Adventures in Spring Cleaning: The Cleaning Games We Play – Part 3

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. Read Part 1 and Part 2.

Adventures in Spring Cleaning: The Cleaning Games We Play – Part 3

After a while, I’m almost enjoying it. Soon I’m grabbing up items and shooting them at the garbage like I’m in a 3 point contest. Bent bobby pins—swish! Broken eye shadow—swish! Pen with a fuzzy purple haired troll on the top—swish!

I also find some very practical treasures. For example, I was absolutely convinced I needed to purchase more tupperware cups a while back, but it just so happens there are two-and-a-half sets rolling around under the bed! In another moment of triumph, I discover we have enough white and black socks to go a month without washing! And why is the unopened box of aloe-and-vitamin E-fortified Kleenex hiding under the yellow chair when I’ve been scraping my nose raw with generics all week?

I’m getting tired, but I reward myself with a pack of Rainblo gum that I found in my bedside table. I have no way to authenticate how old it is. But, after cautiously testing the purple one, I decide that it has not yet reached the danger zone.

Help Me Get Organized

I discover the orthopedic inserts that my chiropractor gave me. I was supposed to cut them to the shape of my feet and put them in my shoes, a task that I intended to accomplish right after I found my missing set of plastic cups.

I resolve that I will no longer own things that I do not use, and so I plant my feet firmly on the foam inserts and chop out a custom mold of my left foot which, I notice, looks like Illinois.

Soon I unearth yet another dog toy inside yet another plastic cup. I think of the children in Africa again, or even the children in some parts of the U.S.

God, don’t strike me dead.

I eat the red Rainblo to comfort myself.

I begin to toss paperwork next, starting with the user manual for my phone. My little brother, John, is a living phone manual, and he’s less convenient to dispose of.

I throw out a file of old credit card information, kept as if Uncle Sam might arrive at any moment and demand to know the APR of the Target card I cancelled in 1999.

I shred all these reminders that I lug my commercialism around like a ball and chain. I am annoyed at myself, annoyed at credit in general, and angry at what capitalism has done to our world. As each statement devolves into black-and-white confetti, I feel a little bit more free.

I eat a purple Rainblo to celebrate.

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