I'm Definitely Not Marie Kondo

It seems like every time I open my email box or Facebook page, there's admonitions from every side to clean up all my mess. I'm busy, creative and in a hurry, so unfortunately I leave a trail of breadcrumbs and trash everywhere I go.  Since I'm not eating bread now, it's more water bottles and pork rind crumbles. I don't think pork rinds are healthy, just saying, but sometimes you need to eat something that crunches and isn't green. 

So I read this book by a Japanese lady, on the top-seller list. I am always intimidated by anything Asian (except for Kung Pao chicken and eggrolls, that). Their art is strange to me and everything always seems so smooth, neat and tidy, unlike my world. But it was highly recommended and I needed help. She tells you to go through your house, bit by bit, and pick up your items and talk to them and think about them. Ask the universe if this item gives you joy. If it doesn't, then plunk it in the trash or in the give-away bin. My husband raised his eyebrows when he found me talking to my underwear and tossing most of it in the trash. He didn't say anything when he saw bags and bags of give-aways on the front porch. He also didn't protest when I started going through his drawers. He even asked me to go out to the barn and work on that and then the closet in our study. It appears this is never going to end, because I believe a truck with a junk goblin pulls up in the night and dumps more in the house while we're sleeping. 

I was about to start a diet a couple of months ago. No, not a diet, a WOL. Don't you hate those acronyms, where people throw them around and assume you know what they mean? W=Way, O=Of, L=Life. Which is short for, a delusional attempt at telling yourself that you're not on a diet. I knew that if I had Oreos, brownie mix and pancake mix in my pantry, I was never getting off the ground. I broke down and hired a professional Organizer for four hours to help me conquer my kitchen. Since I have a Victorian walk-in pantry big enough to hold dance parties, she started there. Fourteen bags and boxes later (count 'em), things began to feel lighter. I sent five home with my niece (with all my cake supplies), five to a charity and four to the landfill. The Organizer hauled away the contraband food. I hired my niece to clean the house, something that deeply hurt my homemaker pride. But as she pulled away with all those boxes in her trunk and I looked around and sniffed the clean air in my house, I felt like a new woman. 

Free to start my diet, I also subscribed to flylady.com. She's this kindred spirit who tortures you with five emails a day, telling you to swish out your toilet, clean off your desk, put your shoes on, and a hundred other daily hints to help make order out of chaos. I can't say I'm flying yet, but I'm definitely making progress. My husband's scared to think that his dreams might finally be coming true. He's the kind of guy that hangs his clothes equidistant apart and actually cleans out his car every time he drives it. God has a sense of humor when He puts people together. For what it's worth, I feel and look better and Easter's a-comin'!