40 Ways To Lose The Clutter

No matter how hard I try to keep my stuff under control somehow it doesn't behave.

 

Day by day I try to throw out papers, mail, and other stuff that has outlived its welcome but still there is always more stuff to deal with or organize.  Not all of it is important stuff, but still it's stuff that I don't want to buy again.  Here's my fear and maybe you can identify with it: once I throw out certain things, I'll find I immediately need it.

 

Sweet readers, what is a person to do?  How do you deal with your stuff? Or maybe the stuff that a loved one left for you deal with?

 

I guess I am emotionally connected to my stuff.  I admit it.  And I know what I'm supposed to do to stay on top of my clutter game.  I'm familiar with most of the tricks for getting rid of my unruly stuff: donate it to someone who can really make use of it, give it to a friend or relative, take a picture of it, or sell it online or at a tag sale.

 

 

 

But I can't always get myself to do those things.  One of my great friends must be a mind reader because this week she sent me this timely post from a blog, White House Black Shutters (www.whitehouseblackshutters.com) about decluttering and within the story is a link that takes you to a schedule you can print out for 40 days of getting the stuff out of your house (one schedule has dates and one is blank so you can make your own schedule).

 

I like Ann Marie's idea of keeping track of when and how much stuff you are throwing out because then I (or we) can go back and actually confirm for ourselves that yes indeed we did get rid of a lot that was hanging around and causing trouble.  Simplifying is the name of the game; not just to make room in our homes but also to set ourselves free from the burden of having too much stuff.

 

I think we've all had it with winter weather and we're  ready to open the windows and let the slightly chilly yet fresh air in.  Decluttering isn't fun but I think it can be rewarding for it helps me find more space, and light and order which is always a good thing.

 

As Ann Marie says, you could fill 40 boxes, 40 bags (of any size) or 40 trashcans but it really doesn't matter whether you hit the target of 40 or not.  Forty days of focusing on different areas of the house and really focusing on sweeping it out will take us right into Spring, which traditionally is always a time of renewal.

Good luck and here's the link to the White House Black Shutters post on 40 ways to lose your clutter:

http://www.whitehouseblackshutters.com/40-bags-in-40-days-2014/

Beyond His Clutter

Oh my goodness I can so identify with the story that I am sharing with you today.

 

It's a story titled, 54 Drawers, and it's about a daughter who thoughtfully and lovingly is going through the drawers and drawers of file cabinets containing huge amounts of paper her recently deceased father stored in the office of his house.

 

In my case it was and still is the papers that my late husband left in his office.  Over the years, I have made a lot of progress and thrown out lots and lots of boxes containing everything from old bills, old checkbooks, handwritten notes, pictures, and receipts to zillions of stories printed from websites along with multiple copies of stories my husband beautifully wrote while working as a prize-winning science and space reporter for The Washington Post.

Thomas O'Toole hard at work at his Washington Post desk

If you have never found yourself in the position of going through a deceased person's belongings please let me tell you that it is not the kind of activity that happens quickly.  No way.  It is dicey territory.  Don't let anyone tell you that it is the same as when you say you are going to clean out your closet, desk or any other room in your house.

 

It takes time, especially if the things belong to someone you cared about.  It is an unpredictable, emotional and even intimate journey, just as Olivia Judson so eloquently writes in her story, 54 Drawers,  recently published in The New York Times.  For those of you readers who have found yourself in the situation of going through someone else's belongings after their death, I hope you agree with me that initially you think you are ready for the task and that it shouldn't be too difficult.

For me, it quickly became evident upon going through the first box that it was going to be harder than I thought.  His things took me back to him and I was back inside my husband's head reading his written thoughts, completed or not, and some pieces of paper were out of the blue surprising, revealing some things about himself that we had not ever discussed.  He may have even forgotten that he wrote these thoughts.  I'm not implying that I uncovered any deep dark secrets but just that I came upon things that he wrote in the emotion of a moment and may have wanted to keep private.

Throwing away some of some husband's stuff felt like I was disrespecting him even when it was just an outdated piece of paper or a report that was not of any importance.  I knew that I wasn't doing anything of the sort but it certainly felt that way.  Then there were other times when going through his stuff felt like a game.  I would read whatever it was I had found and stare at it for awhile wondering why he had kept it in the first place.

" Is there something of importance here that I'm missing?" I would ask myself.

And then I realized that the answer to that question was yes.  I was missing him.

Please read Olivia Judson's story, 54 Drawers, by clicking on the link below: 

http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/02/18/54-drawers/

Billy Crystal -- Did You Hear The One About The Dentist?

The dentist.  Oy Vay!

I went to the dentist yesterday morning for a teeth cleaning and I'm soooo glad it's over.  My dentist is a really nice guy and tries to make it as painless as possible but I really hate going.  I try to do all the things you're supposed to do to take care of your teeth but in the end, it's just so boring.  A dentist visit may be healing but there was definitely no laughing or crying going on during my appointment.

Just relief!

I think it's a bit of a carryover from having many teeth extracted and then wearing braces as a child.  Don't get me wrong, I know dentists are important, for they can detect signs and symptoms of lots of different conditions such diabetes and heart disease. 

Still, compared to doctors, dentists don't get much respect.  And the always funny, brilliant comedian Billy Crystal, in this comical ode to dentists below, tells us how he handles a dental appointment . . .

Drilling for Laughs: Billy Crystal Goes to the Dentist
Published in November 2013 Reader's Digest
             

Robert Sebree

I shouldn’t complain so much. Life at 65 is good. I have had one house, one wife, my real nose, my real name, and most of my teeth. And the last part is a major reason why life is pretty good. Because when you hit your mid-60s, you have to take care of your teeth. It’s a generational thing—I learned it from my 86-year-old grandmother.

 

Susie Gabler had perfect teeth. White beauties with no cavities. She took great care of them—always kept them by her bedside in a glass of water. The first time I saw them come out of her mouth, she was in bed, and I was sitting next to her. In the middle of saying how proud she was of me, she suddenly reached into her mouth and pulled out her entire set of uppers and lowers. Splash, into the glass of water they went, and suddenly my beloved grandma looked like an 86-year-old hockey player.

 

“Take care of your teeth, Billy. Take care of your teeth.” I think that’s what she said, because with her lips flapping in the breeze, she could have said, “Pass me the marble cake.” I was shocked—and slightly nauseous. It was a terrible thing for a grandson to see, even though I was 32 years old.

 

She lost her teeth because she never went to the dentist. Mainly because the Cossacks had killed him. None of my grandparents had good teeth. Sometimes when my grandfather was eating the Thanksgiving brisket, his dentures would be hurting so much he’d remove them at the table, keep them in his hand, and manually chew the rubbery meat until it was ground down enough to swallow. While we all watched in horror, he’d take the “chewed” meat, dip it in horseradish, put it in his mouth, and swallow it with a great sigh of satisfaction. He’d then say something inaudible, and Grandma would reply, “Don’t talk with your hand full.”

 

Take care of your teeth! It’s why we baby boomers should floss, it’s why we should brush, and it’s why we should go to the dentist, because we know dentists are important people, even though they weren’t smart enough to get into medical school. It’s sad; dentists don’t get the respect they deserve. You never hear, “Is there a dentist in the house?”

 

You would think that taking care of our teeth in 2013 would be easier than it was in 1963, but it’s not, and that’s because the whole dental experience has changed. Back then, a dentist was a one-man show. He would clean your teeth, show you how to brush, do bridges, take X-rays, pull teeth, fill cavities, drill root canals, make appointments, validate parking, and rub your leg when he thought you were under anesthesia. The only specialist in 1963 was the orthodontist, who thought his job was to ruin your puberty. Now it’s all about the specialists.

 

When I turned 65, I decided to celebrate by making an appointment for my cleaning. I showed up on time and read the Sports Illustrated from 2010 until the maître d’ (it’s L.A., don’t ask) escorted me to my examining room.

 

I’m lucky. I go to a very prominent dentist. My dentist is the fifth guy. You know when they say, “Four out of five dentists prefer” whatever it is they prefer? Mine’s the one who doesn’t. When people find out he’s the fifth guy, they go crazy. “He’s the fifth guy? What’s he like? You gotta get me an appointment!”

 

When the dentist came in, he asked if I’d been flossing, and, like we all do, I lied. Then he pulled a chunk of lobster meat from between my molars. As the jazz trio played him off and he left the room, the parade of specialists began.

 

First it was the cleaning expert—the hygienist. She came in looking like one of the riot police in South Korea. On some people, a large Plexiglas face mask isn’t flattering. You can’t imagine the noise the tool made as she chiseled that stuff off my bottom teeth. I don’t have tartar; I have coral. That’s why dentists’ offices always have fish tanks. You could sculpt Michelangelo’s “David” out of my plaque.

 

Next came the X-ray technician, because God forbid the hygienist should have to do two things. The technician put a heavy lead blanket over my goodie basket and sprinted out of the room. That’s comforting. I figure with 60-plus years of X-rays, my family jewels have been covered with more lead than a kid’s toy from China.

 

Then the dentist came back in after looking at the X-rays, meaning that he would be charging me for a second visit. He said, “Billy, you need a root canal.”

 

“Now?”

 

“Oh, I don’t do them—you’ve got to see Dr. Jack Wu for that. He can see you in about three weeks.”

As soon as he’d said that I needed the root canal, my tooth started to hurt. “Three weeks of this kind of pain?” I asked.

 

“No, not this kind of pain—tomorrow you’ll have a worse kind of pain. I’ll give you these pills I got in Mexico. They may constipate you, and if they do, call Dr. Ari Weitzman.”

 

“How about my wisdom teeth?”

 

“Right now, they’re fine, but if you want them extracted, Dr. Abrams does uppers, and Dr. Hunter does lowers.”

 

“So what exactly do you do?” I asked.

 

“Oh, I do fillings and crowns and sit by the pool you paid for.”

 

I currently have six dental specialists. My dentist farms out everything. I’m looking at the pictures on his desk, and I say, “Are those your kids?”

 

He says, “Technically no, I didn’t handle that. I sent my wife to Dr. Feldman.” 

Cleaning Your Soul

I know this is going to sound very old school but I'm going to come out with it anyway: sometimes if I want to feel better, I pull out the cleaning supplies and take a room apart.

I fill a pan with hot soapy water, gather some rags and a few spray cleaners and I then I go for it!

Over the weekend, I did this to my kitchen because something about the change in seasons was in the air and I looked around and thought I would feel better if I could clean away some of the dirt and also toss out some unused or broken items taking up space.



My Healing Tools

Everybody has dirt in the place where they live whether they admit it or not.  It's just what happens while you are living life; especially in a room made for cooking and preparing food.

From the ceiling to the baseboards and all those little spaces in between where you don't see the dirt until you are on a stepladder and up close and personal with it, I felt productive.  Cleaning is physical work and exercise produces endorphins -- those natural chemicals in the brain that are responsible for creating good moods.

As I wiped down the kitchen walls and physically cleaned the knobs of the appliances and other things hanging on the walls, I lost myself in the motion of it and that was a good thing.  I could feel that I was getting rid of some of the stresses of the work week by wiping and vacuuming and squeezing out those rags in the water over and over again.

Rather than waiting for change in your life, you can be the agent of change!

The simple act of moving furniture around or cleaning your kitchen or reorganizing your closet can freshen your attitude.  Think of how much time you spend in your house and how much it means to you.  It's your haven.  Your comfort zone.

When you decide to change your environment, you make it different.  Let go of the way a room used to be arranged and try it the way you want.  Even if you clean a room and put everything back exactly where it was, it still looks different because it sparkles and feels fresher.

In cleaning, you are simplifying your space, getting rid of what you don't want.

You may think that cleaning is gross -- and it can be -- but it's also about changing up your living space, the special place where you and your inner spirit live.

Tossing Emotional Baggage

A spilled box of cereal this weekend took me through an unexpected, yet healthy exercise.

 

While trying to do too many things at the same time in the kitchen, I spilled a box of cereal inside one of my kitchen cabinets.  Don't you hate it when that happens?

 

It was such a klutzy move and right away I was annoyed with myself.  I looked at the shelf with the cereal spilled everywhere inside the cabinet and knew I was going to have to take everything out and vacuum the shelf.  Damn! What a pain!

 

I knew the sooner I started the sooner it would be over.  While muttering to myself, one by one I pulled all the items from their shelves and put them on the counter and on the floor.  Of course, you know what happened next.  One cabinet led to another cabinet and before I knew it, I had a full fledged kitchen project going of vacuuming the shelves, throwing out expired stuff and relining the shelves.

 

But in the process of cleaning, I came upon an old yet distinctive jar of Ovaltine.

 

 

There's only one person in my family who used to drink Ovaltine and that person was my husband, who is no longer with us.  Sad to say and embarrassed to admit, but that jar of chocolatey malted powder has sat there in the back of the cabinet for almost nine years.  I know.  Nine. Years.

 

I would see the jar but not really see the jar if you know what I mean.  There were times when I would scold myself and say "This is ridiculous!  Why are you holding on to this Ovaltine?"  But there was something about it and I couldn't bring myself to toss it in the trash can.  It just reminded me of him so much.  It was his thing.  And no, I did not open the jar.  God knows what I would have seen!

 

You know how they say that deciding what to give away and what to keep is a hard process when going through a loved one's belongs after they have died?  Well, that is true but in this case I think I went too far.  It was only a jar of Ovaltine and yet it sat there for ages.  I guess it was a reminder to me of my husband and it didn't seem like a big deal to keep it in the cabinet.

 

But I did hold the jar in my hand for a long time before I threw it away.  I allowed myself to go backwards in time, to a time when we went grocery shopping together and he would always throw a jar of Ovaltine into the cart, a time when he would mix the Ovaltine into a tall glass of cold milk and talk about delicious it was, to a time when Ovaltine was supposed to make him feel better when he was sick.

 

Who knows why I was ready to throw the Ovaltine away on Saturday!  Maybe it was because I was throwing other stuff away and felt like I was on a roll to declutter or maybe I was just ready to see it for what it was: an old jar of Ovaltine.

 

I surprised myself by my inability to let go of such a simple item.  Some things that belonged to my husband I very easily discarded, donated or threw away.  Just because the jar is gone doesn't mean I threw away the memories too.

 

Home Sweet Home

 

 

Yesterday was a well needed luxury: a whole day spent at home.

 

I have not had one of those days for months and I really needed it.  A day to catch my breath and try to put things back in place.  A day with no schedule.  A day of waiting for Hurricane Sandy to slam into the East Coast so I didn't feel bad about staying inside and tending to my nest. 

 

Recently, there has been so many medical developments going on in my family that my time has been spent on more important things.  As a result, the house is definitely what you might politely call disheveled.  I am not complaining; just explaining that I am one of those people who believe that house chores will always be there, but the people that you care about will not.

 

So while the wind and rain swirled around my neighborhood, I found it was the perfect time to go through the many mini piles of papers that have been sitting on the dining room table.

In the middle of one pile of magazines and opened mail I had yet to file, I came across an old Parade magazine I had saved because it had an excerpt from a new book written by Anna Quindlen.  Quindlen is a best selling author and won a Pulitzer Prize in 1992 for her New York Times column, Public and Private.  Quindlen's new book is titled, Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake.  I love Anna Quindlen because she is a beautiful and insightful writer and is always able to wisely put her finger on the core meaning of many of life's common yet bewildering situations.

 

In this case, Quindlen addresses stuff.  You know, the common stuff that surrounds us; the stuff that keeps piling up.  As in Americans' need for stuff and how material goods innocently creep into your house and then one day you discover you are buried under an emormous amount of things you really no longer want.

 

How timely that I should find this story as I am trying to get rid of stuff in my own house!!  There's a message here for me and as the holidays approach, I know I've got to get rid of things that I don't use.  If you aren't familiar with Quindlen's work, please allow me to share some of her sage advice from Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake:

 

--"At some point desire and need became untethered in our lives, and shopping became a competitive sport.  It was generally agreed in our family that my grandmother Quindlen was a world-class shopper, but for her, there was always an object to the hunt: a Hitchcock chair, a pair of Naturalizer pumps.  Sometimes I feel as though credit cards have helped us concentrate on quantity, not quality.  Plastic is magical, as though the bill will never come due."

 

--Statisticians say our houses are almost twice as large, on average, as they were 40 years ago, but we all understand that that doesn't mean the people inside are any more content.  Now that I'm nearing 60, I understand the truth about possessions, that they mean or prove or solve nothing. Stuff is not salvation."

--"There was a period when I believed stuff meant something. I thought that if you had matching side chairs and a sofa that harmonized and some beautiful lamps to light them, you would have a home, that elegance signaled happiness.  I fooled myself into thinking House Beautiful should be subtitled Life Wonderful.

Amen, Anna!

Letting Go

Longer, warmer days are making me yearn for a simpler life.

Lighter clothes and lighter food are definitely the way to go.  There's something about the change in season that makes you want to lighten your material load here on earth and get about de-cluttering your nest.  This past weekend I was cleaning the house and I started pulling stuff out of my closet and making piles of "keep," "donate" or "give away."   

Getting  rid of things you never use or wear feels so great!  But de-cluttering isn't just about your material things.  You can de-clutter your thoughts or your attitude.  What a concept!  Here's a story I found on mariashriver.com that got me going into throw away mode and I thought you might like it too:

April 16, 2012
www.mariashriver.com
Tips for Transformation

An Easy Way to Achieve Peace of Mind

By Barry Dennis

Whether I'm working with a Hollywood celebrity, consulting with a spiritual leader, or speaking to congregants at Celebration Church in Portland, Oregon, I always encounter the same question: How does one achieve peace of mind?

I believe I am getting closer to the answer, and it begins with getting rid of excess "stuff" in one's life -- whether it's material things, unfulfilling activities and people, or useless information.

If you try to only fill your life with things, people, and activities that feed your spirit, there will be a lot less junk standing between you and peace of mind. Now I travel the country motivating and inspiring people to do this.

My own journey toward peace of mind began on April 3, 1998, at 3 am. It was possibly the best day of my life. My wife performed the miraculous that day: the act of giving birth. I made a solemn promise to that 8.3-pound boy the first time I laid eyes on him. I would never parent out of anger.
And, I must say, I have done well living up to my promise. Except on one day, possibly the worst day of my life, six years later.

The first thing I remember that morning is all the shampoos. Why so many bottles? What should I use? Maybe I could use a shower gel for my hair and body! Radical. And then came the hair gels, lotions, and toothbrushes (Which one is mine?).

Upon opening my closet door, I was overcome with a full-blown episode of “apparel-yzation,” which is the act of staring, immobile, into one's bulging closet shackled by the thought “What to wear?” Which is sometimes followed by the nutty notion, “I have nothing to wear.”

The encounters with chaos continued. There were pieces of mail and other random papers on the kitchen table and counters, enough cereal boxes to open my own Kellogg's outlet store, and my boys playing with the latest version of Xbox something or other while the outdated versions lay in heaps, half in, half out of drawers.

I tried to simultaneously pick up after them and get them ready for school.

It all came to a head when I opened the door to my son's room to see before me what looked like a testing ground for nuclear weapons. I was late for an appointment, and my son had already missed the bus. He was supposed to be in his room getting ready. “CJ, where are you?” There was no reply. This time I yelled, “CJ, WHERE ARE YOU?”

A squeak came from behind his closet door, “I’m in here, Daddy.” I opened the door to find him in a sitting fetal position, overwhelmed, surrounded by refuse from the ghost of Christmas past. He explained, “I’ve been looking everywhere, but I can't find my pants.” A tear rolled down his cheek.
But I couldn’t see it. I was blind, turning green like the Incredible Hulk as I yelled, “GET UP NOW, RIGHT NOW! I'M LATE BECAUSE YOU CAN'T FIND PANTS? GIVE ME A BREAK! THIS IS RIDICULOUS.”

We drove to his school in total silence. That had never happened before. The rest of the day I felt like a lowly worm at the bottom of a compost heap. What had happened? That was not me.

A few weeks later I shared my frustration with a good friend, Dr. Harold Bloomfield. I told him about all the stuff, from the shampoos to the floor of my son's room, and how it all seemed to pile up in my mind, creating an overload that turned me into a rageaholic monster. “What is it?” I said.
His reply changed my life. “Oh” he uttered, shaking his head, “you're talking about Chotchky.”

It’s an old Yiddish term. I’ve come to understand it as anything we have in excess that intrudes, clutters, or distracts us from our soul's highest purpose. Chotchky isn't just clutter. It can also be unsupportive people, too much technology, unhealthy food, unwanted gifts, and regrettable decisions, among them. But the junk in your house is the easiest kind of Chotchky to identify.

What my son and I were experiencing was the “Chotchky Effect.” Too much Chotchky can leave us stressed out, irritable, and confused. No one wants to be on the receiving end of the Chotchky Effect.
You see, I wasn't angry at my son. In fact, we are almost never angry for the reasons we think we are. There is usually something behind the anger. Often, if we’re willing to look close enough, we will recognize that “something” as some form of Chotchky.

The anger directed at my son started with an excess of shampoos and built from there. Besides, who bought him the Xbox’s, the toys, and all those clothes that overwhelmed him and me? Hmmm.

Think of your conscious mind as a sacred shelf. It can only hold so much before it starts to bend.

Everything we surround ourselves with, that we come into contact with, is placed on our sacred shelf.
One shampoo is enough. The other nine in the shower that day were Chotchky and they took up space on my sacred shelf. By the time I got to my son's room, the weight of the Chotchky Effect was taking its toll. My sacred shelf snapped.

Give yourself and the ones you love a blessed gift. Eliminate all the Chotchky in your life, one room at a time, and donate it, recycle it, or throw it away.

Doing so will lighten your load, unburden your soul, and give you peace of mind.

********
Barry Dennis is an internationally known inspirational speaker and spiritual teacher. His new book is The Chotchky Clallenge: Clear the Clutter from Your Home, Heart, and Mind…and Discover the True Treasure of Your Soul (Hay House, April 2012). Learn more at www.BarryADennis.com.