I finally cleaned out my closet after saying for months that I needed to do it.
My clothes were piling up on the edge of the Jacuzzi because I had run out of hangers and room. My walk-in closet was becoming a lean-in-and-throw closet.
I hadn’t made the summer-to-fall switch because of the wild fluctuations in our weather — 90 degrees one day, 50 the next.
Cleaning out my closet is always a several-hour project, so I have to clear my schedule. It means trying on pants and deciding whether I can part with sentimental pieces of clothing.
I tried on 10 pairs of black pants — workout, wide-legged, jeans, leggings. I got rid of several pairs, and I still have a dozen.
I found my favorite summer blouse that I’d forgotten I even owned because it was crammed between two big sweaters. Fall clothes are my favorite — I’m cold-natured, so I love cozy sweaters, and I especially love vests. I mean I really, really love vests. I can’t get enough of them. I may have a problem. I counted 17 of them in my closet.
I’m not sure what it is about them that attracts me to them. I guess I love layering and how they look on me. I’ve started buying vests for my husband, too, but he only has three.
Four hours later, I had a big pile of clothes on the floor to put in a garage sale, take to the resale store or give to my daughter-in-law. It was a mountain of predominantly black, gray and white, with an occasional pop of color.
I got rid of seven pairs of shoes, including some I loved, but in my 50s, I have become more partial to comfort than cute. My back can’t tolerate high heels anymore, and by high heels, I mean more than about 1 1/2 inches. I own eight pairs of tennis shoes, and in my fantasy world, I’d love to be a fitness instructor and wear nothing but workout clothes and tennis shoes every day. But then I’d have to sweat.
I thought I’d transformed my closet pretty well. The pile was gone off the Jacuzzi, and everything was on hangers. It looked neater, and I felt lighter, freer. I could walk on the actual floor of my closet. I am the rare messy person with obsessive-compulsive disorder. My clothes are organized by color; I put my black pants in order of favorites.
I kept my high school homecoming-maid dresses, my sparkly majorette uniform and my saddle oxfords from when I was a cheerleader. The dress I wore to my brother’s rehearsal dinner 10 years ago went back in the closet, even though it doesn’t fit. It’s one of my favorite dresses I’ve ever owned, and I remember I lost weight just to be able to buy it.
Later that night, I opened the closet in the guestroom to get something. The rod was packed — sweaters, workout tops,
Halloween costumes, graduation gowns from our two sons and my husband’s master’s degree, winter coats and … three more of my vests.
That means I have 20. I may need an intervention.
I just closed the door and walked away. That’ll be for another day.
Senior writer Tammy Keith can be reached at (501) 327-0370 or tkeith@arkansasonline.com.