To The Day When I Am Organized

I’m not sure how one celebrates this day; it probably involves festive streamers or window decals that have been carefully stored in a earmarked storage closet, probably in a bin of some kind labeled with a label maker: “Party Supplies”

 

And I imagine one has planned for the day appropriately by inviting people at just the right time: not so soon that they would have to re-arrange their schedule, but not so far out that they forget.

The party will be on a Saturday, so that, after a long week at work, I’m not rushing home to make the

stuffed mushrooms and guacamole. Being organized means I understand my limitations that way. I could, of course, make the mushrooms in advance, freeze them on a tray and then just “pop” them in the oven. But I want everything to be fresh. I want to grate the parmesan minutes before they arrive.

I don’t have to think about cleaning because I clean as I go. I have learned not to let the mail pile up on the edge of the dining room table. I know now the most efficient way to cycle through the dirty/clean cycles of the dishwasher. I have a place for all the books I’m in the middle of, and we file each of our notebooks in a very stylish little system that we have installed in the kitchen office.

I have a kitchen office.

The kitchen is the epitome of organized; it’s so precise, it seems organic, intuitive. Whatever I need at the moment I need it is right within reach. Wine opener? Attached to the wine rack, of course. The knives lined up according to--not size, as some might think--but usefulness. That makes all the difference. The difference between organization and aesthetics.

I created three different bins for trash for my guests and carefully weighed the environmental impact of each. I’ve labeled them clearly and placed them so that one does not have to see the garbage, but when one goes to look for it, it’s right where it should be. The guests feel that in our house everything just makes so much sense.

I have no vision for how to get to this day. I pile my clothes on my dresser all week long because I simply cannot bring myself to hang my pants up at 5:14 on a Tuesday. The demand is too great. The dishes lean on each other in the sink. I have to look for several minutes for the dog leashes, though I have hooks for them on the back porch. I hope the keys are on the table.

I don’t believe this will make me happy. I understand happiness is not about the where and how I store my tape. It’s nothing to do with my filing system. But I want to know if it matters at all. Will I feel better on any level if I can maintain this for more than a week? Will I sleep better knowing that the photos have all been sorted and labeled? Our smiling faces arranged chronologically for all the generations to come?