As a working mom of three kids I learned, almost too easily, that my priorities were not in my house keeping. However, we have a condominium in Washington that we rent out by the week, and we take responsibility for cleaning it between rentals. When my children were old enough to help out I explained that people who pay good money to stay there don’t expect to find body hairs behind the bathroom doors. That was my standard of cleanliness. It’s not a fancy place, but it’s clean.
Over the holidays, anticipating the arrival of guests, I asked my middle daughter, a third year university student who recently moved into a house with three girls, to take responsibility for the bathroom. She agreed and shared her standard of cleanliness with me. She educated her roommates that the toilet isn’t clean until you are willing to put your head into it, just in case you need to throw up. Pipes up the boy "Why bother, I’d just throw up in the sink." Who raised these kids?
I took the week after New Year’s off to make an attempt to chuck the stuff overflowing from my house. I used to have policy that anytime I brought something new into my home, I’d have to rid myself of something of equal bulk. All week I’ve made myself spend three hours per day sorting, organizing and tossing. I rid my closet of a third of it’s content and still there is no room for additions.
What did I find in that closetly abyss? This is embarrassing:
1. I uncovered five boxes of large ziplock bags, the kind I use for yarn and WIP’s. Every time I bought a multi pack form Costco, I spirited away a supply for my knitting projects.
2. There were six shoe boxes full of beanie babies; cute and worthless. What possessed me?
3. I found an item that probably doesn’t exist anymore. One of those erasers that look like a pencil with a brush on the end. I’m sure they’ve gone the way of wheel shaped erasers used for correcting entire rows of typing, the kind I recently saw featured at a museum.
4.When piled together, there was a small mountain of coins. I used to have a boss who would pay my children 10% to sort and roll her husband’s small change collecting in the top drawer of his dresser. I couldn’t believe how someone could lose track of money. I am the person who picks up every good luck penny I see on the street and now I need to engage the services of next door’s eight year old.
5. And yes, I found that underwear, the body shaper I wore to my daughter’s wedding, featured in my post on Task Oriented Clutter.
I learned that there are clothes I cannot part with. The chances of their being worn again are slim because I no longer am. I’ve decided to accept a bit of body fat in exchange for periods and meds that make my heart beat in a regular manner. The reason these articles are kept have nothing to do with wearing, but I can’t toss out the memories associated with them. This is a concept not graspable by my spouse.
One of these years I will either retire or die, and when I do, I don’t want my house to be this out of control. Sounds like a New Year’s resolution to me. Better late than never. I rewarded myself with a solid chunk of knitting time. So, with Randy Bachman’s Vinyl Tap on CBC Radio in the background, I worked on a new addition to my closet – an entrelac scarf made up of Noro form my stash.
Life's a Stitch 
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