I was going through my closet today. A task I must admit I put off as long as possible. But something happened recently that made me decide it was the right time. Once you read this posting you might agree.
It started like this. A friend of mine’s mother recently passed away. My friend happens to be the only child living in the area so it was up to her to take care of the belongings left behind by her mother.
I offered to help.
We entered the condo and even though her mother was a clean freak, we were both a little overwhelmed by the sight that greeted us. It seems her mother was a collector. Hundreds of teacup and saucer sets sat lovingly displayed throughout the living and dining spaces.
“Don’t worry,” my friend smiled. “The girl’s from church are packing up the china.”
We headed to the bedroom, boxes in tow.
“Everything goes to Goodwill. Mom was so tiny none of us would fit into them anyway.”
She started in the closet and I took the drawers. It was a strange feeling going through someone else’s clothes. Packing the sweaters and shirts, the slacks and shorts and probably twenty nightgowns that still had the tags on them. I was half way through when it hit me. Someday, someone would have to go through my things. And although I hope it’s no time in the near future, it will happen.
That thought stayed with me when later that evening, I entered my closet and looked up and down the long procession of hanging clothes. (I have to put in a note here. I have lived in this house for over twenty years. That’s my excuse!!!) I decided to organize and clean out so that when my children have to pack my things away, they’ll think, “Boy was she organized.”
SO - I started at the back. First were baggy pants, size eight, I laughed out loud. Then came my High School letter jacket and several sweaters I had when we use to ski in Ohio, thirty-five years ago. I noted that as I made my way down the line the numbers grew; 8,10,12,14, I’ll just stop there. I also realized I obviously had a love affair with flannel. I have to be honest though, several of the flannel and corduroy shirts were from my father and both my grandfather’s closets. Those will be with me until the end. But in Florida, a girl only needs so many heavy shirts and sweaters. I use to keep them because I went to Ohio every winter, but the ones I bought on a yearly basis have eventually gone out of style. Who knew shoulder pads wouldn’t last?
I trudged on. Four bags later the closet was better organized and I felt proud of my accomplishment. Then I looked at Kirk’s side. Dress shirts, dress pants hung with coordinating colors. Long sleeve tees, black, blue, grey, white followed by short sleeve tees in the same order. On the opposite wall hung his golf pants. You guessed it black, grey, blue, Khaki, next to golf shirts, golf sweaters and wind and rain jackets. All flowed, dark to light and all the same medium shirt, 32 x 32 size pant he’s had since high school.
I looked at my end and then his. I came to this conclusion. If anything ever happens to us both at the same time, my kids will be flipping the coin to see who gets the “Good” side.