I’m not kidding when I say I watch Hoarders to feel better about myself.
Well, I’m not a hoarder, and I feel really bad for anyone struggling with that issue. See, I have a big fear of filth, dirt and cooties. I am one of the biggest germaphobes there is. I apply hand sanitizer with an antibacterial wipe. You should see it when I stay at a hotel – man, I hit that place like Hazmat. However, I am guilty of “cluttering.” Yeah, I make mini-tornados all around my house.
I definitely am a messmaker. In fact, that’s one of Jay’s nicknames for me … typically used when I’m cooking. I love to cook and experiment with new recipes. But look out. When I’m in the kitchen, there is stuff flying everywhere – measuring cups landing here, sauces flung there, vegetable peels stuck to the wall, flour poofing all over the place. I don’t know what happens. I always start out organized. I neatly put out my cutting board, bowls, whisks, measuring cups, whatever; and, of course, a garbage bowl like Rachael Ray taught us. Though I don’t have a fancy $35 dollar garbage bowl; I use a plastic grocery bag (Mom would be proud).
It’s the same thing when I make jewelry or other crafts. I have stuff everywhere. Plus, if I set a tool or component down to get back to later, when I need it, I can’t remember where I put it. When I used to work for The Man I’d do the same thing with my pen. Doesn’t matter that I just wrote something with it five minutes prior; I could never find that thing on my desk.
So as for my clutter issue, me thinks it’s just subconscious adult rebellion from growing up under the watchful eye of Mary Ann. That woman ran our house like a well-oiled machine. We had to make our beds every day (Um, what? We’re just going to sleep in them again in 16 hours. Ask me if I make my bed today …) Once, she even did the “dime test.” She bounced a dime off our sheets like they did in the military to see if they were stretched tight enough. I can’t remember if she was joking then or not. Probably not. So she wasn’t too proud when my dime hit the sheet and stuck like glue. Mom was cleaning our house 24/7. And my sisters and I had to help clean it. We had serious chore lists, people. Maybe you’ve seen that post. Along with vacuuming, dusting, floor-scrubbing, dish-washing, lunch-making and yard work, Mom would always have special tasks for us to complete. We actually had to clean the leaves of fake house plants with vinegar. We polished and shined my Dad’s work shoes. We cleaned our combs with old toothbrushes. We soaked and scrubbed shoe laces. Holy crap, I’m not sure if I’m still talking about my childhood or summarizing the film, Mommie Dearest.
I actually like having a clean, uncluttered house. I work on it every time we’re expecting company. But I will likely never file everything in my office stack of papers which is now seven inches high. I will probably never sort through my box of photos and get them in fancy little frames to put on the wall. I will probably never organize the pantry. I will probably never sort the random jewelry-making components piled all over my work desk. I will probably never go through all the random flower pots on the side of the house and paint them and plant something in them like I planned. I will probably never go through the crap stuck in the seat pockets in my car.
But that’s cool. It doesn’t matter. I’ve got better things to do. The truth is, I probably will eventually file that stack of paper (at least by April 15, 2015), and sort through the photos, and maybe even organize the pantry. But I’m pretty sure the mess-making will continue in the kitchen.
“Approach love and cooking with reckless abandon.”
I love that quote. Not sure who should be given credit for it … Harriet Van Horne … the Dalai Lama … Life’s Little Instruction Book. Maybe my Mom.