I used to be a Navy wife, which meant moving every two to three years. Coincidentally, my closets only got cleaned every two to three years. Each time I unpacked boxes at a new house, it felt like Christmas. All the useless crap that got boxed up looked like cherished treasures when I reopened the box in my new home.
Since I moved to my present home, I spent last winter wearing a men’s work glove on one hand and an oven mitt on the other. You’d think that upon cleaning my closet for real, I’d be delighted to find a matching set of gloves. Not so. Without that magical cardboard cube, there was no Christmas feeling to the six-year old dental floss, and roll of breath mints I found in my winter coat pocket.
I have a walk-in closet about twice the size of my bathroom. With two shelves on top, you’d think that I could neatly store blankets, winter clothes, a red hard hat, rubber chicken bookmarks, and copies of my book, which can be purchased at the Adoro bookstore for $9.95 plus postage and handling. I’m just sayin’. “Neatly” is the operative word. You do not want to sneeze in my closet, lest the vibration bury you in an avalanche of epic proportions. Fortunately, my Doberman is trained to dig people out from under the rubble.
My point is (and I do have one) that closets should not be used as a delayed disposal system. That’s what Rubbermaid plastic storage bins are for. I still have my second Barbie doll (the first one melted on the windowsill), and a Raggedy Ann and Andy, all carefully stored in a bin, because having dolls sitting out on a shelf is kind of creepy. I swear their eyes follow you around the room.
Cleaning the closets requires a certain amount of courage. When I finally had to look at the jeans that barely fit three years ago, it caused a two-day ice cream binge of remorse. My flawless logic said that continually kicking them to the back of the closet would make me thinner.
What kind of household project could I possibly do to follow-up the closet fiasco? That was decided for me yesterday, when a Great Dane on my back porch apparently thought that screens are for pussies. Nothing was going to stand between him and a squirrel. Consequently, I bought a 25 foot roll of screening material. I think I can fit it in my closet if I move the red hard hat.
I had to come out of the closet (hehe) and not because I was announcing my gayness. No maam. My walk-in closet got so full, I walked in and almost couldn’t get back out. You see, I have to walk in, then turn around just so….then close the door…in order to see what’s on that side of the closet. It gets claustrophobic in there, to say the least. So when I was finished, I backed up into a row of hanging clothes in order to get the door open, and the door got stuck between my legs. It’s hard to describe my horror but there was horror involved.
I ended up having to take my shoes off (I have big feet) so I could bend my feet backwards to let the door move and make my escape.
Joan didn’t believe me either.
My room is filled with winter clothes and summer clothes because the weather keeps changing from hot to cold. I can barely get into my room now. Good luck with your closet clean-up.
I’ve got an aunt and uncle who moved from one address eighteen years ago. They’re on their fourth move since then, and still haven’t unpacked some of the boxes from their original home.
Was the Dane named Marmaduke?
I’ve moved 14 times in 16 years and I’m about to move again. I get rid of a lot of shiznit. I call it the big move culling.
Karla,
I can relate to all the moving; I’ve done it several times to different countries. It can be such a pain and it is shocking how much stuff you can amass in a couple of years’ time!
Sorry about the screen door, kids and sometimes cause just as much work. I have tons of stories of my kids adventures that sound about like your Great Dane’s. Good luck fixing that door! Glad you can still have a sense of humor. You are amazing!
I’d rather clean my closet than repair a screendoor, and I can’t remember when the last time was that I cleaned my closet.