Memory sorting
The floor has reappeared in my studio. When I come first in the door, the stacks of old birthday cards, photos, and sewing repairs are waiting. So clutter control assumes. So many memories crop up in things I handle today.
I find birthday cards from Loving Process, a group of women I mentored for 9 months, about ten years ago. I read their notes of affirmation and kind wishes as signs of God's grace. I toss them as I savor the taste of God at work.
Quickly I sew up the long seam of a beautiful duvet cover that has lain beside the sewing machine for two years. Two years! I kept meaning to get to it, but forgot about it, had the wrong color thread (a 1 minute fix), or some other project was clamped on the presser feet of the Bernina. Done. An old down pillow has shed enough feathers to qualify as a shaped neck pillow - momentarily distracted, I sew one side, toss it on the heap of "to dos," and carry on with the rest of the room. There's one more mending job, a quilt I made for a son: a seam is fraying on the back and will need hand stitching. Honestly, I'd rather sew a whole quilt top than repair a tear.
Magazines and class notes from Malaysia (April) have moved around the floor during this sorting process. They finally make it to my writing desk where I need them for an upcoming paper.
Choir music gets piled outside the door. I'll take it along tonight and ask if the conductor wants to offer the taped music to the next pianist. I finally started storing and recycling music because that was the biggest pain of playing. If I was handed a paper-clipped stack of photocopies Wednesdays during choir practice, there would be a frantic ten minute cut/sort/ tape-together that ate practice time before Sunday morning rehearsal. Once in a while the conductor would hand me finished music, and that was a major relief. It was a chore that sapped time and energy, accompanied occasionally by gnashing of teeth and groans of frustration. I hated it. If were a swearing person, I would have sworn aloud each time I saw the copies when I needed the time to practice. Deep breath - yay, only one more rush out the door this Sunday. (Too bad our kids are back home: I prefer to practice in the middle of the night or early morning when my energy is high and other things could be put off.)
I pile the last few family photos into a box and throw out old Christmas photo-cards, miscellaneous friend pictures, and photos of people I haven't seen in years. A three tier shelf of acrylic paints and sewing supplies has to wait for another time.
So... I look around and I have a desk top with semi-organized papers. The drafting table hold the sewing machine, a few lamps that banish shadows, and final sewing projects to be finished in a long day or over a few sessions. Then I'll put the Bernina into its case, back in the laundry room where it belongs so I can PAINT.
The print mangle is waiting to the right of the drafting table, and the monoprinting machine and supplies are in a box on the left. I'm definitely not done yet... but now this looks like a room rather than a storage closet. The closet doors slide closed without interference. I'll have to go pare their contents, but for now paper, art supplies, and frames are in one. The other has photos, rolls of paper sheets for wrapping gifts, some housewarming gifts, memorabilia, a few old clothes, and completed art. Way too full. But this is not the time to work through it.
Three chairs are in the room: office rollers at drafting table and desk, and the retro posture chair at the mangle. The seats are empty. Amazing.
In the process of decluttering a room filled with two decades of accumulations (my 30s and 40s), I've begun to write again. I might regret a few things given away, but I doubt it. Each time I sorted, piles got smaller. My vision for what is important now and what God is calling me to got clearer as stuff moved into trash bags or was freecycled. The only thing I remember giving away was hundreds of dollars of stamping materials. I remember because the recipient was grateful and intending to use them to bless others.
I find birthday cards from Loving Process, a group of women I mentored for 9 months, about ten years ago. I read their notes of affirmation and kind wishes as signs of God's grace. I toss them as I savor the taste of God at work.
Quickly I sew up the long seam of a beautiful duvet cover that has lain beside the sewing machine for two years. Two years! I kept meaning to get to it, but forgot about it, had the wrong color thread (a 1 minute fix), or some other project was clamped on the presser feet of the Bernina. Done. An old down pillow has shed enough feathers to qualify as a shaped neck pillow - momentarily distracted, I sew one side, toss it on the heap of "to dos," and carry on with the rest of the room. There's one more mending job, a quilt I made for a son: a seam is fraying on the back and will need hand stitching. Honestly, I'd rather sew a whole quilt top than repair a tear.
Magazines and class notes from Malaysia (April) have moved around the floor during this sorting process. They finally make it to my writing desk where I need them for an upcoming paper.
Choir music gets piled outside the door. I'll take it along tonight and ask if the conductor wants to offer the taped music to the next pianist. I finally started storing and recycling music because that was the biggest pain of playing. If I was handed a paper-clipped stack of photocopies Wednesdays during choir practice, there would be a frantic ten minute cut/sort/ tape-together that ate practice time before Sunday morning rehearsal. Once in a while the conductor would hand me finished music, and that was a major relief. It was a chore that sapped time and energy, accompanied occasionally by gnashing of teeth and groans of frustration. I hated it. If were a swearing person, I would have sworn aloud each time I saw the copies when I needed the time to practice. Deep breath - yay, only one more rush out the door this Sunday. (Too bad our kids are back home: I prefer to practice in the middle of the night or early morning when my energy is high and other things could be put off.)
I pile the last few family photos into a box and throw out old Christmas photo-cards, miscellaneous friend pictures, and photos of people I haven't seen in years. A three tier shelf of acrylic paints and sewing supplies has to wait for another time.
So... I look around and I have a desk top with semi-organized papers. The drafting table hold the sewing machine, a few lamps that banish shadows, and final sewing projects to be finished in a long day or over a few sessions. Then I'll put the Bernina into its case, back in the laundry room where it belongs so I can PAINT.
The print mangle is waiting to the right of the drafting table, and the monoprinting machine and supplies are in a box on the left. I'm definitely not done yet... but now this looks like a room rather than a storage closet. The closet doors slide closed without interference. I'll have to go pare their contents, but for now paper, art supplies, and frames are in one. The other has photos, rolls of paper sheets for wrapping gifts, some housewarming gifts, memorabilia, a few old clothes, and completed art. Way too full. But this is not the time to work through it.
Three chairs are in the room: office rollers at drafting table and desk, and the retro posture chair at the mangle. The seats are empty. Amazing.
In the process of decluttering a room filled with two decades of accumulations (my 30s and 40s), I've begun to write again. I might regret a few things given away, but I doubt it. Each time I sorted, piles got smaller. My vision for what is important now and what God is calling me to got clearer as stuff moved into trash bags or was freecycled. The only thing I remember giving away was hundreds of dollars of stamping materials. I remember because the recipient was grateful and intending to use them to bless others.
