Declutterization

One Saturday my hubby and I decided to organize our house. We liked the idea that we might open our front door, find our furniture, see our floor, and forge a path to the kitchen. We prepared a plan.

I started at our threshold while my partner gathered hunk from our office. I sorted contents, stacked long lost dishes, gathered garbage, and prepared recycling bins. Meanwhile he sorted our other possessions and brought recyclables from the office. About this time our plan fell apart.

It started when my parnter emptied his wastebasket and saw his most prized possession in the bottom of the garbage.

"This is my 1995 city-wide championship trophy. It goes here." He swooshed my treasures to the floor and centered his monstrosity on the mantel.

"Wait a minu--"

"Oh, did you want to keep this ugly thing?" He used his foot to gather the now crushed crystal of what had been my hummingbird collection. Not anymore.

"Thanks for asking, " I mumbled.

Our remaining possessions now formed piles around the living room. I took junk bags and recycling to the curb while my hubby headed for the garage. Upon my return I noticed how nicely he had cleared the middle of the floor just enough to arrange a perfect exercise station.

"Oh how wonderful!" I set out my mats and equipment.

"You can't do that. This space is for tuning the car and changing the oil." He pulled the mats back to the corner in a crumpled heap.

Sigh.

I looked around for a good space to use until I noticed my quilting squares.

"Car rags? You used my special cotton blend flannel for car rags?"

"At least I kept them. They're perfect for washing, see?"

"No! They are for the Children of the Caricatura Society Communication Quilt. It's a special project that requires this exact material. Extremely diificult to find in this color."

If I weren't so upset, I might have noticed placing my mats under his latest woodworking project, still dripping with polyurethane. My mats!

After I rescued one, I decided I'd get along without the other. Flabbergasted, I tripped on the rampy thing and spilled the thingamabob's contents.

"Oh. Excuse me." I gathered the pile of whatchyamacallits for his thingamabob.

"What are you doing? That doesn't go there. Screws go in this drawer. The ratchet set goes there."

"Sorry." I surrenedered to the god of chaos and retreated to the kitchen.

Maybe next weekend.