Be Not Idle

El Greco knew a thing or two about warping. His elongated subjects are surreal (before Surrealism) without being truly distorted. In this particular painting, he employed a little time warping, too, because these saints are from different epochs.

But warped clay isn’t artistic. Just as a house built on sand cannot stand, a tile built on a warped board cannot be used. Or as Charlie Brown put it so eloquently, “Aaaargh!”

My first two tiles were ready for the kiln. As I transferred them to the wire shelves, I noticed something funny about the one with grapes. It was slightly bent as if someone had taken two kitty-corners and pushed them towards each other. I examined the pear tile and found no problem. But the thin board I’d placed them on had absorbed the moisture and bent.

I finished what should have been my final two tiles: the apple and the plums. Then I began a new grape tile. The old one will still be fired, but I’ll have to use it as hot pad or something similar. A wall tile must be perfectly flat.

Overcoming our faults and weaknesses gives glory to God, because we can’t possibly overcome them on our own.

- Mother Angelica

Two weeks ago, I had three pieces of furniture that had outlived their usefulness: a dresser, a linen folding screen, and a wingback chair. Two of the items found new homes, but the hand-me-down dresser remained. I’d used it as a bedside table despite it being too wide and too high. (People suspect you’re hiding the truth when you say you got the blackeye from rolling over to read the clock.) It is too big to fit in my car, and I was afraid to tie it into my trunk and attempt the hour-long drive to a charity. It’s too good for the neighbours’ bonfire.  With its typical  ’50s or early-’60s  tapered legs and fake-wood laminated top, it’s not stylish enough to interest the resale shops.*

As I was cleaning out the office closet, I wondered what to do about storage. Stacks of cardboard boxes are neither safe nor accessible, plus they absorb moisture during humid days. Plastic is better if you want to see the entire contents at a glance. (I prefer to read labels.) 

“It would be nice to have one of those expensive closet systems with drawers,” I thought. Eureka! I put the dresser in the closet, then stacked a low bookshelf on top. Ta da! My art supplies, writing paper, etc. are stored but accessible.

As usual, organizing one area opened my eyes to organizing another. I unearthed my writing desk. It was buried beneath low-priority paperwork, books, the telephone, etc. Mostly etcetera! I realized how long it’s been a dumping-ground when I excavated raffle tickets from the 2006 parish festival!

I don’t know what I’m going to write yet. However, I’ve already benefited from having a single place to read essays and correct tests. Now my diningroom table can stop serving as  Paperwork Central.

*I paid ten bucks for a similar nightstand at the St. Vincent de Paul Society.  I guess I’m not stylish.

I have had a request from a friend to explain what I mean by “squalor”.  I could just invite her over and have her look into my office and living/diningrom on a typical day, but it’s slightly less embarrassing to explain here. 

Squalor is a high level of clutter. It can be hoarding, like the people you see on various organization shows who collect broken computers because they’re useful for “parts”. It can be chronic clutter that explodes into a huge mess because a person is too ill or stressed to prioritize it. It can be everyday items that gradually take over every horizontal surface (including the floor). 

In other words, squalor has a lot of levels.

What causes it? A number of factors play into it. Obsessive-compulsive disorder leads a lot of people into squalor. Perfectionism is a surprisingly common trait among squalorees, as we call ourselves (when we’re not calling ourselves worse names). We get paralyzed by thoughts like, “This has just one broken part, so I should fix it. I can’t clean part of this room unless I clean the whole room. I know the recycling center won’t take this, but I’d feel guilty if I don’t find a use for it.” 

The National Study Group on Chronic Disorganization developed a Clutter Hoarding Scale which the Squalor Survivors Community uses:

 http://www.squalorsurvivors.com/squalor/measuring.shtml

When I lived in my first apartment by myself, I was at Level One: chronic clutter. As friends and relatives moved in with me, I went to Level Two and stayed there for years.  But I didn’t know I was at Level Two. I thought I was a dirty slob. I knew I wasn’t lazy. I had a full-time job, a part-time job, and took evening classes.  Was it avarice? But I didn’t LIKE having so much stuff. Was it an organizational problem? A professional organizer told me that all I needed to do was switch from being a “piler” of papers to a “filer”.  (Instead, I did both.)

I didn’t know that other people were like me. Granted, I knew people who had trails of dirty dishes from the sink, across the countertops, over various tables, and into their home offices. But mostly those were young men, and everyone knows about ”bachelor housekeeping”. If a man’s bathroom smells like urine and has topless toothpaste tubes oozing over the sink, it’s not pleasant but it’s a manly foible. Similar conditions in a bachelorette’s home are unacceptable (unless she has a closet overflowing with shoes and clothes - that’s just the life of a fashionable single girl!) 

I knew a couple women who were sloppy housekeepers, but one suffered from depression and, conversely, the other was a highly successful businesswoman.  I also knew hoarders, but they tended to store everything so NEATLY that it wasn’t until later that I questioned why anyone would WANT an entire shelf of stacked empty cottage cheese containers.

I remember when I prayed for help. I had been a “secret slob” as Holden Caulfield put it in The Catcher in the Rye - looking neat on the outside but shoving boxes of stuff into the storage closet so company wouldn’t see it. Or getting the urge to clean and throwing out good stuff (like the year I threw out my tax return… eek!)  But I couldn’t hide it anymore. My younger brother moved in. He’d take his friends into my bedroom to use my computer and there was my squalor: boxes stacked next to the bed, dresser piled with stuff, overflowing file cabinet. I couldn’t hide it.

I prayed and even talked to someone at my church to ask for prayers. As usual, Our Father answered not with an instant ”cure”, but by steering me towards other people.

I had been reading business books about time management and organizing work-related items. I checked motivational tapes (Zig Ziglar, Tony Robbins, etc.) out of the library and listened to them on my commute. One day I came across a misfiled book, a funny book about ”Sidetracked Home Executives”. The “Slob Sisters”, Pam Young and Peggy Jones wrote about their own squalorous lives and how they invented a card system to keep them on track. 

The cards never worked well for me, but on their website did. There I ”met” other people who had similar challenges in staying organized. One of them was Marla Cilley, “The FlyLady” as she prepared to launch her daily FLY List. From there I made my way to OrganizedHome.com  and the Squalor Survivors Community (see my blogroll for links).

 So that’s my story. (And I’m sticking to it… but in a PostIt Note way, not like old bubblegum…)