We are making room for Kevin in our home (he and Brenda are getting married on December 17!)
Because Kevin has a new tenant for the upper level of his house (the bottom is already rented out) on September 1; he is moving in with us until the wedding, while his furniture is moving in with Brenda.
They are combining two households into one space, which means a lot of sorting and culling. Meanwhile, one day when I was not here to protest, and much to my mortification, Brenda took Kevin upstairs to our exceedingly messy loft room to show him where he would be sleeping. Poor Kevin surveyed the clutter of scattered papers and magazines and said, "But where will I put my stuff?"
Brenda said, "Oh don't worry, I think Mom is just in the middle of cleaning out the room."
I figured I had better live up to that hope and thus began an overdue major sorting out of not just one room, but several others, in order to make room for the stuff that needs to move from that room to somewhere else.
I started with the linen closet in my bedroom, which was stuffed with sheets, tablecloths, and place mats that I never use but were too nice to throw out. Brenda is usually steadfast when I try to pass something on to her (or maybe palm off on her would be more accurate,) but when she saw the place mats her eyes lit up and she said, "I can use those!"
The humour of this struck us both at the same time. Here we are, both working hard at "making room for Kevin," in our respective spaces, but my stuff migrating to her space seemed hilariously counter productive.
Tackling the loft room was more daunting and I put it off by cleaning every other room instead. I now have a neat and tidy laundry room, kitchen cupboards, bathroom cupboards and drawers. I can put it off no longer.
My friend Marilyn, at As Good a Day as Any (fighting procrastination . . . or at least thinking about it) (don't you just love that sub heading?) wrote a post entitled Where to Start that was helpful. It was about a stone mason, just building, brick by brick and not dilly-dallying. "Dilly-dallying" is one of my favourite pass times, but it doesn't get the job done.
I decided while I was away in England that the piles of magazines that I guard with my life, would have to go. I planned to be ruthless. Well, I have been ruthless--if only selectively. I rescued the ones with headlines too interesting to toss out and the rest have been consigned to the recycling. For me this is a baby step in the right direction. Much more needs to just go, and this weekend I pray that it does. Where does it all come from? I feel compelled to save any scrap of paper that contains anything mildly interesting. It is ridiculous; a sickness, I think.
The arrival of Kevin just may effect a cure!