Hearth To Hearth

by Donna Tavano

Organized.com 

            What does the word “organize” mean to you?  Does it spell terrorize or fantasize?  It will either lure you into a hypnotic heaven of Container and Ikea stores, or conjure up images of a Beelzebub Brunhilda blustering through your bloated basement brandishing a Brother label maker.

            Me, I just can’t get enough of the stuff.  I’m not alone, as is attested by the myriad HGTV programs tutoring us in the big O.  There’s just a je ne sais quoi quality which emanates from a sturdy 10-gallon Sterlite or Rubbermaid bin--- preferably translucent, as it only discreetly alludes to contents, yet doesn’t distress us with the nitty-gritty reality of the useless garbage inside. 

            The mere fantasy of a pegboard-walled garage decorated with crime-scene outlines of hammers, files, saws and T-squares catapults me to my happy place, and the concept of a closet, tenderly caressing a collection of clothing coordinated by season, color and style, is my personal Nirvana.

            From where, oh where did this all-too-OCD (obsessive-compulsive disorder) obsession spring? My husband would say it’s the satanic influence of HGTV, but my friends and I agree that it’s a coping mechanism that satisfies our need to control that which cannot be controlled: our lives.

            One of my friends is drawn to her Zen garden when her life spirals out of control.  She hacks and slashes the invasive bittersweet into submission, and thoughtfully plants tidy and compact trees and mounds of obedient flowers whose genetic lineage promises that they, unlike people in our lives, will never overstep their boundaries, but instead maintain themselves simply and efficiently in an ordered existence within the rabbit netting which confines their world.

            Some parents obsess over organizing their kids’ Lego blocks by color, type or purpose, others alphabetize canned goods in the pantry, and I’m intimately familiar with women who organize their quilt fabric stash by graduated shades of the color wheel.

Many moons ago, when small creatures known as children dwelled within our house, organization was only a fantasy.  I made naïve and futile attempts at color coding the boys’ endless parade of socks and clothes.  Child A got blue, B green, C red, etc., but by son number five, we were reduced to fuchsia or chartreuse and the system sort of collapsed on itself like a gaping black hole of color.

            The children eventually moved on, as children generally do, taking all the good stuff, leaving us with the junk even they rejected, and though life was supposed to calm down, it didn’t.  The empty nest soon overflowed with full-time jobs, nightly meetings, grandchildren and our over-50 brains.  Suddenly, we had become confused hoarders, frozen into immobility through indecision.  We thirsted for organization.  Thank you, HGTV.

            Now bedroom doors are bedecked with racks and closets sport smart linen shoe and sweater cubbies.  Most recently I’ve been infected with the “bag lady bug.”  I have a different colored three-ring binder and coordinating tote bag for each activity and hobby: historical group, church, jewelry crafting, scrap booking, quilting, knitting, writing, book club, you get the idea. There are bags in the car, in closets, in the kitchen, pantry, garage and basement.  I had to create a color-coded map to direct me to each bag and remind me of its purpose.

            But what’s the alternative to this madness?  Chaos!  I’ve seen too many innocent victims succumb.  The first sign is re-buying stuff you already have but can’t find because it’s buried somewhere in your house.  Then you build a shed to corral more junk; the slippery slope continues when you rent a self-storage unit to accumulate more unnecessary items you will never live long enough to use, even if you remember owning them.  Next thing, you need a bigger house to organize all the stuff you have.

            In order to survive in this chaotic, out-of-control world, we harbor our dirty little secret of organizing, our addiction aided and abetted by All Those Who Would Make Money Taking Advantage Of Our Sorrowful Weakness, like the Container Store, Ikea, Martha Stewart, Tupperware parties, and Real Simple magazine, to name but a few.  We take comfort in lining up rows of perfectly labeled spice jars and plastic disposable lidded containers holding elastics and stray screws, makeup and coupons.  We can’t stop nations from warring or violence, but we can darn well control our own closets, cabinets and drawers, get our own house in order, then breathe a sigh of relief when we’re done.  And when that’s completed, we are ready to go out and face the world again, and maybe with our little successes behind us, we can tackle bigger messes outside our front doors.

            So if you suddenly find yourself emptying out just-bought bags of Jelly Bellys and re-bagging each flavor/color in those cute half-size Ziplock bags, or lining up all the green-handled rakes in one section of the garage, the blue in another and the yellow….STOP!  There’s still time!  You can save yourself!  Grab the remote and get off HGTV.  You can do it.  Turn the channel to the Red Sox, Regis and Kelly, even the  Weather Channel.  Or make your obsession work for you, capitalize on your tiny victories against clutter and messes, clear your house, clear your mind, donate what you don’t need, simplify your life.  Perhaps you will see more clearly and find what you’ve been searching for all this time.

4/17/08