, because she would have to interview me, wouldn’t she… Oprah would notice I’m a size 2. Just a plain 2. No numbers or letters before or after it. USA Macy’s size 2.
And Oprah would be envious and offer me half of her wealth to be her life coach. If my math is right, that would make me twice as rich as her. Of course I would give most of it away to charity. Because I only have two feet and a girl can only have so many shoes. Unless they’re red. In that case maybe I’d keep the money.
But I’d think about giving it away.
I’m baring my soul to you (and what a lovely size 2 soul it is) because I’m doing this personal branding thing. Taking a class with Michele Bergh. I’ve taken classes with Michele before. She knows her stuff so I was reasonably sure her definition of personal branding would not involve hot metal and the smell of burning flesh.
Oh noooo, it’s MUCH more painful than that. Try standing out on the freeway naked (that’s nekked in cowboy speak) waving as the trucks whizz by. Yoo-hoo, fellas, what’dya think of this? Well, that’s what I had to do today.
Or at least it felt like that. Holy crap, did it ever. Crap, another word I won’t say once I’ve evolved. Maybe. Or maybe not. Depends on how pissed off I am. Oh crap, I suppose I’ll have to ditch piss as well. This being evolved shit isn’t all it’s cut out to be.
But back to personal branding sans cowboys. The first assignment Michele had us do, the one that made me feel naked, but not in a good way naked, was to ask friends, family and coworkers for feedback about me. Like, yo, hey, would you please fill out this questionnaire, this ANONYMOUS questionnaire. Say what you think about me. Let ‘er rip. I’ll never know who said what because it’s anonymous.
And then I’ll take those answers, size ’em up against my answers…what I think people think about me (because I had to answer the damn questionnaire too). After dismissing anything I don’t like as being nothing more than passive agressive retaliation because I forgot to pay back that 20 bucks I must owe someone, well then I’m gonna take that 20, put it as a downpayment on a pizza and beer. And find me a cowboy. With chaps. And just enough of a five o’clock shadow to make me forget about the pain.
And you, my best beloved sweetums, you can cheer me up by leaving sincere, happy face comments in one of those boxes down below. I will share the pizza with you. And the beer.
But not the cowboy. WOOT! I’m keeping him for myself.
This is Jen. She’s going to show you how to use purple eye shadow so you can look like JUST. LIKE. ME. Except I have green eyes. Sometimes they’re blue. But this week one of them was black. Which means it was purple, just like Jen’s.
You don’t have to play it. Unless you want to lear how to look like Jen. And me. Just look at the picture. Yep, Umm-hmm…I’ve been walking around with one of those this past week.
You want to know how I got it? C’mon, of course you do. Say it. Just say it say it say it. Holy crap, Susan! How DID you get that black eye???
Heh…heh…well, I’m not gonna tell you. Not straight out anyway. I’m gonna make you guess. You’ll appreciate the answer much better if you have to work for it, trust me. And you’ll find it in one of the questions down below.
Was it a bar fight with a biker chick?
Maybe….
A few too many green beers on St. Patty’s and you don’t remember? Honestly don’t remember? You’re not being coy or anything?
Umm…quite possibly….
Close quarters in the Tae Bo class?
Could be….
Knocked heads with one of the ponies?
Perhaps….
Umm…you and Mr. Spouse…?
Don’t. Even. Go. There. No no nada nyet!
DaughterDear did the dishes UNASKED (Gasp!!!) and you were so taken aback you moved quickly, slipped on the wet floor (because Daughter Dear is an enthusiastic rinser) and FELL FACE FIRST into an elbow. Hers?
Umm…shrug….
There was only ONE Monkees CD left at KMart and things got, umm…a little out of hand? And it was in the Policer Blotter on Tuesday? Go ahead, look it up. I’ll wait.
Feasible….
Harriet didn’t believe you got 66 points for PHIZ without cheating in Scrabble?
66 Points? Even I wouldn’t believe that…
They’re REALLY starting to enforce that 10 items or less rule in the express line?
It’s about time….
Took ‘Head to Knee’ pose in yoga a bit too literally?
Could be….
So tell me which one you think it is in the comments below. Better yet, come up with more to add to the list. Because as the theoretical physicists would say, they ALL happened. IN A PARALLEL UNIVERSE. So really, there can be no. wrong. answer.
