The Katywompus Journal Observing Life's Little Quirks by Diane Moody |
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Entry #42: The List
I'm in trouble. We're already on the backside of spring, inching ever closer to summer. Meanwhile, my long spring cleaning list haunts me like an ethereal scolding from an apparition of Martha Stewart. Granted, there's no hard and fast rule that says you can only do those deep-cleaning projects during the spring months. Still, I know my procrastinatory tendencies all too well. (No, you won't find that one in the dictionary. I made it up. I am, therefore, it is.) I remember it well. That morning in late March when I sat down with a steaming cup of coffee and began The List. In a rare moment of inspiration, I outlined an extensive strategy to clean the house from top to bottom. I listed tasks in small, bite-size attempts, like "clean cabinet under bathroom sink," or "clean and organize dresser drawers," or "store winter clothes." The alternative, a sweeping Mt. Everest approach such as "clean upstairs/clean downstairs," makes me break into a sweat even as we speak. Baby steps, Diane. Baby steps. I listed every room in the house, every nook and cranny that needed attention. Until, at last, I finished off the coffee, capped my pen, and admired my list with confidence. To date, only one thing has been marked off that list. With each passing day, that list weighs over my head like an elephant standing in my family room. Why? What keeps me from tackling that list, chewing it up, and roaring through my house like a lean, mean cleaning machine? ME. I'm my biggest enemy. I love the idea of that clean house - it's the concept of actually cleaning it that bugs me. It's all that stuff I'll have to deal with. Those closets filled with clothes I don't like anymore or can't wear (thank you, Weight Watchers). That linen closet full of sheets that don't fit the bed like they promised they would. Those boxes of chatchkes that have moved from house to house with us for twenty-something years. It's amazing what you'll find in closets, attics, and in some cases, the garage. Awhile back, my mother was cleaning out my closet back home. (I'm 50 now. It's time.) Then every time she and Dad would come to visit, they'd cart boxes labeled Diane's Stuff until my husband finally put his foot down. (I'm not sure but I think it was the go-go boots that pushed him over the edge.) Mom quivers her lip for effect, but she's no longer permitted to transfer carloads of stuff that should have been thrown out years ago. But that's the problem. By bloodline, we're packrats. Why throw out something if you might need it years from now? Maybe a friend would like that vase. Maybe your future grandchild could use that book on Williamsburg for a class project. Maybe a neighbor would like that bread machine. Maybe a friend's neighbor's grandchild would like that prom dress. Dangerous habits, those. The strange twist to all this is how incredibly freeing it is to get rid of all that stuff! I've learned to give myself pep talks. "Diane, those go-go boots will NOT be offended if you take them to Good Will. Maybe someone will snatch them for a theater production! Those dishes WILL forgive you for replacing them. Perhaps they'll find a new home with someone thrilled to have them!" And so I learned to let go. This whole concept hit me right between the eyes a couple weeks ago when we helped our daughter move home from college. Wisely, the university had placed a dumpster in the parking lot outside the dorm. All day long, Hannah told us, a family kept stopping by to go through that dumpster, kids and all. It made her sad to think people were so desperate they'd dig through trash. I had an entirely different opinion. Those folks were smart. Real smart. No doubt they had learned that most college kids toss out perfectly good stuff either because (a) they're used to living in a throw-away culture, or (b) they didn't have room to take it all home. That family drove off in a van (identical to ours, by the way) loaded to the gills with perfectly good clothes, room-size rugs, appliances, furniture, books - you name it. My guess is they make some extra money reselling their finds at a flea market or yard sale. Or perhaps they're simply supplementing their own personal home needs. Either way, it's true what they say -- one man's trash is another man's treasure. Alas, this morning as I scratched my head wondering what kind of brilliant pearl of wisdom I'd share with you this week, I remembered The List. Believe it or not, just telling you about it has been rather inspiring. In fact, once I finish here, I might dig in and see if I can't knock off that whole list this week! Think how great my house will look! Think how great I'll feel just to have it DONE! Then again, there's that best-selling novel I can't seem to put down . . . Click HERE to send Diane an email. She welcomes your comments and suggestions. She's Flying the Coop Blessed are the poor... Back to School It All Started With Eve It's Almost Here! Forget About Weapons of Mass Destruction - let’s Talk Hormones The Other "W" "If only I could..." "Put Down That Remote and Step Away From the TV!" Take This Job and Love It! As the Stomach turns! Pet Peeves Cue the Balloons! A Picture Perfect Thanksgiving 'Twas Two Months Before Christmas . . . Egg Nog & Popcorn The Importance of Making Christmas Memories Step Away from the Mistletoe! O Crystal Ball . . . 2003 Unplugged Geek is Chic! Mind Your Manners! Go "Figure" You’ve Gotta Laugh Reality Check A Parent’s Worst Nightmare Notice Me! It's Not About the Stuff Too Many Buns! What's Your Legacy? Music to My Ears Why, Thank You! Ah, Spring! Mel vs. the Easter Bunny He Did It! He Finally Did It! Unexpected Joys HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHUCK McFARLAND! Bring on the Barbecue! Not So Happy Mother's Days |
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