Your Clutter is My Collection

One of Gretchen Rubin's www.happiness-project.com first resolutions in her year long happiness project was to "toss, restore, organize".  I smiled when I read that and awarded myself a large mental check mark.   A born organizer with a taste for minimalist decor, I'm surprised Ikea hasn't approached me to be in their ads - seriously, my closets are that tidy.  In fact, a few years ago I made a resolution to call a halt to decluttering. I spent so much time sorting my fabrics and yarn - by weight/color/ theme - that I never got around to actually making anything.

Then I happened to glance at my basement shelves this morning and realized my title as the self-appointed "Queen of Clean" is in jeopardy.

It appears moving to new quarters, combining households and inheriting my dad's memorabilia have resulted in my space resembling the "before" in the home makeover articles which is a new experience for me.

As we unpacked our possessions from our respective houses last fall, the basement became the repository for anything that didn't have an obvious home elsewhere - duplicate kitchenwares, outgrown sports equipment, boxes marked "Miscellaneous".  Contemplating the shelves, I've come up against my first "Secret of Adulthood".  (If you're familiar with Gretchen's Happiness Project, you'll know of what I speak.  If not, check out http://www.happiness-project.com/happiness_project/secrets-of-adulthood.html).

My first Secret of Adulthood is this:

Living with other adults is difficult.

And living with other adults' stuff is a perfect example.  Left to my own devices, I could have the shelves cleared in an afternoon.  A few empty boxes labelled "Donate" and "Toss" followed by a trip to Goodwill and the dump and the "after" pics would be posted by Monday.

But let it be said here "One man's treasures are sure to be some woman's trash" (10 years of back issues of Sports Illustrated anyone?) and vice versa - my "collection" of florist shop vases might be reasonably viewed as "clutter" to the casual observer.  Then there are the boxes I brought from my dad's.  I have no need for a collection of wooden ducks and going through the scrapbooks he meticulously compiled still makes me cry.  But they were important to him and, therefor, of value to me.

I refuse to be discouraged.  I'm quite certain I'm up to the challenge.  I'm just saying it could take awhile...