Organizing closet not brain surgery

Editor’s note: Tammy Keith is on vacation. This column originally ran in 2009, and Tammy’s son was right; her closet is just as disorganized as ever.

I asked my husband last weekend if he’d seen my book How to Organize Just About Everything, because I couldn’t find it.

“There’s some strong irony here,” he said.

I did find it, on the bookshelf, of all places. I bought the book because it touted more than 500 step-by-step instructions on how to do all kinds of things, including organizing closets.

My husband and I have separate, small, walk-in closets in our bathroom.

Mine gets to be such a mess that I have to stand at the door and throw shoes in or step on a pile of clothes on the floor to reach anything. It drives me crazy.

Our wrapping paper is in the back corner of my closet, so when I crawl in to get some, I have to leave bread crumbs to find my way out.

So, I bought this book, written by a TV-show organizing guru. The book not only talks about cleaning and organizing; there are chapters on “Becoming a Brain Surgeon” (only eight steps — how hard could it be?) and how to “Deal With Amnesia.” (I’ll try to remember that.)

I turned to the page on cleaning closets and followed the steps.

The guru said to set aside a whole day and take everything out of the closet.

After a couple of hours, I was cursing Mr. Peter Walsh, the author.

My bathroom was full. There was an avalanche of clothes and empty hangers where I’d done like he said — tried things on and gotten rid of what didn’t fit, which was a depressing amount.

I took out the Barbies I’d collected for some unknown reason, a few collectibles from my Snoopy-addiction days, several photo albums, some Christmas decorations, my boys’ baby books, and the stacks of shoes and clothes.

The stuff filled my bathroom to the brim. It looked like one of those shows on hoarders. Then it dawned on me — I am a hoarder.

I took only a break to eat a quick lunch; then my husband and I went to the home-improvement store to buy an organizer for my shoes.

Where was Peter Walsh when I needed him? There were too many decisions. If I were good at making decisions, I wouldn’t still have the dress I wore as ninth-grade homecoming maid in my closet, now would I?

Finally, I picked a little shoe cubby to take home. My husband assembled it, and I filled it with about 25 pairs of shoes.

After almost eight hours of cleaning and organizing, I finished. I had a box, per the book’s instructions, of things that didn’t belong in the closet. I had a few things to take to the resale clothing store and a few garage-sale items.

I keep opening my closet door just to admire my work, and I can actually walk into the closet without breaking my neck.

My older son came over, and I bragged about what I’d accomplished.

“Don’t worry; it won’t last,” he said.

You know, I looked and looked in that book. There wasn’t a chapter on how to get rid of a smart-alecky kid.

Senior writer Tammy Keith can be reached at (501) 327-0370 or tkeith@arkansasonline.com.

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