In the eighties, there was a pair of crazy sisters who called themselves "The Slob Sisters." They wrote a book* about how to clean a house and do it right. I howled with laughter, and kept a file box of day-to-day household duties on the program. It worked, and it was delightful fun at the time. It felt good to keep my home orderly, clean, and working like a clock. A number of my friends embraced this program at the same time, and we worked in our homes, laughed a lot, and enjoyed the system.
We wore aprons with pockets filled with dusters and screwdrivers, used a 50-foot cord on our vacuum cleaner, had spray bottles of cleaning fluids hanging from the loops on the sides of our aprons, and virtually laughed ourselves silly as we cleaned. It worked. My home was organized, clean, and uncluttered.
Occasionally I would don my "cleaning fairy suit," and stop in, unannounced, at homes of friends on the program, do a white-glove inspection, laugh a lot, and have coffee afterwards.
You notice that we laughed a lot. That's because back then we didn't have a lot of STUFF.
Now, I HAVE STUFF. Lots of it. My beloved Randy reminds me every day of my stuff. He says I have too much stuff, and he'd really like me to de-stuff, or at least to organize it to his satisfaction.
Recently we passed a shop named "The Stuff Store." I laughed uncontrollably for days over that. Randy wouldn't stop the car to see what stuff they had in there, so I had to imagine it. The visuals I concocted probably were better than the store's actual stock..............
We ALL have "stuff." (and if you don't, then what's wrong with you?)
George Carlin, the late humorist, said, "A house is just a place to keep your stuff, while you go out and get more stuff." I've had four houses, in ever-expanding sizes, and the stuff has increased incrementally, too. I think, and Randy agrees, that I am just about overstuffed.
My major problem is that Randy keeps MOVING and HIDING my stuff! If we're having company, he seems to think that it will offend these people. I keep telling him that THEY HAVE STUFF, too, but he moves it, and sometimes it doesn't show up again for years!
Fortunately, I have a room for most of my stuff, with shelving, boxes and labels to control this collection. It is fairly organized. I can find anything I am looking for, because it's my stuff, and I take care of it. Even I amaze myself, sometimes, when I need Aunt Helen's pewter candelabra or a striped ribbon, and voila..........I can produce it because I know my stuff!
The NEW stuff that hasn't yet been categorized and found its "place," is where it gets a bit sticky. You know that old phrase: A place for everything, and everything in its place? Whoever wrote that bit of drivel must not really DO anything ! He probably just SITS, looking at his stuff, never USING it!!
When I bring home a new piece of stuff, sometimes I am not quite certain how it is going to fit into my life. This new item might linger on the kitchen counter for a day or so before I "locate" it to its new destination. This is the danger point. After I disappear to work, Randy picks it up, puts it on a chair or carries it to my stuff-room, where it gets lost under random papers or projects; or worse yet, he delivers it to the location HE thinks it should live! (Wrong!!!)
Entire collections of valuable stuff have been misplaced in just this way. My tax receipts for twenty years got burned up when I moved boxes, to relocate them. I just happened to set them near a fireplace. Mr. Johnny-on-the Spot incinerated my entire tax history!!! (Guess what? I haven't needed any of that stuff yet, either.....but I don't mention that part, much.)
Part of the problem is that I get side-tracked in the never-ending quest to position my stuff in the best possible spots, and sometimes I don't move fast enough for Randy. The tax info was destined for another shelf, and never got there. If I lay a knife down when I've sliced a tomato, to pick up a pepper, the knife might get washed while my back is turned! I've actually taken mustard out of the frig, and it has been replaced while I reached for the loaf of bread!
I bought thirty-six CD boxes a few weeks ago. (Don't ask why.) I put the bag of boxes next to the cabinet where the box-less CD's awaited their new homes. Imagine this: Randy was INSULTED when I called home to ask him if the bag was still sitting where I'd put it! (This was a test.....) He denied even THINKING of moving it! And when I got home, there it was, where I'd left it. (He probably had to search the house while I was gone, retrieve it, and replace it before I got home.....)
He wonders why I attach sticky notes that say, "Leave this here!" on things. He became peeved when I wrote "Do Not Remove," on defrosting chicken. Vacuum cleaners are labeled, "Not done yet. Walk around this." Newly-washed underwear that is hanging up to dry needs a sign that says, "TEST FOR DRYNESS BEFORE FOLDING." (I kid you not....)
Does HE have stuff, too? Of course he does, but he doesn't call it that. It's a "collection" of wood, windows, doors, shelves, nails, nuts, bolts, twine and other building materials. He calls it "work equipment." Periodically, I threaten to go to into his workshop and rearrange HIS STUFF, and put things where I THINK THEY SHOULD GO. The look of terror on his face is that of pure fright when I say that.................. and I haven't done it...............yet.
This is not about de-stuffing. I already know I can't do that. I need my stuff. I just hope that if anything happens to me, my family will look it over well before they trash it, maybe find a treasure or two, and THEN yell, "Why in the Hell did she keep THIS?"
I just visited Amazon.com and ordered a copy of that book. I could use a really good laugh while I shuffle through my stuff, and maybe I can clean the house with joy in my heart and laughter in my soul........as long as the fifty-foot vacuum cord doesn't get wrapped around my neck........but I know that if it did, Randy would wind the cord up quickly and save my life.
copyright: KP Gillenwater
* The book is titled Sidetracked Home Executives, by Pam Young and Peggy Jones. It seems to have been reprinted, and it's on Amazon.com.
