Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri
Katy is represented by
Greg Johnson at
WordServe Literary
Read more Katy at
LateBoomer.net
Recent Posts
- Try
- Becoming Brenda Starr
- Off Beat
- Scattered
- That’s It
- So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What?
- The Spoon
- Sciatica
- Sweetheart
- A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose
- However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time
- After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices.
- As with everything in life, balance is key.
- Slow down, you move too fast…
- Yeah, I know. I have issues.
Syndicate
E me at katy @ ngenius.com
Sweep
It’s very extremely important, when tackling a project like reclaiming your own home as the Dear-Lord-Let-It-Stick-This-Time Empty Nest looms, to take things a bit at a time. At least, that’s what the experts say.
You may have guessed by now that I’m not a bit-at-a-time kind of girl. With me, it’s all or nothing. Love or hate, skinny or fat, rich or poor, feast or famine—you get the idea. It’s no great feat for me to swing among these extremes on a daily basis. Minute-by-minute isn’t out of the question.
So those fantastic books and websites which aim to help a poor woman conquer her clutter test my patience. Why on earth would I want to start with clearing off the tiny table in my front entranceway? And then slowly make my way to the hall coat closet? Seriously, people. I couldn’t get any satisfaction with teeny tiny yawn-inducing steps like that. Where’s the drama?
No! If I’m going to do this thing—and by the grace of God, I am—I’m doing it in a no-holds-barred kind of way. If you could see my living and dining rooms right now, you’d swear I spend hours each day viewing tivo’d episodes of Clean Sweep. Those two rooms have become the equivalent of the TV show’s front lawn, filled to overflowing with piles of sellables, giveawayables, storeables, and trashables.
As of this morning, I can’t breathe when I pass through those rooms. I try to avert my gaze and walk really, really fast so my respiration can return to some semblance of normal before I croak, but my all-or-nothing way of dealing with my junk has finally gotten to me.
Fortunately, I am good at identifying and parting with genuine trash. I have the discernment to be able to pull the tax documents out from under the pile of grocery ads on a nearly daily basis. I actually throw away junk mail within a few minutes of it entering the house.
We had a garage sale on the spur of the moment two weekends ago. Made some quick money, but not enough to justify the work. Every time I try to sell my stuff, I realize I’d much rather give it to a thrift store or charity and take the tax deduction. Of course, an even better solution would be not to bring home surplus stuff to begin with, and trust me, I’m slowly but surely getting to that point.
The category I have the biggest problem with is the “storeables.” I tend to believe that in a disaster, either natural or man-made, I would instantly morph into the kind of benevolent Earth Mother that makes everyone—adult children, siblings, nieces, nephews, moms, friends, and neighbors—flock to my warm (thanks to that huge propane tank out back), well-stocked refuge in the boonies.
The truth is, of course, that I’d be utterly useless in a disaster. With my luck, the bird flu will be the catastrophe-du-jour that draws a big crowd to my place. Hey, I’ve got some Tamiflu on hand and tons of vitamins, too. Even have a supply of masks, just in case. But have you ever tried on one of those masks, people? Talk about hyperventilation! I’m afraid that my calling as the Mother may be precipitously short-lived.
Doug and I aren’t getting any younger. We should probably be making arrangements for ourselves to be taken care of by those with youth, strength, and kindheartedness on their side, in case the worst happens. Maybe then I could let go of some of those emergency preparation supplies I’ve stored, what do you think?
All I know is, until I get this place under control, I’m not giving up my 300 brown paper lunch bags. Right now, I’m keeping a pile in the living room and another in the dining room. I have a feeling those puppies will come in handy yet.
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