It’s January, and the New Years phrase “out with the old, in with the new” is in full play. I love this time of year; it’s the ultimate “ok boy” time to start anew, make things go right, and achieve new goals. It’s the perfect opportunity to plan, scheme, finish stuff you didn’t finish last year and plan for new things. It calls for a new notebook, possibly a new pen so you can create new checklists of resolutions and hopeful intentions galore.
But for me, more important than writing lists and making new plans is cleaning. Yes, cleaning. (Bear with me, I promise it will make sense). For years I’ve started out nearly every new year tidying up, purging clutter, and organizing stuff. I can’t remember exactly when this urge for cathartic action started exactly, but I’ve been doing it as long as I can remember.
In our household, this process is in full swing. Every room of the house is covered with stuff. Much of it is Christmas decorations that have cheerfully decorated our domicile since right after Thanksgiving. The cute little village with fake snow and flocked bristle pine trees is patiently waiting to be returned to its home in the plastic container, and the near life-like Santa that dances and sings at the press of a button is primed for his resting place. Yes, it’s time to sort, pack and organize for next year.
“Why is there so much stuff all over the house?” my hubby asks, eyeing the clutter of tissue paper, boxes and packing tape.
“I’m organizing, can’t you tell?” I respond as he swiftly moves to avoid getting involved in this expanding project. “Can you bring in more plastic containers from the garage for me please?”
Organizing, cleaning - same thing. With the tree ornaments all sorted and carefully wrapped and the remaining holiday decor packed away, it is time to move on to the remainder of the house and put that in order too. Each room and closet is carefully gone through and old stuff surveyed and appraised.
“Hmm, do I really need that set of antique Coalport egg cups that I bought when I saw them on Downton Abbey?” Quickly ignoring that errant thought, I decide not to part with this precious bit of china. I do, however, pack up extra dishes, bowls and mugs that have crowded the kitchen cupboards for years, along with two extra comforters and several warm winter coats from the overflowing hall closet. I also box up a pair of sauna pants that promised to slim me down enough so I can once again wear my high-school size 6 jeans (how did I ever get into those?).
Into the collection box go several items purchased “As Seen on TV” such as the remarkable “Chop Wizard,” a kitchen device that slices, dices, chops and shreds just about any vegetable you can think of and the “Talking TP Holder” that tells you when the roll is nearly empty and needs replacement. Seriously, SO much stuff!
A few days later, the project is complete, and the back of the SUV has been loaded with boxes and bags of items no longer deemed vital, ready for donation to someone in need (okay, maybe nobody really needs the talking TP holder). The storage area in the garage is once again neatly stacked with clearly labeled plastic containers, each containing stuff that, if not actually valuable and needed, at least has some sentimental value.
With great satisfaction, I move through the house, surveying rooms, closets and cupboards, freshly cleaned and organized. It is a mission well-accomplished; I am finally ready for the new year, without clutter obscuring my certainty that I can accomplish anything.
“Hey hon, great job! The house looks really nice!” praises my hubby. Just then, like a bolt out of the blue, something hits me. I quickly don my jacket and scarf, grab my handbag and keys, and run to the door. “Wait, where are you going?” he asks, looking confused.
“I’m going shopping” I reply. “The January clearance sales have just started, and I have coupons. Think of all the money we’ll save and, besides, we have room for more stuff!”
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