The Tao of Tidy

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Every once in a while, I experience a deep dislocation of the the psyche. I like neatness, tidily-stored possessions, orderly and easily found stuff. But when things get out of hand and I’m plagued by massive disorder and a disturbing disequilibrium, I tend to rally for the cause–that being restoring order and sanity. Organizing my piles of so-called necessities is one of my favorite, most satisfying chores to perform. Organizing someone else’s stuff is sublime since I have no emotional attachment to a bunch of crap that’s not mine. When life veers off in its many different directions, I find myself with less time to tidy up the piles of flotsam which occupy my spaces. I can tolerate this lack of organization for only so long…until my desk, sewing basket, kitchen, dresser look like a small bomb was detonated with the sole purpose of throwing my stuff all willy nilly. I hate willy nilly,

You may recall that Marie Kondo is my organizational hero. Even Ms. Kondo experiences times of household chaos because, well that’s just life in general. She, like me, will consult her calendar for an appropriate date and time to schedule some neatening activity. She probably doesn’t arrange for a nice bottle of wine to be opened before the event. You might call it a chore, but I call it a party, so appetizers may also be prepared ahead of time. Even surrounded by mountains of pestilential sloppiness, I am willing and eager to not only put it right, but to actually enjoy the process.

I usually start in the place causing me the most distress. That’s the kitchen. I work in that space every day. The pantry, just inside the back door, is my nemesis. I often curse the previous occupants of my house since they obviously had no sense of decorum when it comes to kitchen organization. Instead of tidy little areas of storage on the right side of the pantry, they somehow survived on one giant open space with an inadequate number of shelves. Nothing offends me more (tiny house-wise) than a poor use of space. This open space should have a label that says “Pile shit here,” since what else is anyone going to do with such an open and inviting cavern in which to toss stuff willy nilly. In the name of rectifying this situation, ridding myself of the current deluge of drek and starting the process of remodeling, I decided to tackle the pantry as our first household improvement project.

In order to defeat this foe, I knew I’d have to recruit some help–preferably an unpaid laborer. Who needs a place to store a twelve-pack of beer where it can be found again? Who has woodworking tools in a convenient and somewhat organized shop? Who might encourage me to measure twice? It’s not Bob Vila, but close enough! It’s my beer-brewing, wood-working husband, of course. We put our heads together–or at least I put mine next to his and expressed my most intimate desires. We could use some extra shelving my dearest. So, after anxiety-driven measuring and dimensional advice, I went off to Lowe’s for some wood and brackets. Wandering the aisles, I felt like a lost child in a massive naked forest. I found wood, but unless I was willing to build a small cabana in my back yard, I figured I was in the wrong area. So I scurried a few aisles over to where smaller (yet still bigger than me) pieces of wood were on offer for your modest home improvement projects. With the proper dimensions on my handy list, I scoured this woody section until I found the right stuff.

I called my handyman from the store for advice on the type of wood I might buy. Not too cheap, not too expensive. I was advised that pine would be ideal since I was going to paint it white and no one with a snooty wood sensibility would be the wiser if they happened to get lost at The Hobbit House and haplessly wander into the pantry on their way to the bathroom. Sold. I clumsily loaded it into my cart and wheeled my way to checkout. Then I remembered the brackets. Since I was near the front of the store anyway, I accosted one of Lowe’s two employees for directions to the bracket section of the store. He took one look at the wood stashed in my cart and started walking. I guessed I was supposed to follow.

Ah, I exclaimed, a whole aisle devoted to shelving materials. No doubt I appeared as clueless as I really was since my Mr. Lowe’s Salesman pointed out that I could (duh) buy ready-cut, finished shelves. Of course I then had to launch into the whole explanation about how these shelves were for a pantry and required more specification size-wise. He looked impressed, or maybe that was just my interpretation of his expression as he silently led me to the shelving brackets. The collection of brackets on display in Aisle 12 were meant to uphold some fancy shelving, or at least the kind of shelves other people (who did not get lost going to the bathroom) would be impressed by if found in a living room or trophy case.

Think about what you would use to put up shelves in your garage. I was blatantly stereotyping all of men-kind as beings who hung shelves in their garages in order to house their home repair paraphernalia and/or sports equipment. He seemed okay with that as he gave a grunt and then walked me two aisles over to the garage-y looking merchandise of a more utilitarian and less upwardly mobile variety. I think we both felt immense satisfaction at having arrived in the proper aisle. He left me there to make my choice and went off to find other less-emphatic female customers to whom he might sell some upscale home improvement hardware.

I arrived at home flushed with pride and eager to show off my accomplishment. My meticulous measurements were dutifully used to cut four boards from my successful lumber haul. It would be more than a week before the hanging of the shelves began. I used that time to give the shelves a couple coats of white paint and spent the rest of the week admiring my handywork…I’m really good at painting one color onto a flat surface. Then one afternoon, a man emerged from his basement lair and began asking questions about devices with which to connect the brackets to both the shelves and the walls. I had a plan for where to place these shelves and in what order things needed to be done, but no inkling of doo-hickeys for attaching one thing to another. I had to convince Free Labor I knew what I was doing and, after his two quick trips to a nearby Ace Hardware, operations were underway.

The timing was a bit poor as we were having company that very evening–a happy hour event for drinks and appetizers. So, only one shelf managed to find its permanent home and after its installation, I spent more time admiring it than I did finishing up those appetizers. Another shelf followed the next day. I was downright jubilant, so handyman and I celebrated with more wine and an extravagant Mexican dinner. By the weekend, I was itching to fill those two new shelves with rationality and order. As I cleared the cavern, items were tossed, moved and deliberated over. I felt a burden lift. But, once cleared of its previously heaped cargo, I realized the bulk of the cavern space was so egregiously constructed that both of the new, nicely painted remaining shelves no longer suited my needs functionally. I had to backpedal into a Plan B.

So you find me on this fine day wringing my hands over the next pantry project. I know what I want, but I’m not sure my guy and I are the ones who should build it. It involves making drawers that pull out and a cabinet-like box from which to pull said drawers. Plus, after having carefully designed the newly-shelved section, we decided a second box-like construction would be required and installed on the pantry floor in the name of using all the available space in that good-for-nothing grot. Another trip to the hardward store is in order as well as some consultation with various knowledgeable neighbors.

In the meantime, I’ve arranged my cookbooks on the existing shelves along with my jars of dried legumes and our oatmeal fixin’s in order to provide myself with an appropriate amount of satisfaction…as long as I don’t turn around and look at the other side where there remains a gaping hole for casual dropping off of stuff. I’m already sniffing out my next organizational endeavor. I might arrange a rendezvous with the hall closet or perhaps a long-overdue engagement with the refridgerator. I’ve got the time and the wine to tackle any lingering willy nilly possessions. Breathe in, breathe out. Sip of wine, conquer the enemy.

Yours in fastidiousness,

Cheryl