Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Luckily, I'm not married to a man who complains about clutter. Russell rarely ever gives an opinion on my so-called housecleaning or lack thereof – but please read on to find out why.
Personally, I can take only so much clutter (don't ask how much) and then I go into a tizzy and organize and clean from top to bottom. This happened recently.
It all started with this great find: a quirky but functional home-made end table – a deep, rectangular wicker basket on 10” legs, topped with glass—that I found at a garage sale. I placed it beside my favorite living room chair where I sit and work on my laptop.
The laptop is on a portable, foldable, metal desk. I love my little 'perch.'
Happy and motivated, I tackled other parts of the house. I cleared off the china cabinet and after giving it a good dusting, replaced the myriad of unrelated items with just a few harmonious basics.
Then I took a sweep of the kitchen – both with a broom and my eyes, and dove into the kitchen countertop, paring down and storing anything that I didn't use daily. But wait, I saved the best – did I say best, I meant worst? – for last. Our bedroom closet. Argh!
I picked everything up off the floor, making sure clothes were neatly hung on hangers or folded and put in drawers. I organized our shoes accordingly and placed items on the top shelf that had been brought down earlier.
Though this is a quick description, it took me a whole day. Maybe there was no blood, sweat and tears, but two out of three is bad; sweat and tears prevailed.
And then, after all that, I left town, dummy that I am. I went to visit my folks for a few days (an hour away). When I came home I had to ask myself, “Did I not just work for days in this house to declutter and free up space, only to come home and find new clutter in that space?” I know! You're probably asking, “who would do that?” I asked the same question.
But you see, I've learned over the years – though I obviously forgot – that whether it's conscious or not, Russell Ipock will fill up every empty space that i've previously cleaned with his stuff. It's true.
Where I had emptied the china cabinet, he had placed his iPad and a 3-ring binder. Frustrating.
I walked into the closet where I'd cleared out a nice path to walk and he'd thrown his running shoes nilly-willy and his gym bag. Unbelievable.
When I walked into the bathroom – knowing he couldn't possibly leave anything in there – 'cause to be honest, there was no free space, I found several “Golf Magazines” on our scales. Grrr! Though truthfully, that's probably the only purpose those scales have had for a while.
He threw his golf vest on my dresser and he moved my sleeping pillow (one that was sewn as a decorative pillow years ago, but turned out to be great to sleep on) to the back of the closet, where it was visible enough to bother me but hidden enough to also bother me. Huh? That's right, sister.
Russell is like a mouse. He leaves tiny crumbs behind him in the form of things. One of my biggest pet peeves played out once more. He had left one of those 96 oz. Diet Coke plastic cups, half-full, on the middle of the kitchen counter. I think he put it there the night I left.
What's a girl to do? Well, I've decided I'm not the one with the problem. It's Russell. Call 1-800-LEAVE MY BLANK SPACES BLANK.
Ann Ipock “Life is Short, I Wish I Was Taller” email@example.com www.annipock.com.
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