With a nearly entire week all to myself, I excavated dark corners of our closet and organized the kitchen cabinets. I like feeling as if things are in order, even if it's only for a few days. I have trouble keeping things tidy; I'm not the greatest housekeeper anyway, and there's only one of me. My favorite method of cleaning is to just get rid of crap.
Sometimes I think about throwing everything out. Just everything. When I look at what we have, and realize I use maybe only 10% of it on a daily basis, I wonder why am I making more work for myself by keeping a bunch of unused stuff around? It's just more for me to dust. If I dusted.
I prefer to donate.
This week's cleaning frenzy sent a good half-dozen bags out to Salvation Army, a task that can only be accomplished when the house is empty. I removed unread books from Miss G's shelf and outgrown clothes from Miss L's drawers. I threw out Dan's ziplog baggies of coyote poo and broken beetle carcasses. They'd kill me if they knew. But they won't miss any of it. They won't even notice it's gone.
I like easing my home out from under the weight of its useless knick-knacks. I get tired of clutter, of the things that used to mean something but have become husks. So, I pack them up and send them on to their reincarnation, to be unearthed treasures found by someone new.
I think I'm going to start an Underground Railroad for the safe escape of tchochke to the outside world. They deserve a life of adventure, not resigned to some cluttered windowsill.
Fly free, little ones. Fly free.