Putting Things in the Proper Order (because that's what I do)

Before I get too far into this blog business, you're probably wondering why I'm here.  Me too.

The short answer: "I'm on a quest."  ("for what?" I hear you asking.)

My Center

I've misplaced it.  Somewhere.  I'm not sure where.  It's been gone for awhile.

Honestly, I'm not sure I even know what it looks like anymore.

The long answer (because I hear you saying to yourself "tell me more."  Frankly, I'm a bit concerned that I'm hearing these things, but that's probably a post on mental health): I keep thinking that if I pull all the knots and tangles out of my head and put them on (virtual?) paper, maybe, just maybe, there will be room for my center to return when I find it.

Oh the clutter up there in that noggin' of mine!  You'd think, for someone who's so compulsive about tidiness, things would be better organized.  But about the time I think I've got everything compartmentalized, in matching boxes, and labeled appropriately, something else shows up. And it doesn't fit into any of those categories I've already identified. (If you think I'm kidding about the labeling and matching boxes, may I present exhibit A — a sampling of my sewing room closet.)  

(note the bin that's marked Labeler)

Or worse, something that I've already labeled now no longer fits in/is appropriate for the box I had assigned it to.

Some of it's due to an expansion of what I thought I knew — kind of like learning the earth is round when you've believed it was flat.  That re-categorization is okay, although it may take me awhile to remember I've relabeled it.  

But some of the chaos is coming from things over which I have no control.

Like the box I have labeled "Parenting."  Twenty six and twenty eight years ago I gave birth to sons and over the course of time, while the contents of the box remained the same, they sometimes shifted.  Children grow up, they go off to school and then college.  They move out, they move back in, they move out again.  They have families of their own and parenting takes on the joyful preface "grand".

But just as my role of parent of two sons eased up a bit, I took on the role with a parent, who at seventy six is reverting and sadly, at times, takes me back to my days of dealing with preschoolers.  This does not fit into any box I have shelved in my brain.

So, you're welcome to join me on the quest ...  clutter busting ... relabeling ... whatever you want to call it. I don't know where it will take me, the GPS isn't working and the map has been folded and refolded too many times.  But I have my trusty label maker at the ready and am starting to move.

In the meantime - if you should find My Center, please let it know I'm looking for it, offer it a cookie (it's partial to chocolate chip oatmeal), and send it home.