If one wants good things to enter into one’s life, one must make room. Or at least that what the organizational gurus on Oprah say. But after hauling a truck load of “making room” over to the thrift store this afternoon, I don’t know if I want anything else coming into this house besides food and water.
My mother always says, “My house looks fabulous if I don’t have my glasses on.” The trouble is, I don’t wear glasses. My metaphorical glasses are this: Company. Yes, nothing quite like house guests to make the clutter correctively crystal clear. They left yesterday. We purged today. Why am I always a day behind these things?
Paul’s domains remain immaculate. The garage, the yard, his office…all pass the white glove test. Yes, our garage is the envy of the neighborhood. He cleans it out every month or so while he listens to an audiobook on triple speed. (The double speed was beginning to drag on. Some might label that sort of behavior as ADD. He just calls it efficiency.) Whatever number of cars our garage is supposed to hold, that’s how many it holds. Passersby would assume by our open garage door that the inside follows suit…but alas, I’m getting to it. The kids keep growing, the clothes keep shrinking, and I’ve been meaning to get to that pile of papers on the counter, just give me a minute. Or a day. Or a month…or a…
The point is, yesterday morning my 9 year old nephew came into the kitchen where I was occupying every single square inch of counter top real estate in an effort to serve a lovely breakfast to my house guests, and commented, “I just saw a museum downstairs. Why is there a museum in your house Aunt Margaret?” It took me a minute to put it together… “No, honey. That’s just Uncle Paul’s home office. He likes it nice and clean.”
You’d think he was a CIA operative with the way everything goes into the shredder. But it was the juxtaposition to the rest of the crib that transformed his occupation from salesman to curator in his nephew’s eyes.
So with all the junk that left the premises today, the law of karma would lead me to believe some velvet rope, bullet proof plexiglass and a cozy cafe will soon come into my life. I wonder if the cafe will come with its own staff?