Tag Archives: Organization

Closet Confessions

Scientists declare the universe is expanding. If my poundage provides ample support for this hypothesis, why doesn’t my closet?

Getting dressed has become a religious experience. Every morning I fall on my knees before opening the closet door, because one tiny shift on my shelves sets off shock waves that could lead to global disaster.

Still, I do not pose the ultimate threat. Rather, people who alphabetize socks pose a menace to freedom and the American way. Their closets resemble well-organized mausoleums, with shoes and sweaters residing in little plastic caskets. They file shirts, dresses and pants according to color, fiber content and button count.

Worse yet, their clothes fit. No sign of the fat-jean wardrobe every normal woman cherishes. No rack of size three dresses to provide the self-delusion necessary for good mental health. These disturbed personalities are desperately in need of therapy, medication and grandchildren with Popsicles.

They also demonstrate a pathological lack of conscience as their clothes age. How can someone be so callous as to condemn a loyal pair of black pants that has stood with them through years of Christmas parties, church services and funeral wakes to an unknown fate?

Sometimes, though, I long for the freedom of college days, when my wardrobe consisted of two beloved pairs of jeans, two T-shirts and a granny dress I wore when my future in-laws came to town.

After marriage, however, my expandable waistline stretched my outfits into three categories: pre-prego, prego and post-prego.

By my children’s adolescence, not even an underweight moth could edge in. I never would have suffered from closet claustrophobia if my daughters had done the decent thing and raided my closet during their teen years.

Instead, they plundered their father’s. We didn’t realize he had become a retro fashion icon until one Sunday before church as I made a routine check of the “teen corner.” Our younger daughter was wearing a purple-striped surfer shirt.

“Steve, she’s wearing that shirt I gave you for your 18th birthday.”

He cocked an eye. “Um, her friend’s wearing one of my shirts, too.”

It wasn’t fair. If Steve had worn ruffles during the 1960s like every other self-respecting hippie, the girls never would have touched his stuff. His closet would have looked as bad as mine.

Eventually, our children all married young and left town. I have no idea why.

I visited their quiet rooms and shed tears at the sight of neatly made beds and unnaturally bare floors.

And three beautiful, empty closets.

Which, years later, now overflow — and getting dressed each morning has once more become a religious experience. …

Does opening your closets inspire fervent prayer as well?

 

 

Are You a Piler or a Filer?

I have discovered that God designs writers with His usual love for diversity. However, when it comes to the organizational aspects of our profession, we fall into two basic groups. With a scratch-my-head bow to our Father (I never will understand why He created people the way He did), and an apology to Jeff Foxworthy, I suggest the following:

You might be a piler if:

  •  You have an office at home but never work there because you can’t find your computer.
  • You haven’t seen your office carpet since the Bush administration. Is the color still neon mauve?
  • You can’t recall whether you have a window, either.
  • You just moved into the house next door because your to-be-read stack of books has taken over your first home.
  • You still haven’t unpacked from the 2006 American Christian Fiction Writers conference … or 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010. … (Not admitting anything, here.)
  • The number of your undeleted e-mail messages exceeds that of the national debt.
  • You still have every story you’ve written since kindergarten. And every story your children have written. And every story your grandchildren have written. Plus all the rough drafts.
  • Your smartphone, having given up on organizing you, has run away from home.MessyOffice

Yes, you are a piler.

On the other hand, you might be a filer if:

  • You can see the top of your desk. No respectable piler would permit such a thing.
  • You have scheduled morning, noon and night tweets and Facebook posts through the year 2021.
  • You can eat on your kitchen table. If your family can, too, give yourself bonus filer points.
  • You actually know where your goal list is.
  • Every Facebook friend of yours has been categorized according to relationship, location, hairdo, and Popsicle flavor preference.
  • Your idea of a good time is to alphabetize your recycling.
  • Your latest mystery’s murderer is the only character in your novel who hates to file.
  • Your smartphone and you go to Starbucks for regular coffee dates. It buys.

 

Yes, God knows where your membership belongs. And mine. So do our spouses or significant others. And our friends.

Your turn. Fill in the blank: you might be a filer/piler if                 .