Four Things About Organizing

I received an e-mail from a friend today with the subject line "Four Things." It asked me to list four places I go regularly, four favorite places to eat, four places I'd rather be and four tv shows I never miss. Then send it back to her and forward it to other friends. I did it and picked a few people who regularly send me these kinds of things. It got me thinking about my four favorite things about organizing that I've learned from reading way more than four books on the subject.

The first that came to mind was Peter Walsh's line: It's not about the clutter. That's so true. When I work with someone who wants to clear the clutter to create space and conquer the overwhelm it's not about buying the perfect containers or over-the-door shoebag or shelf or rack. It's truly about having a vision for your space and focusing on that. Walsh says to look beyond the stuff and imagine the life you want to live.

How did all that stuff get there in the first place. Inherited? Gifts from special people that are never used or even liked? Might need it someday? Protection? Reminder of the past? It needs the perfect home? Once someone has really decided that a clear space is more important than any of these things, the job is much easier.

The second principle is David Allen's Getting Things Done which involves writing everything, and I mean everything, down that is currently running around in your head and keeping you awake at 4 am. All the errands, phone calls to make, faxes, e-mails to return, projects, appointments, someday/maybe ideas. Getting it all out of your head and onto paper provides a sense of ease. These things can be grouped by context and translated into actions. Deciding what needs to be done next is a big part of the system. Visiting the list often and taking those actions is also necessary. And it's amazing how much progress you can make.

The third great plan comes from the book Apartment Therapy: the eight-step home cure. Maxwell Gillingham-Ryan uses the outbox idea, an area that can be a corner of a room, to put things you are considering getting rid of. Ask yourself: Do I use it? Do I love it? Does my apartment need it? When you get the room the way you like it, you can decide if there's something in the outbox you want to put back in but chances are you'll be so delighted with the new space, things will go out the door to a new, good home.

Four. Karen Kingston's book on the feng shui of clutter taught me about the flow of energy that is released when clutter is cleared. It's worth a try to see if you feel the difference. For me, I slept better when there was nothing under the bed. She says that clutter is stuck energy that has far-reaching effects physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Clutter clearing and limiting what you bring in allows you to create space for what you truly want in your life. And that is space for grace.

Monkey Love

My last birthday was a quiet celebration because it wasn't what they call a "bigi yari" in Suriname, where I celebrated my 58th birthday. It was dinner at an elegant College Avenue restaurant with my husband, son, daughter and her boyfriend. What I loved about it was that they wanted to be with me and the special gifts I received. I had mentioned to my son awhile ago that I had spotted Zippy, the stuffed monkey I was so attached to as a child, on EBay but he cost too much. So he surprised me with the stuffed animal and the perfect card. My daughter gave me watercolor supplies, a jigsaw puzzle and two of my favorite candy bars. The fact that they know exactly what pleases me makes me very happy. I love their creativity and observation of what brings me joy.

But more than the gifts, I am grateful for their presence in my life. I appreciate my son's steadiness, quick mind and sense of humor. I also appreciate that when Sydney, the orange cat that belonged first to my daughter, then to us, needed a home, he welcomed her in. She is devoted to him and he to her. My daughter rescues dogs. Lots of dogs. Two that live with her on a regular basis are Julio and Daisy. Julio came along after her last dog, L'il Guy, a feisty white chihuahua, died. He was the one that was a runner-up in the licking contest at a local pet store and he would have done well even without the peanut butter that owners put on their faces to help the dogs along. There are other dogs that somehow show up in her life that she finds homes for.

That's something I most love about my children. Their kindness and generosity. And the way they want to be with me.

Retirement or Refirement?

I celebrated my husband's retirement last week by presenting him with my grandfather's gold watch. I told him I was giving it to him in recognition and gratitude for his long career. He started working when he was 10 years old and he is about to celebrate his 71st birthday. That's a long career. His first job was as a newspaper carrier in Ft. Wayne, Indiana. He was a pinsetter at a bowling alley and a bagger at a grocery store. But his real work life started at the age of 19 when he talked his way into a job at a newspaper as a sports reporter. To get the job, he had to lie a little, saying he was 21 and he knew how to type. He got the job and over the week before he started, he got the son of his landlord (a lawyer who had recommended him for the job) to teach him how to type with his high school typing book. He is still a faster typist than I am.

From sports writer, he moved up the ranks and eventually was named publisher of a paper in California. I was lucky enough to work with him at two of the papers he led, where he taught me how to become a lifestyles editor. With his tutoring, I became a columnist and won a few prizes for articles he assigned me. I know what a good boss he was and how much affection those who worked for him felt towards him. It was something about how he treated everyone, from the janitor named H to the owner of the newspaper, with equal respect. And about how he encouraged the best in us and inspired enthusiasm and joy in the job we were doing.

The newspaper business has been changing over the years and in 1995 he segued into the university marketing field. While he was director of marketing at Holy Names University, he earned a master's degree in spirituality and was the oldest graduate last summer. Last Friday marked his last official day of working nine to five. I've worried that it would be difficult for him after so many years of identifying with his job, but the first week I've only seen him relax more and more. He'll be doing freelance work editing a newsletter for a Marin County senior center (he's already meeting with people to cook up interesting articles) and he'll find a place to volunteer, develop some short story ideas and spend more time with his grandchildren. I'm looking forward to this next phase of our lives to see what contributions he makes as he brings his joy and respect for others into new arenas.

Dancing the Polka

"For me, Ashkenaz is much more than a club; every show is a family reunion, with a family you actually get along with." This is how one person describes the community dance center in Berkeley that offers world music and dance most nights of the week. It's children-friendly and all kinds of people come together to connect with joy. I went last night to hear a new friend, Odile Lavault and her group, Baguette Quartette. Odile plays accordian and sings Parisian cafe songs from the '20s and '40s. One of the songs was La Mer, a song we know as Bobby Darin's Beyond the Sea.

It was a big dance party which started with a lesson. There were leaders and followers of all ages, sizes, shapes and costume. We changed partners every few minutes or so. I got a little intimidated by the partner that told me I was putting my feet in the wrong place, but most people were friendly, helpful and pretty joyful. I later danced a polka with a man named Richard who told me we would do a "low-impact" version. I was surprised that I remembered how to do it and that I could follow his lead as we flowed around the dance floor. It was great exercise and really got my heart pounding. In fact, I'm inspired to take some folk dance lessons, maybe Scottish. Learning the steps would be a great challenge for my brain and the community aspect is healthy too.

One of the friends I went to Ashkenaz with is Costanzia, who is from Tanzania and she had commented that in her country, they are always dancing. After seeing the joy on the faces of the dancers last night, I think we should all dance more, work less. Which reminds me of my favorite bumper sticker. Wag more, bark less.

Happy Mother's Day

As part of my Mother's Day weekend I signed up for a watercolor journaling class in Los Gatos and invited my daughter. I didn't really think she would go, but was pleasantly surprised when she told me she had signed up. We gathered in a park in the town center next to the fountain where children were playing in the water. After a little explanation we started to create. Felicity said a bird pooped on her shirt. "Is that good luck?" We thought it was.

We were invited to give a short introduction and my daughter said she came because it was easier than the year I asked them to do a Mother's Day sweat lodge. True. After the initial discomfort about not being able to draw, we started with a line drawing of a plastic animal that we did with one line without looking at the paper as we drew. We all were successful at getting something down that we were pleased with. We got tips and techniques for working with water colors and sketched several more subjects. I ended up buying the instructional DVD and a small watercolor pocket box -- fits in a purse. My daughter and I are going to have a session together and invite some friends. I feel as if I broke through some of my childhood reservations about not being an artist today. A fine gift indeed.

One year, the year my daughter was in Namibia in the Peace Corps, my son and husband asked what I'd like for Mother's Day. Anything, they said, as long as they could watch the game (football, basketball??) at 4:00. We lived in a small one bedroom apartment then and I said what I'd really like was for them to help me paint the living room. A soft butter yellow. And we did it, finishing up just in time for kick-off or tip-off.

As I drove my daughter home, she mentioned that she needed some help organizing and I suggested she get rid of five items every day for five days. She liked the idea. I'm not supposed to give her unsolicited advice, but I guess it being Mother's Day ...

What are the Bare Essentials?

I just read a blog about a man who lives in the trailer of the semi he drives. All of his belongings were listed and it's a short list. I live in fairly small space, but have way more than he does. Oprah just had a show about asking people to live with less for a week: no TV except an hour a day; no computer except for homework; no eating out ... It wasn't easy for the two families chosen for the challenge as you can imagine. But after the initial resistance, rebellion, anger and boredom, they seemed to settle into it and ended feeling grateful for the new closeness and appreciation for each other that developed.

I remember what it was like growing up without a computer. I can even remember what it was like when we bought our first TV and watching the test pattern on Saturday mornings before the regular programming began. I remember a time before video games and cell phones and even faxes and answering machines. Wow, I sound like an old person.

But life really was simpler then. We played board games and played outside every day, all day. Anyone remember Uncle Wiggly, Clue, Sorry, Cootie?! Monopoly was way too competitive for me although I loved those little hotels. People got together and played charades and going to the movies was a big deal. Eating out was a very special occasion until I became a teenager, then going to a hamburger drive-in was pretty common, even a ritual among my friends. Having two cars was unusual and the only time we got new clothes was when something was totally worn out or during back to school days. My mother insisted our family of five sit down to dinner together, even after the advent of TV trays. She had this vision of us all sitting around discussing our days, but most often it deteriorated into kicking under the table and remarks about my brother getting a haircut. She did try though and I do know which fork to use and to keep my elbows off the table.

So I think about what I would take with me if I moved into the trailer of a semi. I could get by with a few good clothes: a pair of jeans, a pair of black slacks, a few interesting tops, a warm coat, one pair of comfortable shoes. I would need to have my computer, a cell phone, good light, a healthy plant, someplace really comfortable to sleep. Three or four interesting books. It sounds strange, I know, but I'd have an altar with special objects and family pictures. I guess I wouldn't be happy in a semi trailer really, but it's nice to think about what I can do without and to be more conscious of all my stuff.

Goodbye to Pie

I felt anger when the vet said that my parakeet's lame foot was probably caused by a kidney tumor. I remembered losing Perry, the green parakeet who saw me through my divorce, a second marriage and a move to a new town. He had a stomach tumor at age 7 and died in John's hand at the vet's. We buried him under the eucalyptus tree outside the window next to his cage. Now, at about the same age, Pie had developed a tumor and was probably in pain. He certainly would not get better and when I asked our new vet about euthanizing him, she said it would be the thing to do. It doesn't feel fair that the timing of his loss comes right after John's surgery (which I am grateful was successful) and just as our grandson is in the hospital for his next round of chemo (although, again I am grateful because his PET scan shows he is responding "excellently" to the regimen he is on. The tumor is gone and hasn't returned.)

So I wonder if Pie is some sort of sacrifice I'm being asked to make for the health of my beloved husband and grandson. We still have Apple, the mate we bought for Pie, who turns out to be a boy. He seems a little confused and maybe a little happy to be the one and only. No more competing for food or treats. When I lost Perry, I didn't have another bird to fill my house with song, so I am happy to have Apple. But she doesn't sing like Pie. I still miss his voice. We buried him in the back yard overlooking the Bay with a spray of purple orchids that a friend brought John when she visited the other day. His marker is a fairy with translucent wings that my daughter gave me. She'll stand watch over his spirit as he flies free of his cage.