NEVER CAN SAY GOODBYE!

Regarding things that are so nice we just keep them a little too long. . . A story that's in my book manuscript:

A neighbor who was moving, a man I really didn't know, started talking to me one day when I was walking along, taking a break from writing about clutter.

He said he was getting ready to move.  That one day he had looked at some expensive sweaters and realized he didn't like them that much.  He gave them to a man he didn't know.  A man who appeared homeless.

Then he was in a big-box store one day when a stranger stopped him.  A man.  And the man said, "You gave me some good sweaters once.  I started wearing them.  I was warm.  I looked better.  And someone offered me some work!  A job.  You changed my life."

Happy Thanksgiving.

WHAT TO KEEP may be the most important topic?

Things I'm glad I kept:

A big, wooly, curly, waist-length ivory sweater that buttons down the front.  This thing has been knocked off by other companies, but they can't compete with the original. When I bought it, my daughter said it made me look like Lambie-Pie.  Then I got slimmer, and it was perfect.  Two winters since I left the corporate world, this sweater has done duty as a winter coat on days it doesn't rain.  

A emerald frosted glass box that was a gift from my best decorating boss.  It's definitely breakable, not ant-proof so it's no place for a candy stash.  It's for treasures like the corner of an envelope with a famous writer's return address hand-written.   I need it.  Beauty is important.

Jewelry my daughter made.  Because things my daughters make feel like hugs.

An amazing scarf my daughter made by pulling tufts of beautiful yarn through a scarf of deeply crinkled silk.

Real art in clothes or other belongings doesn't shout 80's or 60's.
Real art, our real treasures, and real beauty keep me from wanting too much trendy stuff with too much hanger appeal.

The Real Trouble Spot

In my beloved mystery novels (writer's heroin) there are pizza boxes and overturned beer bottles among the underwear on the floor in the suspect's place.  Oh, and the empty snack bag and half a sandwich.  Maybe the racing form.  The detectives usually expect this when they open the door.

I have no sandwiches on the floor.  There are several clothing items that will not fit in the dresser.  Also shoes (not as many as I'd like.)   My pink dumbbells. And my purple ones. Books.

And The Desk.

I am notorious for not being able to part with paper.  Even stupid paper.  Even duplicate letters insisting on signatures on duplicate petitions re health insurance.  And I have no bulletin board for the fairly intelligent letter from Blue Cross that explains everything except the dollar amounts for my policy.  If I file it, I'll never remember to call and chastise them.  Also, I have several receipts at any given time that need to be posted in my spending for the month.  Okay, once it was several dozen.

My daughter put Dale Carnegie's book in the bathroom so I can't pretend I don't know where it is.  He talks about a secretary who found a long-lost typewriter under the Stuff on her boss's desk!  I have not lost my laptop.  If you don't even have a desk, do you have a paper collection somewhere?

What I tell other people to do, and then forget, is that all those papers and books and the dustrag are sensory overload that my nerves don't need right now.  Or ever.

That treasure box of dishes I brought to Texas will not create gracious living by themselves.  They're no match for this desk and my worry at stoplights about whether I ever called that insurance company.

It's not about will power, it's what do I want and how do I want to see myself?  A friend of mine sets a good example on that score.  I just have to follow it.

New Kid on the Block needs Sherlock to track down job-hunt wardrobe

When I first came to Texas, overwhelmed and feeling out of touch with the world, my daughter said something that I'm sure she didn't mean as a wardrobe plan, but that's how I'm taking it.

She said, "The next person who waves to you might be your next boss."  Or did she say the next person who says hello to you.  Anyway.

That one sentence gave me an overwhelming urge to pay attention to how women who work here seem to dress.  I look at my closet with jaundiced eye now that I'm determined to look like the woman who has earned money recently, instead of the woman who came here on a wheelchair flight.   This requires much sleight-of-hand since the few office clothes I brought from L.A. were definitely not prepared for the humidity here.  Nor the temperature highs and lows.  But I'm determined.

So some anti-success clothes are out of the closet and into the donate bag, probably to stay there. And some will never be worn farther than the mailbox.  And my beloved jacket with the bling on the collar -- hope I don't have to make it into a quilt.  Also I have to take my own advice about the alterations guy.  My blazer and a lot of other things need a nip and tuck and sometimes a slash.

But my cardinal rule for looking job-worthy is one that guys have known since before the Great Depression.  Since before Louis the XIV probably.

And women far, far too often forget:  No suit will make up for shoes that need repair, and please! polishing!  When I look like I can't afford shoes, I look like I haven't had a job for decades.  So I'm hunting, and I'm writing to shoe companies, and complaining.  And I have two tins of black shoe polish, for insurance.

SHERLOCK DISCOVERS MY FANTASY WARDROBE

    I  hate that Sherlock found the black dress I hung in the books and paperwork part of my closet in case there's ever another fund raiser at George Clooney's, and I win a ticket.  Or I get a tv award or something.  Sherlock is almost as nosy as my kids were when they announced to my husband that the shoes I bought  were in the trunk of the car.  Okay, my fantasy dress needs some sort of sheer black wrap or jacket to hide my upper arm disaster.  If you win dinner with George C., will you need an all points bulletin to find a top flight tailor for that little . . .uh, buns problem that makes your fantasy dress hang a little funny?

I once had a fantasy dress that I wore to one big-deal gala and then forgot at the cleaners for years.  Didn't get out much to that sort of event . . .

Maybe I need a little secret trip or two to the tailor BEFORE the job interview ,or the awards show or whatever.  If you can't face your treasures before Sherlock finds them, at least do something.

 Fill a holiday food drive bag at the grocery store.  Put the kitchen tools in alphabetical order, or at least in the drawer they belong in. Just finish something.

There'll be another day when you feel like getting rid of the clothing Oops collection.  I promise.

TOO PRETTY part 2

Is it too pretty to just toss into some gas station clothing drive box?  But a bit too ripped or worn for the charity outlet fashion shop?

I knew a young lady back in LA who invented a new kind of stuffed toy.  She always needed fabrics for the toy, and she was also crazy about buttons.

I also know a guy who was making a puppet or a model of a fantasy person he was going to create on line.  Are you with me here?

And I'll bet there are plenty of puppet makers in LA or maybe anywhere near  . . . I don't know, maybe a library where kids go to see puppets?

And for that pile of fabric languishing under the bed?  Perhaps a school where there are plenty of festivals that require kids' costumes?  I know of one of those, too.

There's always a place for clothes too pretty to leave on the porch where it will rain before the truck comes to pick it up.  It takes courage to pull out the stuff, say goodbye, and take it to the right place.  Don't forget to celebrate when you've done it!

TOO PRETTY TO THROW AWAY an idea

When I was a little girl, there was the most beautiful quilt at our house.   Grandma said it was made of all their best, best dresses.  Although the colors were not bright or cheery, since many of those clothes were from the Great Depression, and Grandma probably lived too closet to the steel mill dirt to risk bright colors, the combination in the quilt was beautiful. I couldn't resist touching it.

A few years after Grandma died, my mother moved to a smaller, newer house.  She was giving away some things, and I asked for that quilt. She told me it had simply disintegrated.  I still think of it.

There is a lot of interest in quilting today.  Even my grand-daughter does it.  If you have clothes crowding your closet but too pretty to throw away, your local quilting group may have a notice and phone number at the library or in a neighborhood newspaper.  Have you thought about asking if someone uses torn or worn but beloved finery for quilts?  Or even pillows?

Your Something Old, worn, and beautiful can be made into something new, something beloved.

Stuff everywhere? Can't find the . . whatever?

Corral it!  (Don't worry; just because I'm in Texas, I won't start using rancher words every day.)  Maybe.

If Sherlock were wandering around the house, he might find that what we thought were stolen goods have been right there in the house. . . but in the wrong places.

Remember the old phone booths with actual books that were held in there with a chain?   What if the scissors were tethered where you use them with a pretty but strong ribbon?  Or if you're a guy, go ahead and use a chain.  Need another pair of scissors for the second floor or the kitchen? While you're looking for the ribbon, you may find the second pair of scissors you've already bought that promptly got lost--needs its own chain.

My shoulder bag (the one that the flight attendants supposedly all use) has a tough cloth tape sewn in  with a little snap hook for my car key.  I will never confess the jams I got myself into by losing my keys before I started using that little tape.  Now if someone will invent a new phone that actually would fit in that purse. . . .or in my pocket.  Or somewhere.  A pen that is fastened permanently into that purse might be great.  In fact I had such a thing before they started with the plastic pens and the collector megabucks pens.

What if the shoe polish were in a plastic sandwich bag that's fastened into the drawer right where you polish your shoes?

You can probably think of some great ideas for corralling things.  If you have a teenage or preteen daughter, you could make a fortune telling others how to keep the good mascara and the new lipstick firmly fastened where you can keep an eye on them.  I personally have lost two nail files this month, and two pairs of tweezers this year, and I don't have a teenager!

Keep thinking of ways to keep things firmly located.   We both know the dog doesn't have the scissors.  But the cat did take my nail file.

SHERLOCK and the hundred dresses

 I used to do some storage design that usually involved reminding women that their closets would still be too full no matter what shelves and hanging rods we built into them.  And I saw clues to what makes us buy so much.  One woman had an armload of beautiful, feminine, flowered tops and dresses.  Thinking back to her closet reminds me of my mom.  Mom had convinced herself that she couldn't wear the same thing twice to club meetings.  So even the guest closet was jammed full of interesting outfits, only one of which I'd ever seen her wear. Since vacations were spent fishing with Dad, she wasn't saving those outfits for the out-of-town crowd.

Making my own clothes as a kid, I fell victim to the prettiest yard goods, the most flattering pattern.  Over and over.  My allowance wouldn't cover the dresses I saw in Seventeen magazine. By the time I got married, not only was the closet full, but I had a full closet rod of interesting dresses up in the attic.

Years passed.  My  closet space and sometimes my budget got smaller.  I got a job in an upscale store and had to be there every day in full view of her clients.  I had lost weight since my corporate days.  Five days a week, I wore the only black wool skirt that fit.  Burbank, CA can be hot for a wool skirt.  But a black straight skirt is just a black skirt so nobody noticed.

It reminded me of a book I read in grade school called The Hundred Dresses.  A girl from a not-rich family wore jeans every day.  She told other kids she had a hundred dresses.  Then her family moved away.  They found her empty closet was papered with her colorful drawings of - you guessed it - a hundred dresses.  She had learned that a pair of jeans (in those days) was like a plain black skirt.  No one knew for sure it was always the same one.

Someone I know can wear the same black denim pants and white shirt to work every shift - no one knows.

Sherlock finds the closets full of flowers and frills and plaids and stripe pleats and colors and even flowered shoes GUILTY of TMHA.

 (Too Much Hanger Appeal.  Too few basics.  And too easy for everyone else to remember.)