A Productive Week

I spent Sunday packing all the holiday boxes except the tree's ornaments and lights,  

after spending the previous week organizing 

and repurposing and recycling and donating.  I found myself with empty shelves where there had been chaos.

The green box on the floor contains books that must find space on a bookshelf.  Its resting place is temporary, low enough that I can reach the contents without straining, and meets Queen T's exacting standards for space in A Finished Closet.

She grew up cleaning out the old year and starting the new year fresh, her space reflecting the way she would like to live every day.  It was Marie Kondo and my father rolled up in a helpful young human who shlepped and lifted and shifted and wiped and swept and did all the things that a deep clean requires, all the things that my shattered hip aches just thinking about, all the things that have kept me from starting these projects on my own.

She was up and down without holding onto anything else.  I can't remember the last time I clambered up a step stool or got down onto the floor like that.

She was ruthless but kind.  Instead of Daddooooo's what do you need that crap for? Queen T's when was the last time you used this dusty, out of style, whatever it is? felt genuinely interested, if somewhat amused.  

She was not totally heartless; she understood that I wasn't ready to give up G'ma's purse..... not yet. 

I only emptied it this summer, more than six years after she died, a little teary as her Revlon lipstick and powder stuck to my hands, refusing to be thrown away. It's washed and could be donated if it weren't so yucky inside. For now, it's living with me.

The laundry room, the game closet,

the cleaning closet, and the two under the sink cabinets have been stripped bare and will now live regimented lives, each with its own set of rules, all of which make sense to me.  

The candles are in an upper shelf that's easy to reach from the floor, as long as what I'm grabbing isn't too heavy.  A 6" beeswax and soy pillar fits the bill perfectly.  I no longer have to push away the recycling bin

to find my more awkwardly shaped candleholders and bases.

I spend an inordinate amount of time opening doors and staring at the wonders they conceal these days.