Eight Hours

Is only a start, as it turns out.

This morning, the total and complete disorganization of my craft room/sewing room pushed me over the edge. I have been ignoring the chaos for months. Or perhaps the duration of the pandemic + a fudge factor?  In any case, once I had dumped a basket of project bags and a stack of books and some notebooks in the room… well you get  the idea. 

The reason for the involuntary relocation was related to the expected noonish arrival of this wonderful cleaning team that comes through every couple of weeks, and scrubs. To do that, surfaces have to be uncluttered and floors findable. 

And no, I keep that particular upstairs room is off-limits 

And no, I am not going to provide pictures.

The walls in this room are slanted which severally limits shelf space which may or may not explain why things are stacked on the floor. I do have windows, essential for sanity. Some parts of the clean up were easy – take things out of boxes, put in project bags. Take stitching fabric out of storage containers, sort, place them in the small chest of drawers. Sort finishing and framing materials into one basket, return all the spools of various threads to their proper container. Round up all the loose skeins of floss and drop them into the appropriate zip bag. Etc, Etc, Etc.

George was kind enough to flatten all the boxes (these are the ones that stitching subscriptions come in) and deal with all sorts of excess packing materials and Noah carried the whole flattened pile down down to the recycle,

And, after eight hours?

I am nowhere near finished….

 

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About Holly

fiber person - knitter, spinner, weaver who spent 33 years being a military officer to fund the above. And home. And family. Sewing and quilting projects are also in the stash. After living again in Heidelberg after retiring (finally) from the U.S. Army May 2011, we moved to the US ~ Dec 2015. Something about being over 65 and access to health care. It also might have had to do with finding a buyer for our house. Allegedly this will provide me a home base in the same country as our four adult children, all of whom I adore, so that I can drive them totally insane. Considerations of time to knit down the stash…(right, and if you believe that…) and spin and .... There is now actually enough time to do a bit of consulting, editing. Even more amazing - we have only one household again. As long as everyone understands that I still, 40 years into our marriage, don't do kitchens or bathrooms. For that matter, not being a golden retriever, I don't do slippers or newspapers either. I don’t miss either the military or full-time clinical practice. Limiting my public health/travel med/consulting and lecturing to “when I feel like it” has let me happily spend my pension cruising, stash enhancing (oops), arguing with the DH about where we are going to travel next and book buying. Life is good!
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3 Responses to Eight Hours

  1. Ron says:

    I’d feel proud of myself if I accomplished half of what you did.

  2. Cat says:

    Mmm.. this reminds me yet again that I must do something about my own space – and I will need floor space to lay out the “leaf shawl”.

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