Thursday, January 28, 2010

The Ugly Truth About Organization

There are so many things to dislike about January. The wind chill factor that rears its ugly head this time of year. The nagging feeling that my credit card company has taken note of my Christmas expenditures and taken out a life insurance policy on me. The metamorphosis my jeans undergo during the holidays causing them to be a full size smaller than they were in mid November.

As bad as those things are, even worse is the organizational frenzy the first month of the year brings with it. I stopped at Target the other day and had no more stepped inside the door when I came face to face with a mountain of plastic storage bins. There they stood in every size, color, and shape imaginable and in quantities large enough to hold each version of the health care reform bill as well as every attachment and revision.

Perhaps I take the not so subliminal message of these bins too seriously, but when I see heaps of them I hear them taunting me, calling me a slob, and ordering me to get my, for lack of a less offensive word, stuff together. Not only do they want me to get it together, but also package it, label it, and stack it appropriately. How many more plastic trees and bushes must die before we put this neat freak syndrome to rest?

January magazines are no better. A number of years ago, I spent hours in the kitchen alphabetizing my spices and arranging them on a plastic tiered doodad that looked like a staircase for Barbie. By the time I checked the expiration dates and tossed the little no-longer-good tins into the trash, the only things left on my shelf were packets of airline salt and pepper. Replacing those seasonings would cost a fortune, so I gave the staircase to my granddaughter and rely solely on paprika these days. By the way, is there a special bay leaf expert who predicts its life expectancy?

It’s not that I don’t recognize the value of being organized, but I don’t buy into the bin-it theory. If for instance, the IRS calls, I understand the importance of retrieving those old tax forms while garnishment of wages is still a mere threat. I suggest that is precisely why shoeboxes are made in dimensions such as to slide under beds.

While professional organizers insist we store anything with our social security number, mother’s maiden name, or hundreds of pin numbers in a safe deposit box or other secured container to fend off identity theft, I have a much simpler and cost-effective solution. The week before I renew my driver’s license, I refrain from washing my hair. The day of the photo shoot, I skip makeup. Just before the DMV clerk says SMILE I sniff an onion and suck a lemon. Believe me, one look at this picture and no one would want to be me.

There are those who would have you believe that a person can’t function unless every hanger in the closet points in the same direction. They’ll tell you that true peace of mind can’t be attained if all shoes are not in close proximity to their mates. In my opinion, they are misinformed.

In reality, being too neat can be hazardous to your health. I get more aerobic exercise each day running from floor to floor searching for things I’ve misplaced than I would in a week at the gym. I bend and stretch as I peer under tables, search under the couch and check the refrigerator top for a stray glove (which I dare say I would not need if it weren’t January). And this workout comes without a monthly membership fee. Years from now, I predict the obesity epidemic in our country will be blamed in part to the overuse of storage bins.

I’ve also found that too much organization stifles creativity. If my possessions were in perfect order, I’d miss countless opportunities to use my imagination. Just last week, I imagined being a skillet and created a scenario to determine where an object like that might hide. Be warned. Exposing young children to large doses of orderliness can lead to a dependency on video games and a tendency to be couch potatoes. To further complicate matters, overzealous organizers have been know to purchase storage bins designed to contain these games for their children making their offspring more susceptible to the compulsion.

This obsession with orderliness affects our GNP. (My accounting background surfaces yet again.) Other than the storage bin producers, the economy suffers when we organize our stuff. I have no charts to explain the economic impact. Besides, I find those pie ones are a distraction and serve only to make me hungry, so I’ll do my best with a simple example.

Suppose you loose your scissors. If they’re packed away in a plastic bin and noted on your organizational spreadsheet, you retrieve and use the pair you have. The end. If, on the other hand, you have no idea where they might be and you really want to cut the size label from the new jacket you’re wearing to a luncheon where you might get warm and feel the need to remove said jacket and hang it on your chair where everyone might notice the tag, you stop at the drugstore on the way to the luncheon to buy a new pair. While you’re there, you realize you need bathroom tissue. The bathroom tissue reminds you that you’re out of bowl cleaner. The bowl cleaner brings to mind the taco salad you ate the night before. Memories of the taco salad prompt you to buy an antacid. At the register you decide you can’t wait to find out whether Brad and Angelina are going to adopt a baby from Mars, so you add that tabloid to your cart. I could go on and on, but I’m sure you get the point.

Like so many things in our society, organization is not harmful when used in moderation and with adult supervision. In large quantities, however, it can be hazardous to your health, impair ingenuity, and contribute significantly to the economic woes of our great nation.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Solving the Resolving Issue

Here is it January 5th and as of yet I haven’t made a single New Year’s resolution. I suppose I can cross that procrastination one from my list. Maybe next year.

In 2009 I resolved not to resolve anything. Not only did I resolve not to resolve, I resolved not to feel guilty about not resolving. A couple of days into the year, it dawned on me that by resolving not to resolve, I had actually resolved. That realization made me feel twice as guilty.

This year I’ve rethought my resolution quandary. I considered the tried and true resolutions—eat less, exercise more, and follow the every move of Kate and Jon and however many kids they have. After careful consideration, I’ve decided against any of these. The first two require lots of self-control, which I’ve resolved to find numerous times but manages to elude me. The Jon/Kate option is just way too complicated. If I were so inclined to involve myself, my resolution would be to determine why these people are newsworthy and just why I should care.

It’s not that I don’t have any bad habits or that I’m unaware of the ones that I do have. But I’ve had little success and much frustration attempting to overcome them, so I’m now looking at them in a new light. My hope is that in the not-too-near future, they become not bad habits, but eccentricities. Years from now, my grandchildren will tell their children fond stories about their grandmother who sometimes sprinkled M&M’s atop her breakfast cereal and until they were able to read, convinced them they were berries. They’ll recount the many adventures they had with Grandma as she drove them to preschool and story time before she got a GPS. They’ll chuckle at how each time she buckled them in, they asked, Grandma, are we going to get lost again today? They’ll reminisce about the things they learned with Grandma; such as, never promise macaroni and cheese to a child before checking the pantry. Cheez Whiz over rice just doesn’t cut it.

Now that I’ve taken this time to think about this in depth, I’ve made a decision. My resolution this year is simply to not add any more bad habits—or perhaps quirks is a kinder word choice given I’m still among the living—to my repertoire. Prevention is key and procrastination can wait.