By slothfulness the roof sinketh in; and through idleness of the hands the house droppeth through.  – Ecclesiastes 10:18

With snow showers continuing today and tomorrow, this weekend has turned into the perfect time to “work the house”. Except for shoveling snow and collecting mail, the To Do list keeps me indoors: laundry, filing, changing bedsheets, etc.

Be not idle, you know.

I’ve recently begun to appreciate how calming housework is. Washing dishes by hand, for example, has a certain meditative quality. Polishing furniture brings awareness not only of the motes of dust but also the graceful curves of woodgrain. And isn’t it fun to push and pull a big noisy vacuum all over the house? (My summer toy is the pushmower.)

I found a cute little Projects Journal, apparently an impulse purchase when Hallmark marked it down to $5. I thought, “This is perfect! I can use this to keep track of all my home improvement projects!”

But when I opened it, I saw that three projects were already listed. I had finished two already.

But not the first project. And what was that? “Re-organize office”. The date? June 19, 2008.

Um… better late than never?!?

I’d hired an unemployed friend to paint the bathroom and laundry room and repair/repaint the nicks in a few places here and there. It seemed like the perfect time: his college was on break, I was visiting relatives for two weeks.

Daniel went above and beyond my expectations. He painted the entire laundry room, including the ceiling. He shampooed the carpet in the livingroom and hallway. He moved the furniture so the first thing I saw was NOT the TV but my bookcase and statues of the Holy Family. He cleaned my kitchen cabinets and mopped the floor. He even re-washed the dishes I’d left to dry in the sink!

He left me a note saying, “I wanted you to fall in love with your house all over again.”

I really can’t thank him enough.

Not only does everything look wonderful, but it makes me realize how much I’ve changed. In the past,  I would have resented him in spite of his good intentions.  I would have felt a twinge of  annoyance every time I looked at the furniture arrangement, even though it works and I like it. Why? Because doing everything myself shows I’m independent and don’t need anyone’s help.  It’s been humbling and, frankly, AMAZING how relying on others has opened up my heart and lightened the burden.

My college pals still talk about the “Brazilian Running Shoes”, or BRS. They were stylish black leather pumps with 3-inch heels. I could never figure out how a manufacturer in Brazil thought of giving them the rubber traction of a snowmobiling boot. However, I was grateful when I had to trek through snow to a Saturday night party!

The BRS, soft pink slingbacks, penny loafers, white sneakers, and Fleur-de-lis suede flats carried me (literally) from university to the working world. Imagine my surprise, then, when I discovered quite a collection!

Due to this summer’s knee injury, an orthopedist counseled me to rid myself of high-heeled shoes, except for a low, sturdy pairs for special occasions . I put frequent offenders to the side, but didn’t sort them for charity until this weekend.

Why?

Well, it may have had something to do with twisting my knee. (No, not while wearing high heels.  See my story about broken kings.)  Afterward, I certainly was in the mood to sit a while and try shoes on.

As I sorted them, I realized how many shoes I had.  I began to put more in the charity bag: lace-up shoes that pinch, low boots that I haven’t worn in  years, and lovely cork-heeled sandals in blue and brown.

After filling the bag, I still have 27 pairs!

Granted, some of them are oldies-but-goodies. The BRS are long-gone, but I  have black Dexter wingtips circa 1990. I wear them, but not enough to wear them out. The same goes for the pristine Adidas sneakers (worn on racquetball courts), the New Balance trainers (the gym), and the black loafers with skull-and-crossbones (strictly Halloween).

As I look over the rest of my hoard, I see they serve special purposes. Red Wing hiking boots get me through the winter with warmth and traction. Summer finds me in water shoes or the rubber-like Okabashi shoes.

Water shoes are the ubiquitous footwear of Michigan’s Thumb, protecting swimmers from Lake Huron’s rock collection.  Having grown up on an inland lake and spending childhood summers on Lake Superior, I was used to wading boldly into water. The only shock might be in the temperature. On my first foray into Huron, I stubbed various toes and got a cut from a zebra mussel. Then an experienced tourist showed me the ugly yet essential footwear.

For purely practical wear, I have two pairs by Okabashi. I bought the Women’s Naples Slide sandals four years ago, before my Upper Peninsula camping trip with cousin Jill. They comfortably carried me from sandbars to shipwrecks to forest trails  – and almost helped me escape from black flies.** Now they’re my summer work shoes, holding up to garden dirt and paint. The second pair are simple thongs for public showers and beaches. I can throw them in the washing machine, run them through the dishwasher or just throw them in a bucket of suds – and they’re clean.

Now, of course, I’ll have to change my plans for birthday brunch this weekend. We’d planned to dine at an Italian restaurant – and then do a little shoe-shopping. Perhaps I can find a nice hat or driving gloves instead.

*********

FOOTNOTES

*Names have been changed to protect the guilty.

**There is no escape.  When they retreat in the late afternoon, the mosquitoes take over.

That was my maternal grandmother’s saying, my mother’s saying… and so on to me. They both could squeeze a nickel until it screamed. However, when it came to cars, furniture and things built to last – such as others in need – they didn’t mind spending a little more for something.

When my parents visited, my dad made me laugh by assuring me, “You know, you CAN spend money.” My comparison shopping at the hardware store was getting to him, I guess. And then my mother commented about the number of cleaning products under my sink. (I have two of everything because I brought home my school supplies.)

So am I hoarder? Is my frugality crossing the line into being miserly? If I own very little, does that mean I’m living simply?

Frugality is spending very little money on everyday things that you use all the time. Some things, like toilet paper, you can buy in bulk at sales in order to save money. But that’s only if you have a reasonable place to put it, and will use it. Frugality is also taking care of what you’ve bought – putting the cap back on the toothpaste so it doesn’t dry out, refilling the soap dispenser instead of buying a brand new pump bottle. And not putting your eyeglasses on your favorite chair where you’ll be sure to sit on it!

Living simply is spending money and TIME wisely. I used to think it meant an ascetic existence, but I’ve met a few wealthy people who live simply because they focus on their true values. They don’t get sucked into materialism or a must-show-up-the-Smiths mentality. You can pare back on all your belongings, but still not live simply if you’re over-scheduled or unable to find time for what you love.

Hoarding is buying 25 cans of peas and getting sick of them – or forgetting you have them – long before their expiration date. It’s going shopping at every sale but still having nothing to wear because nothing really matches. Or needing one bottle of conditioner but buying more than you’ll use in three years because “it’s so cheap”. Hoarding is a panicky materialism, living in fear that you’ll never have what you need and you can’t afford to let anything go – or give anything away.

And a miser? That’s someone who loves money so much he can’t bear to part with it. I’ve met few misers, and they didn’t have many friends. (Although I’ve always wanted to swim in money like Scrooge MacDuck, which I think would be a great excuse for a pool party!)

A power-outage is a great reminder that most material goods aren’t that important. My TV and PC became large paperweights. The furniture formed an obstacle course.  Everything else impeded the hunt for bare basics: an emergency radio, the crank-powered lantern, and a can-opener to break into dinner.

The things I missed the most were the fridge, the washer, and the dryer.  Going to bed early was no heartache. I read and wrote while there was natural light, then I fell asleep. The weather’s been unusually warm, so I was comfortable.

I’ve had problems lately with appliances, so I’ve come to appreciate basic devices.  I had a cordless phone/answering machine combination. It hadn’t been holding a charge, so I bought a new battery.  No use. Sometimes it charged; sometimes it went dead.  I went to a resale shop and bought a phone for $5. Its a plastic relic with huge buttons, including two mysteriously labeled “FLASH” and “AUTO”.  I suspect it was an office phone, since it has a speakerphone option and a hold button. The latter plays a deafening electronic rendition of Fur Elise. But it works, even when the power’s out. (More on that below.) I also dragged out the cheap answering machine that I couldn’t GIVE away two years ago. When I got home this evening, I had a message from a high school pal – in other words, it works perfectly.

Thank God for Mr. Bell and his amazing invention.

When my washer died a clicking death, I ended up washing one load of clothes in the bathtub. I used a washboard and a small paddle. Afterwards, I felt tremendous admiration for my grandmothers. It took a lot of upperbody strength to wash and wring a single load of schoolteacher clothes. Those ladies washed work clothes for farmers and miners!

I told my friend Karen that I needed a new washer, and we discussed local retailers. Within a few hours of our conversation, she called me back. Her family friends had recently moved and were selling a dryer (circa ‘89) for $50. Daniel and Tim were kind enough to handle the delivery and installation (including finagling space for it in dinky utility closet).

Why doesn’t anyone offer a Nobel Peace Prize to Whirlpool factory workers?

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.

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…)

It soon became hilarious how many things I DON’T USE are in my kitchen cabinets and cupboards. When my parents were here in the fall, my mother commented that I have a variety of  cleaning supplies and really only need a few basics.

That’s nothing compared to my kitchenware. I’m keeping what matches my new set of dishes. Good-bye, personalized coffee cups! (I haven’t needed them since I stopped working at a big company where things tended to disappear.) Good-bye, hamburger press! Adios, glass carafe! 

There are also duplicates. I have two wooden cutting boards, one of which I didn’t unwrap at the housewarming.  Sissy sent me a beautiful set of towels (handpicked by her hubby JoeCool) for my birthday, so I put the others into a box and the stained ones into the ragbag. My elder brother and his family gave me a quesadilla maker just like the one I already have, so the unopened Christmas present will go.

It’s tempting to keep these things. For example, I’m apt to scratch the Teflon coating on the quesadilla maker, since I use it so often. But then again, it’s tempting to keep EVERYTHING for myself and give nothing away.

Hand-me-downs are another matter. A juicer, a badly tarnished tea strainer, a dented colander, a McDonald’s glass from when Jim Carey played the Riddler… My friends and relatives passed on their odds and ends; it’s easy to pass them on again!

St. Vincent de Paul in Port Huron gave me a number for pick-up of furniture. So that will be next week’s project.