Adventures in Spring Cleaning: The Cleaning Games We Play – Part 1

To celebrate the arrival of spring, I thought I’d run some excerpts about the endless de-cluttering process from my memoir, Picking Dandelions, a quirky reflection on ongoing personal growth.

Adventures in Spring Cleaning: The Cleaning Games We Play – Part 1

I immediately focus on my seemingly straightforward goal. If I cut down the number of things I own, I will reduce the amount of time I spend trying to maintain them.

I swear, for example, that when I add new necklaces to my box, I lay them in carefully, as if they are goldfish who have been hooked from Claire’s clearance rack and must now adjust to new water. I try not to let them touch. But without fail, when I come back, my necklaces are intertwined as if some Boy Scout snuck into my closet overnight to practice his knot tying.

Just thinking about never having to unwind these chains again gives me the vision to move ahead with my task.

I start by emptying all my possessions into piles on the bedroom floor. My original intention, of course, is to sort through the piles right away. But even getting all the items in one place proves exhausting. So instead, until I have time to get to them, I leave the piles lying near the door where I have to walk by them every time I enter or exit our bedroom.

It isn’t long before I get tired of gazing at the messy little mountain range of my belongings. They are neither scenic nor practical, and they are difficult to cross. Going from the bedroom to the kitchen, I have to step over a gauntlet of old school supplies and makeup cases and plastic combs.

How to Get Organized

Sorting becomes like an audition. I allow each item to make a little speech as I consider how worthy it is. If an item makes the cut, it gets to move into a newly arranged, well-organized box or onto a clean shelf. But if the item is obnoxious or keeps saying, “Like, um, you know?” then I give it the boot.

Unfortunately, I discover that I’m far too compassionate. No sooner do I kick some things out than I invite them back in. I look at them tenderly—How could I stay mad at you?

I can’t help that I have a heart.

After all, it’s not like the pair of sporty sandals asked to be bought. I bought them of my own free will—or at least of my mostly free will, since bright orange clearance banners bedecked with percentage signs have a special way of hypnotizing me. In any case, I am the one to blame. Why should the sandals be relegated to a secondhand store where they might be tried on by dozens of smelly feet?

Simplifying my possessions already seems less than simple. I sort through a pile of candles. An obscenely large pile. A “is she on the neighborhood emergency response team that distributes candles during blackouts?” size pile.

I consider applying for this position so I can justify keeping them.

The thing is, I love candles. I love the bright bold colors, the vanilla and almond scents, and the tiny pool of molten wax that is slowly gathered up into the light of the flaming wicks.

In my candle collection I notice a huge sub-category of orange candles. Since orange is my favorite color, any orange candle I find on sale seems like an investment that can’t go wrong. I mean, really, who can ever have enough orange candles?

Oddly, though, I love orange candles so much that I save them for the most special of special occasions. What this means, practically, is that my best orange candles live in a plastic Tupperware container tucked beneath my bed.

As you can imagine, they bring joy to millions there.

Why do I own so many things that I never intend to use?

Why do I own a set of brown candles that look exactly like tree stumps? Why anyone would buy these is beyond me, but somehow—no doubt orange clearance tags were involved—I bought a set at an outlet mall. I mean, with the economy the way it is, that might have been my last chance to acquire such treasures at pennies on the dollar.

I decide, in the end, to donate them, trusting that some tree hugger will consider them a find. I hope this is a better alternative than chucking them in the garbage, which seems wasteful.

After all, there are people in developing countries who don’t have the luxury of owning tree-bark candles. Read Part 2…

Pick up an on-sale copy of the full book at Amazon for just $6.00 this week only (while supplies last).